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ΠΟ PREBENDARY OF 57. PETER’S, AND MINISTER ST. HARGARDT ap εὖ, ἢ 
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BY JAMES MUERD OC ERDD  νὰ + 
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PUBLISHED BY HARP. R & BROTHERS, “αν ΠΑΝ 


ΓᾺ τὰν Ἢ 
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7 “Bite Cn st ἥδ πόϑι Dist ic 


᾿ TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 
aa ee τις 
it BY JAMES MURDOCK, D.D. 
Ε΄ Tue author of this work, if we may judge from his writings, is one οὔ 
BARS ws _ the most learned, candid, and indefatigable of the British historians of the 
᾿ present age. In his own country, like Southey, he is knowmalso as ἃ poet. : 
a But in this country he is chieflyknown as the author οἵ a popular History 


of the Jews, which passed to a second edition in London in 1830, and then 

was republished in this country as a part of Harpers’ Family Library. 
Notwithstanding some objections to the author’s views of Inspiration and ὁ. 
2 of the Miracles of the Old Testament, that work, it is believed, is gen- ἢ 
! erally regarded, both in England and America, as the best. history of the 
Jews in the English language ; especially the third volume, » Which embra- 

ces the period since the destruction of the second temple, and in which 

good use is made of the first and larger work of Dr. Jost, of Berlin. This, — , 
we suppose, was Mr. Milman’s first essay in historical composition. More 


: 
recently, and after attaining greater maturity in this depanlaneny of knowl- © 
edge, he has published an-edition of Gibbon’s History of the Decline and — ἃ 
. Fall of the Roman Empire, with an admirably well written preface, and ἣν oi 


numerous learned notes, which are of great value, especially as antidotes ἐν ᾧ 
to the irreligious and infidel tendency of the work. The London Quar- ἢ 
' terly Review says: “ There can be no question that this edition of Gibbon 
ern, x t is the only one extant to which parents, and guardians, and academicat 
authorities ought to give any’ measure of countenance.” And the 
onthly Review says: “It never before was a work which could a 


\e 


4 safely put into the hands of the young, or of those whose opportuniti 

: fe am _ and. means for detecting its perversions are few. Now, however, the er- δὴ 
ee rors of this luminous and imposing history have been skilfully and con- 

«  vincingly noticed. The poison, if not extracted, has been made palpable.” 

a ' The notes of Milman, which fill 120 closely-printed 8vo: pages, are partly 

a Ἦ .. original, and partly derived from Guizot, Wenck, St. Martin, and others ;, 

ν᾿ and they not only expose the author’s base insinuations and sarcasms . 
j πὶ ~ against Christianity, but also cast much additional light on the history it- 

‘self. This edition of Gibbon has been recently issued from the press of _ 

Drs: s the Messrs. Harper, in four neat 8vo: volumes, with Milman’s notes placed Ὁ 
ὃ. ᾿ at the end of each volume, Mr. Milman has likewise published the Life 
; ἣν οἵ Edward Gibbon, with Selections from his Correspondence, &c., and ως, 

a * 4 > ὁ 

; ας, , . = avis ᾿ 
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ἦν Ἃ te “ ᾿ 
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wer ν: PREFACE. 


notes by the editor. This work is favourably noticed by the English re- 
viewers: but it has not fallen in my way. 

After this experience, and having acquired an established reputation as 
‘an historical writer, Mr. Milman has ventured upon the new and more 


difficult work, the first part of which is here presented to the American | 


public. 

The title given gy this work does not distinctly indicate its peculiar 
design or object. It may be said to promise more than the book con- 
tains, and also matter of a different kind. According to established usage, 
this common and well-known title would include the more theological and 
spiritual part of Ecclesiastical History. But it is not so in the work be- 
fore us. Of this, however, distinct notice is given in the author’s preface. 


“Christianity,” it is there said, “ may be viewed either in a strictly reli- . 


gious, or, rather, in a temporal, social, and political light. In the former 
case the writer will dwell almost exclusively on the religious doctrines, 
and will bear continual reference to the new relation established between 
man and the Supreme Being: the prominent character will be that of the 


Theologian. In the latter, although he may not altogether decline the 
examination of the religious doctrines, their development and their vari- 


ations, his leading object will be to trace the effect of Christianity on the 
individual and social happiness of man, its influence on the Polity, the 
Laws and Institutions, the opinions, the manners, even on the Arts and 
the Literature of the Christian world: he will write rather as an historian 
than as a religious instructer.” So, at the close of his first chapter, 
where he again states the design of his work, he says: “The History of 
Christianity has usually assumed the form of a History of the Church, 
‘more or less controversial, and confined itself to annals of the internal 
"feuds and divisions in the Christian community, and the variations in doc- 
trine and discipline, rather than to its political and social influences. 
Our atiention, on the other hand, will be chiefly directed to its effects on 
the social and even political condition of man.” “It is the author’s object, 
the difficulty of which he himself fully appreciates, to portray the genius 
of the Christianity of each successive age in connexion with that of the 
age itself; in short, to ewhibit the reciprocal influence of civilization on 
Christianity, of Christianity on civilization.” This work, then, was not 
intended to be an Ecclesiastical History, in the ordinary sense of the 
term. The author assumes the character, less of an ecclesiastical his. 
torian than of a philosopher and a politician; he treats of Christianity, 
considered as an element of civil society, or as affecting the social, civil, 
and secular condition of man. 

In its conception and plan, although on a kindred subject, this is a very 
different work from Guizot’s History of Civilization. The learned 
Frenchman seizes upon certain great and fundamental principles, and, 
by placing them distinctly before the reader, he makes him comprehend 


* 


τὰ 


πὰ τ; ee ee 


‘PREFACE. "e eag 


the whole subject iiaciphaadl 9 without μον into a detail of facts and 
occurrences. Mr. Milman, on the contrary, andoavadta to spread out all 


-the historical facts in the case, or to exhibit the beneficial influences of 


Christianity by the detail of the actual occurrences, rather than by a 


- course of solid reasoning based on philosophical principles. This work, 


therefore, bears a genuine historical character. Indeed, it is a pretty full 
Ecclesiastical History, although, as we have before observed, one of a pe- 


‘culiar character. It details all those facts in ecclesiastical history which 


the author supposed would be generally interesting in a’secular point of 
view ; and, by the splendour of its style, and the fulness and accuracy of 
its statements, it is well adapted to afford both pleasure and profit. At 
the same time, its religious tendency is salutary: it is a safe book for all 
to read. The divine origin of Christianity, and the authority of the holy 
Scriptures, are everywhere maintained. Indeed, a large part of the book 
—all that relates to the history of Jesus Christ and his apostles—seems to 
have been written chiefly for the purpose of rescuing this portion of sa- 
cred history from the exceptions of infidels and the perversions of Ration- 
alists. In addition to this fundamental point, the book distinctly main- 
tains the divine mission of Christ, his equality with the Father, and his 
ability to save all who believe in and obey him; also, the reality and the 
necessity of the new birth; the future judgment, and the retributions of 
the world to come. These and other Christian doctrines are not, indeed, 
kept continually before the reader’s mind, and urged upon him with the 
zeal of a “ religious teacher ;” but they are distinctly recognised as taught 
by Christ and his apostles, and as being essential and vital principles of 
the Christian religion. This book, therefore, though not professing to 


teach articles of faith, or to inculcate piety, is a safe book for all classes 


of readers ; and, while it is an appropriate work for the use of statesmen 
philanthropists, and literary men, it deserves a place in most of our social 
and circulating libraries, and in all those of our higher literary institutions. 

For clergymen, also, and for all who cultivate sound theological learn- 
ing, this work will be valuable. Though not embracing the whole ground 
of Church History, and, therefore, not meeting all their necessities, it 
takes up many subjects of no small importance, and treats them in a very 
able and interesting manner. On ier of the topics which come within 
the range of his plan, Mr. Milman makes good use of what he justly de- 
nominates “ the unwearied industry, the universal command of the litera- 
ture of all ages and all noun and the boldness, sagacity, and impar- 
tiality in historical criticism” of the modern German writers ; and he in- 
genuously acknowledges himself “ under too much obligation to them not 
openly to express his gratitude.” Yet he is far from adopting all their 
conclusions, He is aware of the wild aberrations to which they are in- 
cident, and he is sedulous, and, for the most part, successful in selecting 
from them only what appears sound and valuable 


Lod 


Vill * PREFACE. 
N 


Among the subjects of-interest to theologians which Mr. Milman has 
discussed, are, the character of the different Pagan Religions, and their in- 
fluences on society ; the Grecian Philosophy, and its effects ; the Oriental 
Philosophy, and its legitimate offspring, the Gnostic and Manichean sects ; 
the influences of this philosophy on the prevailing opinions and modes of 
thinking among the Jews, at the time of Christ’s advent, and, consequently, 
upon the language of the New Testament, and on the conceptions and 
the belief of Christians in the early ages, and even down to modern times; 
the origination of asceticism, penance, celibacy, and bodily mortifications 
from this philosophy ; the progress of Christianity in the four first centu- 
ries, and the decline and fall of Paganism in the Roman empire ; the long 
struggles of the latter, first for victory, and then for existence, its artifices, 
its assumption of new forms, new principles, and a new organization bor- 
rowed from the Church; the origin of the. Christian Hierarchy, and its 
advances in power and wealth, and its complete dominion over the Church 
and the consciences of men; the spread of monkery in the fourth and 
fifth centuries, and its effects ; the changes in Jegislation and government, 
in the manners and customs of the people, in the arts, literature, and the 
general state of society, in consequence of the prevalence of Christianity. 
Besides these subjects, which properly fall within the scope or design of the 
work, Mr. Milman, as already stated, has gone over the entire history of 
the Saviour and his apostles. He likewise gives a pretty full and interest- 
ing account of the principal schisms. and controversies in the Church, and 
particularly of the early disagreements between the Jewish and Gentile 
converts, and of the Donatist and Arian controversies. He also gives us 
biographies of several of the most eminent fathers, Chrysostom, Basil, the 
two Gregories, Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, &c.; and he even recites 
some of the more interesting martyrdoms. 

‘The style of this work is always vigorous and animated, and often truly 
rich and splendid. Yet it is not unfrequently obscure, either from lonse- 
ness and negligence in the structure of the sentences, or from an unrea- 
sonable indulgence of the imagination. Mr. Milman seems to have become 
so habituated to poetic composition, that he unconsciously assumes a poetic 
style and manner when he becomes highly interested. His use of con- 
junctions, too, is often faulty ; and I have ventured to alter one of his ex- 
pressions wherever it occurs. bis the use of directly in the sense of .as 
soon as. ‘Thus on p. 32, speaking of the Pagan mysteries, he “says : 
“Directly they ceased to be mysteries they lost their power.” J have in- 
troduced the slightest change that would render the meaning obvious, thus : 
“ Directly, as they ceased to be mysteries, they lost their power.” 

The history terminates near the beginning of the fifth century. — Its 
continuation—which we are encouraged to expect—will open a wide and 
important field for such investigations and discussions as come within the 
auther’s plan, and for which he has shown so much ability. 


- ”* Ἰ ay « 


— 


—™ 


| According to the wishes of the publishers, at ie peut this preface 
is written, I have made some additions to the notes and references, in 
different parts of the work, which are distinguished by brackets. Mr. 
Milman’s frequent references to his History of the Jews, and to his edi- 
tion of Gibbon, are also adapted to the American editions of those works. 


JAMES MURDOCK. 


\» 


New-Haven, January Ist, 1841. er ἦ “ 
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PREFACE. . . ‘te: 


i? PREFACE. 


Se Ὁ Ὁ ΟΠ το  κος--- τ υσσυυ σσεοςττο 
Ψ 


Tur History of the Jews was that of a nation, the History of Christianity is that 
of areligion. Yet, as the Jewish Annals might be considered in their relation to 
the general history of man, to the rank which the nation bore among the various 
families of the human race, and the influence which it exercised on the civilization 
of mankind, so Christianity may be viewed either in a strictly religious, or, rather, 
in’a temporal, social, and political light. e's the former case the writer will dwell 
almost exclusively on the religious doctrines, and will bear continual reference to 
‘the new relation established between manand the Supreme Being : the predominant 
character will be that of the theologian. In the latter, although he may not al- 
together decline the examination of the religious doctrines, their development and 
their variations, his leading object will be to trace the effect of Christianity on the 
individual and social happiness of man, its influence on the Polity, the Laws and In- 
stitutions, the opinions, the manners, even on the Arts and the Literature of the 
Christian world: he will write rather as an historian than as a religious instructer, 
Though, in fact, a candid and dispassionate survey of the connexion of Christianity 
with the temporal happiness, and with the intellectual and social advancement of 
mankind, even to the religious inquirer, cannot but be of high importance and inter- 
est; while with the general mass, at least of the reading and intelligent part of 
the comrhunity, nothing tends so powerfully to the strengthening or weakening of 
religious impression and sentiment, nothing acts so extensively, even though per- 
haps indirectly, on the formation of religious opinions, and on the speculative or 
practical belief or rejection of Christianity, as the notions we entertain of its influ- 
ence on the history of man, and its relation to human happiness and social improve- 
ment, This latter is the express design of the present work, of which the plan and ~ 
scope will be more fully explained at the close of the Introductory Chapter. 
If at any time I entertained doubts as to the expediency of including an historical 
view of the Life of the Saviour in the history of his religion, those doubts have been 
set at rest by the appearance of the recent work of Strauss. Though, for reasons 
__stated in a separate Appendix to this work, I have no hesitation in declaring my con- 
" yietion that the theory of Strauss is an historical impossibility, yet the extraordinary 
~~ sensation which this book has produced in the most learned and intellectually active 
nation of Europe gives it an undeniable importance. Though, till recently, only 
_ accessible to the small, yet rapidly increasing number of students of German liter- 
Γ - ature ih this country, and, from its enormous length and manner of composition, 
not likely to be translated into English, it has, however, already appeared in a 
_- French translation.* “After reading with much attention the work of Strauss, I 
“turned back to my own brief and rapid outline, which had been finished some time 
before, and found what appeared to me a complete, though, of course, undesigned 
᾿ refutation of his hypothesis. In my view, the Life of Christ (independent of its sue | 
pernatural or religious character) offers a clear, genuine, and purely historical nar- ὦ 
ative, connected by numberless fine and obviously inartificial links with the history 
~ of the times, full of local and temporary allusions, perfectly unpremeditated, yet οὔ. 
_ surprising accuracy, to all the events, characters, opinions, sentiments, usages, ἴο 
the whole life, as it were, of that peculiar period ; altogether, therefore, repudiating 
that mythic character which Strauss has endeavoured to trace throughout the Evan- 
gelic narrative. In all its essential character it is true and unadulterated History. 


σ΄. 


3 ᾿ 
* The only good view of Strauss’s work with which I am acquainted, in a language accessible to the % 
ordinary reader, is in an article in the Révue des Deu ondes, by M. Εἰ. Quinet. 
_ t Lagree on this port with the author of a work which appeared last year in Paris, M. Salvador. He 
is speaking of the Evangelic History, une euvre enfin dans laquelle le a de la scéne, le héros, les fig- 
ures accessoires, tout /e matériel, appartiennent a cette nation méme, et oi chaque ligne exige, pour étre 
σῇ ᾿ 
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% 


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᾽ν : PREFACE. i 
᾽ ” 

In this, however, as in all respects, I have been anxious.and studious not to give 
my work a controversial tone. My “ Life of Christ” remains exactly as it was 
originally written, excepting in one or two notes. I have reserved entirely my 
reference to the work of Strauss for a separate Appendix. In these animadversions, 
and in some scattered observations which I have here and there ventured to make 
in my notes on foreign, chiefly German writers, I shall not be accused of ‘that nar- 
row jealousy, and, in my opinion, unworthy and timid suspicion, with which the 
writers of that country are proscribed by many. 01 am under too much obligation 
to their profound research and philosophical tone of thought not openly to express 
my gratitude to such works of German writers as I have been able to obtain which 
have had any bearing on the subject of my inquiries. 

I could wish most unfeignedly that our modern literature were 50. rich in wri- 
tings displaying the same universal command of the literature of all ages and all 
countries, the same boldness, sagacity, and impartiality in historical criticism, as to 
enable us to dispense with such assistance. ‘Though, in truth, with, more or less of 
these high qualifications, German literature unites religious views of every shade 
and character, from the Christliche Mystik. of Goerres, which would bring back the 


faith of Europe to the Golden Legend and the Hagiography of what we still ven 


ture to call the dark ages, down, in regular series, to Strauss, or, if there be anything 
below Strauss, in the descending scale of Christian belief. cee, 

er points, especially those. which are at present agitated in this country, 
though of course I cannot be, yet I have written as if in total ignorance of the ex- 
istence of such discussions. I have delivered, without fear and without partiality, 
what I have conscientiously believed to be the truth. I write for the general reader 
rather than for the members of my own profession, as I cannot understand why 
such subjects of universal interest should be secluded as the peculiar objects of study 
to one class or order alone. 

In one respect, the present possesses an advantage, in which the former work of 
the author, from its size and form, was unavoidably deficient—the greater copious- 
ness of confirmatory and illustrative quotation. I trust that 1 have avoided the op- 
posite error of encumbering and overloading either my text or my notes with the 
conflicting opinions of furmer writers. Nothing is more easy than this prodigal — 
accumulation of authorities; it would have been a very light task to have swelled 
the notes to twice the size of the volumes. ‘The author’s notion of history is, that 
it should give the results, not the process of inquiry ; and, however difficult this may 
be during the period of which he now writes, where the authenticity of almost every 
document is questioned and every minute point is a controversy, he has with his ut- 
most diligence investigated, and with scrupulous fidelity repeated, what appeared to 
him to be the truth. Once or twice only, where the authorities are so nicely bal- 
anced that it is almost impossible to form a satisfactory conclusion, he has admitted 
the conflicting arguments into the text ; and he has always cautiously avoided to 
deliver that which is extremely problematical as historical certainty. Where he 
has deviated from his ordinary practice of citing few rather many names in his notes, 
it is on certain subjecis, chiefly Oriental, on which the opinions of well-known 
scholars possess, in themselves, weight and authority. be 

If he should be blessed with life.and leisure, the author cannot but look forward to 
the continuation of this History with increasing interest, as it approaches the period 
of the re-creation of European society under the influence of Christianity.* As 
Christian History, surveyed in a wise and candid spirit, cannot but be a useful school 
for the promotion of Christian faith,so no study can tend more directly to, or more im- 
peratively enforce on all unprejudiced and dispassionate minds. mutual forbearance, 
enlightened toleration, and the greatest even of Christian virtues, Christian charity. 
comprise, la connaissance rigoureuse de son lyigtoire, de ses lois, et de ses maurs anciennes, des local- 
ités, préjugés, du langage, des opinions populaires. des sectes, du gouvernement. et des Hisereeg dates de 
Juifs exis tant aux époques ou les événements sont rapportés.-—Jesus Christ ; sa Doctrine, &c., tom., 1. p, 159. 


* Some points in the latter part of the volume are but imperfectly developed, their full investigation 
having been reserved for a later part of the work. ' 


oy 


ἧς, 


. 
» 
᾿ ᾿ 
; “ἦν Page 
CHAPTER I. pai δ . . . . ὡς ἢ 42 
yrian Religions Soe Ee δ “πὸ 55:9 
INTRODUCTION.—STATE AND VARIOUS FORMS OF | Religion of Persia . 42 
PAGAN RELIGION AND OF PHILOSOPHY. pe ἐν μὴν of the Zoroastrian System Piriy. 43 
Page |The Zendavesta + al be =" 43 
Gra of Augustus Cesar a) | νυ: Angels... i sae 
feoman Civilization. 9. 7 6 jie jie. peel Principle of Evil et gl MF 45 
ee siee Rel Christianity ORL ANTS εἰς The Supreme Deity removed from all Connex- 
ΒΙΘΙΟΣΤ Senelons eis oe ae ion with the material’ World 2 Ramebaae tpt 
Policy of Alexander ° ° τ ° - 22) Mediator . ; F - ΠΣ ΩΣ . 45 
Policy of ἔοιπθ. . - πὶ το, δι + 22) The Word Tn: ees, 
Universality of Christianity - - + 23) Puture State | ἢ Ὁ tae 
. Πιββοοϊδιηρ Rrncigla of old Religions + . + 231 Jewish Notion of the Messiah ᾿ Woot " 
| Fetichism : ses) Ρὺ eget ae a Messiah, National ἘΝ ele Ee 
Tsabaism hi Age vet ates FSadiu- Grecian System . 48 
ature-wors a) στο  * * 5 5} Reign of Messiah, according to Alexandrean 
Poets. Pijweyende ἃ . ““- SOE , ον 48 
Priestly Caste - + + 25) Belief different, ‘according to the Character of 
Anthropomorphism of the Greeks . ST 28 ihe’ Belicter’ τ ὙΣ κι hen ΤΊ 
Religion of Rome . » 27 Popular Belief... 4 Sy Me a 
Moral Element of Roman Religion’ o' ieSlel Bete of political Ooblusiéndeete .. Si συ 
Religion of the Jews ὲ «Ὑ28}. Birth of Christ TT 
God under the old and new Religion 38 Belief in preternatural Interpositions ; 50 
Becparapoe for new Religion in the Heathen gg | Conception and Birth 5 an the Baptist 
orld . } 
Preparation for new ‘Religion among the ‘Jews 29 ΟΝ of AY ὦ P 5 0 Saar + 
Expansion of Judaism 29} Return of Zachariah to Hebron 2 Se Ἡ ΟΣ 
Effects of eeperess of Knowledge upon Poly: Annunciation Ὁ mej. EPCTSRAT ΜΗΔΈ, 
theism on, 2 κ᾿ 29. Incarnation of the Deity ; ἐμ US ata 
εξ i beneficial 29 Birth from aMirgm ΡΣ ΤΡ τὶ et ΤῊ 
7 prejudicial 30} visit to Elizabeth ᾿ cule: Benoa REEF 
Philosophy : απ ΝΟΥ Fae FL St a Birth of John the Baptists | . . . 55 
The πούς : 39 | Journey to Bethlehem. . ε΄. Ow. (55 
Philoso a Decree of Augustus - ° 3 . 56 
: es δὰ Philosophic Systems : 32 | Birth of Christ i , 57 
Vorenis of 1 accordant to Greek Character, Simeon = his ‘Renedictiot ἃ ; 58 
~Stoicism to Roman 32, 33 | rhe Magi ΄ ἶ ee Fer enty Ties 
Academics. . - 2 083) The Magi in Jerusalem . ge ay. c -, 38 
Philosophy fatal to popular Religion * + 33) Flight into oe RD 5 Re PMS ΒΒ 
Literature : - +33) Return toGalilee . , . 59 
Future Life . ν ges 894 
Reception of Re sligions a ed a APPENDIX TO CHAPTER II. 
Poetry ceases to igious . - + 35 I. Recent Lives of Christ... : . 59 
Superstitions 35| 11. Originof the Gospels . . . « 63 
Revolution effected by Christianity 361 I[I. Influence of the more imaginative [ποὶ 
Immortality of the Soul . . 36 dents of the early Evangelic History on 
Design of this History _ . 37 the Propagation and Metateraace of 
Christianity different in Form ‘in different Pe- the Religion . ; 66 
riods of Civilization ἔξ“... 27 int 
Christianity not self- developed ἔθ 1087 


Ta. 
“ἢ 


Life of Christ necessary to ἃ gilts of <i ae 


tianity 


“ 


Sons of H 


CHAPTER IL. 
LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.---STATE OF JUDA.—THE. 


BELIEF IN THE MESSIAH. 


“ 
᾿ 


ero 


its Difficulty 
State of Judea. 


Herod the Great . 
Intrigues and Death of Antipater 


General Expectation of the Messiah 
Nature of the Belief in the Messiah 


‘The Pr 
Tradition . 


ets 


Foreign Connexions of the Jews. 


Babylonia 


on 
» 


“ 


. 


et 


1 


CHAPTER IIL. 
COMMENCEMENT OF THE FUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. 
Period to the Assumption of Public Character 68 


‘Visit to Jerusalem. 68 
Political Revolutions during the precedir, g Pe. 
riod 4 ‘ 3 a ᾿ ς . 69 
Reign of Archelaus . ; Ἔ F . 69 
Reduction to a Roman Province ; ‘ . 69 
Sanhedrin A ὃ ἧ 5, A Z . 569 
The Publicans . ᾿ 3 <> aes Ἂ . 60 
Insurrections sR dee eae 3, FF AGO 
Judas the Galilean . ᾿ : J é 70 
|} Johuthe Baptist . . : : Ἢ 
01 Baptism . ΠΝ. 
Multitudes who attend his Preaching eo Rei) 


Expectation of the Messiah . . . .- 2 


on" 


͵Ν 


. 
xii CONTENTS. ἫΝ» 
. 

Page Page 
Mysterious Language of the Baptist . 73 | Hostility of the Pharisaic Party ὸ ᾿ . 96 
i Dope of the Priesthood πηρὸν πὰς the They follow himinto Galilee . . . . 96 
¥ it} sof John. 4 . 73] New Violation of the Sabbath é 7 BOT 
Pach jority of John to Jesus : . 73) Jesus withdraws beyond the Sea of Galilee : 97 
ee stiaye. of Jesus. ον . 74] Jesus retires from public view ἃ 4 7 OF 
Temptation of Jesus 4 : . 14) Reappears at Capernaum ΡΝ : . 98 
Deputation from Jerusalem to Tobin’ ἢ Organization of his Followers. . . . 98 
Jesus designated by John as the Messiah . 16] The Twelve Apostles : : . 98 
First Disciples of Jesus ὃ Ὃς. . 77} Healing of the Centurion’s Servant J . 99 
Jesus:commences his CareerasaTeacher . ΤΊ Message of John the Baptist . 99 
First Miracle. Anti-Essenian ? : . 77| Contrast between Jesus and John the Baptist 100 
Capernaum . oh FRA alee. pe ΘΊ Depmamacs: 7k, ce ed . 101 
First Passover (A.D. 37). ΠΣ .. 78] The Pharisees demand a Sign ᾿ - 101 
Jesusat Jerusalem . : i ἃ . 18] Conduct of Jesus to his Relatives . . 101 
The Temple a Mart : =. yc τ δέν Phy SOY Pha ae Rt i. oils bb aae ah. aie are |?) 
Expulsion of the Traders Gltne Sie -@. 79) Rebukestthe Storm . ἐσ τ» 
Expectations raised by this Event .- . . 79) Destruction of the Swine Δ - a Paamapiinsy 0 
~~ Reverence of the Jews forthe Temple . . 80| The Apostlessentout . . .* . . 102 
Their Expectations vieDpene ἃ - 80] Conduct of Herod . : ᾿ ᾿ . 102 
Nicodemus. a » «  « 80] Death of John the Baptist ΔΝ νον... 
pene re neree πα Galilee . A . 103 
-. @e The Multitudes fed in the Desert . 103 
CHAPTER dite Enthusiasm of the People . 103 
PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS FROM THE FIRST TO THE| Jesusin the Synagogue of Capernaum 104 


SECOND PASSOVER. 


Departure from Jerusalem Ae 4 . 82 
John the Baptist and Herod Ὁ  . Ὁ. 82 


meas passes through Samaria Ε 4 s 82 
ostility of the Jews and Samaritans . . 82 
Samaritan Belief in the Messiah . ¢ 8a 
Samaritan Sanhedrin 3 . 84 
Second Miracle in Capernaum 2285 
Nazareth. Inhospitable Reception of Toe - 85 
Jesus in the Synagogue . 4 5 : :ἘΡ 
Violence of the Nazarenes . 86 
Capernaum the chief Residence of Jesus | 86 
Apostles chosen 2 ° . 86 
Jesus in the Synagogue of Capernaum : 86 
His Mode of Teaching different from that of | 
the Rabbins . 87 
Causes of the Hostility of the ordinary Teach- 
ers : ΕΘ 
Progress through Galilee . 3 4 . 88 
Populousness of Galilee . Ξ . «> jee 88 
Herod Antipas . . 88 
Jesus passes namdfeeted. through Galilee | 89 
Comparison with Authors of other Revolu- 
tions .. 89 
Teaches in the Synagogues and in the open 
Air 89 
Manner of his Discourses. Quotation’ from 
Jortin . 3 - A ; . 89 
Sermon onthe Mount. 90 
_ Principles of Christian Morality Not i in 1 Uni- 
son with the Age . , . 90 
Its Universality Ἢ 4 3 5 ae) 
Its original Principles. 92 
~ Conduct of Jesus with nee to his > Country- 
ΒΕ men 4 ᾿ . 92 
Healing the Leper : . 92 
_ Second Miracle : 5 aA» at Rao 
The Publicans . Ἴ 93 


_ Close of first Year of Public Life of Jesus : 93 


CHAPTER V. 
SECOND YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS, 
_ Jesus in Jerusalem (4.Ὁ. 28). ᾿. εἰδῶν, 204. 


- Change in Popular Sentiment ? Paes (94 
Breach of the Sabbath . ; : . 94 
Jewish Reverence for the Sabbath , per 04 
Healing of the Sick Man at the Pool of Beth- 
esda : ᾿ ἢ 50105 
Judicial Investigation of the Case 7 . 95 


Defence of Jesus). ᾿ 4 2905 
Second Defence of Jesus 5 ; . 96 
Difficult Position of the Sanhedrin . : . 96 


CHAPTER VI, 
THIRD YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. 


Passover (A.D. 29) . 5 . 105 
Massacre of the Galileans at the Passover 2105 
Concealment of Jesus é ᾿ ᾿ . 106 
‘The Syro-Phcenician Woman . 4 ry . 106 
Jesus still in partial Concealment , ago. 107 
Perplexity of the Apostles » a. 107 
Jesus near Caesarea Philippi . : 5 . 108 
The Transfiguration ᾿ ᾿ Ses - 108 
Tribute-money ὼ Ἢ . 109 
Contention of the Apostles 109 


Jesus commends a Child to the Imitation < of the 


Apostles - x ew . 109 
Feast of Tabernacles . A : . 109 
Jesus in the Temple at Jerusalem - . 110 
Perplexity of the Sanhedrin gece ὁ 110 
Woman taken in Adultery . . . .Ii1 
Jesus teaches inthe Temple . x ᾿ 111 
Healing the Blind Man. , ᾿ gi tungs hg 
Conduct of the Sanhedrin 4 woe. 


Jesus near Samaria . ὶ 114 
Feast of Dedication. Jesus again in Jerusalem 115 
Period between the Feast of Dedication and the 
Passover ! Ε } LG 
Raising of Lazarus . ἐδ νεν ἡ τὺ ΗΕ] 


& 


CHAPTER VII. 
THE LAST PASSOVER.—THE CRUCIFIXION. 
Last Passover (A.D. 30) . - H : . 118 


Zaccheus . F 4 118 
All Sects hostile to Jesus. ip er *S 119 
The Pharisees . 5 « Ag Or Eee 4.119 
The Lawyers .. i ee Oe 
The Sadducees PRET ik er δις . 119 
Jesus the Messiah . £ ον hae 120 
The Essenes “αἴ gy: - Fae ee? ns 121 
The Rulers © a ee Pe . 121 
Demeanour of Jesus : . 122 
Difficulty of 1 ag Arrangement τ f 109 
Jesus at Bethany ~ 122 
Jesus enters Jerusalem i in “Triumph 123 
Monday, Nisan 2 (March). SRR. ς , (253 
Acclamations in the Temple ste δ 5 
TheGreeks . + pk Oe 
Cursing the barren Fig- rue"). aha . 124 
Second Day in Jerusalem oS ae. ἊΝ 124 
The Third Day γε ie 125 
Deputation from the Rulers |, 125 
The Fourth Day 5 5 οι “: Ψ.: . 125- 


41 


ὃν 


> CONTENTS. 


Page 
The Herodians - ᾿ A ᾿ A . 125 
The Sadducees ; 2 2 r é » 126 


The Pharisees Σ " ALOE 
The Crisis in the Fate of Jesus : Ξ lot 
Jesus on the Mount of Olives . 4 . 128 


Evening View of Jerusalem and the Temple 128 
Necessity for the Destruction of the Temple . 128 
Jesus contemplates with Sadness the future 


Ruin of Jerusalem 128 
The Ruin of the Jews the Consequence of their 

Character . 129 
Immediate Causes of the Rejection of Jesus by 

the Jews Ρ 129 
Distinctness with which Jesus ‘Prophesied the 

Fall of Jerusalem ᾿ .. 130 
Embarrassment of the Sanhedrin . . 130 
Treachery and Motives of Judas. 3 130 
The Passover . ὃ ἣ ᾿ 131 
The Last Supper . : . 13] 
Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane 4 «wl 9 
Betrayal of Jesus Α : . 132 
Jesus led Prisoner to the City” : , 1809 
The High-priest . +133 
House of Annas “ τ ὁ = = + 183 
First Interragatory <i: ee «199 
Second, more public, Interrogatory . © alte: 


Jesus acknowledges himself the Messiah ; 134 
Conduct of the High-priest . - 2 . 134 
Jesus insulted by the Soldiery ΔΑΝ ρχν 
Denial of Peter 3 . 134 
Question of the Right of the Sanhedrin to in- 
flict Capital Punishment . 134 
Real Relation of the Sanhedrin to the Govern. ὁ 
ment . «135 
The Case of Jesus new and unprecedented ~ 190 
Motives of the Rulers in disclaiming their 


Power . Ἢ ᾿ % ὰ Σ . 136 
Jesus before Pilate ᾿ ᾿ ξ 2 . 136 
Remorse and Death of J udas . ἃ ὺ lea 
Astonishment of Pilate . 5 2 . 136 

Oe abr the Conduct of the 

Sanhedrin : $ re ᾿ ς ὶ ἌΣ 

Ἶ “at the Nature of the 
Chars τὰν WS Ae Gp 


The ἜΗΝ refuse to commynicate with 
Ἐπ τ from fear of legal Defilement 2 . 137 
m 


ination before Pilate 8 ὃ A 137 
Pilate endeavours to save Jesus : ᾿ «138 
Clamours of the Accusers ‘ ὃ ἢ . 138 
Jesus sent to Herod ἐ . ΗΒ 
Jesus sent back with Insult ; ὃ Ε . 138 
Barabbas ἢ c - F . 139 
Jesus crowned with Thorns x - 139 


The People demand his Crucifixion ; .. 139 
Intercession of Pilate’s Wife . : - ...139 


Last Interrogatory of Jesus. : 1 . 140 
Condemnation of Jesus . . 140 
Insults offered to Jesus by the Populace ἣν 140 


Circumstances of the Crucifixion . . 141 
The Two Malefactors z y 14) 


Spectators ofthe Execution . . . . 142 
Conduct of Jesus $ : : ὃ ᾿ . 142 
Preternatural Darkness sent ote . 142 
Death ofJesume sive’ ἰὸς ὦν 145 
Hefal of Jesus ν ae . 143 


The eo apparently at an BR. ΠΟΥ. 


4 


BOOK Il. te εὐ 
CHAPTER 1. . 
‘THE RESURRECTION, AND FIRST PROMULGATION | 
ye OF ‘CHRISTIANITY. 
Christian Doctrine of the eon τως of the 
πο τ τ ὌΠ ΑΝ 
iy 


ΧΙ 
΄ 

Effects of this Doctrine . ‘ ᾿ . ᾿ 143 
Style of the Evangelists . «ee . 146 
The Women at the Sepulchre | ew Ba. 146 
Arrival of Peter and John . 147 
First Appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdélene. 147 
Later Appearances . . 148 
Incredulity of the Apostles : its Cause » . 148 
Return of the Apostles to Galilee . - . 148 
Apostles in Judea . : 5 μ 7 . 149 
Ascension : : Ἀ ὧν. 149 
Election of a new Apostle x ges. 149 


Reappearance of the Religion of Jesus . . 150 
Disciples near the Temple. Gift of Tongues . 150 
Speech of Peter δ .. 150 
Common Fund, not Community of Goods . 151 
Conduct of the Sanhedrin " 7 A 5 151 
Second Speech of Peter . . 151 


Sadducees predominant in the ‘Sanhedrin. 152. 


Apostles before the Sanhedrin τ ΣΝ ΡΠ 


Gamaliel . τ : δ Ps “ . 152 
Institution of Deacons. . 153 
Death of the Proto- Seri ἃ ἐς D. ὮΝ . 154 
Paul of Tarsus Ν ᾿ . 155 
Paulin Arabia . ἔ . 156 
Persecution of the Jews by Caligula 3° τ 
Death of James . τ 157 
Death of Herod : oie al ST 
CHAPTER Ih ᾿ 
CHRISTIANITY AND JUDAISM. 
Progress of Christianity . 158° 
Gradual Enlargement of the Views of the 
‘Apostles : #) @enl58 
Christianity a universal Religion J 3 . 158 
External and internal Conflict of: Christianity 
with Judaism : ἕ ᾿ ς . 159 
Paul and Barnabas . 159 
Differences between Jew ‘and Gentile partially 
abrogated by Peter . : .: 159 
Cornelius : ¢ ὦ “ i . 159 
State of Judea 2 ὃ : Ξ . 160 
Paul and Barnabas Apostles Mee ts Sree . 161+ 
Cyprus. : ᾿ A . : . 161 
Sergius Paulus. 4 4 ἕ . 18} 
Jews in the City of Asia Minor. ‘ . 162 
Jewish Attachment to the Law a . . 162 
Council of Jerusalem (A.D. 4). 55.168 
Second Journey of Paul (A.D. es τ eG 
Third Journey of Paul. ὃ : . 164 
Paul i in Jerusalem (A.D. 58) . Cay . 165 
in the Temple . : ᾿ - 7 . 165 


‘* Apprehended . 4 . - . . 165 
“ before the Sanhedrin 3 3 8 . 166 


“© sent to Caesarea E ὃ A a - 166. 


« before Felix . Ὰ ὺ ἥ 3 - 166 


‘* in Prison at Cesarea ᾿ ᾿ : . 167 
« before Agrippa ᾿ Ἶ Ξ F . 167 
“ sent to Rome . seer . LER 
Martyrdom of James (A. D. 62). 3 : . 168 
Jewish War . “ - 108. 
Probable Effect of the Fal of f Jerusalem on 4) 
Christianity . - . 169 
Effect on the Jews . - - 169 | 
Jewish Attachment to the Law 3 δ ""  ὙἹΗ 
The Law . 170 
Strength of internal Judaism within the Church 
opposed by St. Paul. . 1 


Belief in the approaching End ‘of the World . 172 
| Hostility of Judaism and chet ag ΤΕ 
Mark, bishop of Jerusalem. Pec) 


CHAPTER II. 
CHRISTIANITY AND PAGANISM. 


Relationship between Judaism and Christianity 174 
Direct Opposition of Christianity to Paganism 174 
Universality of Paganism 4 πος. «115 


re 
7 


-, 


πὴ “ἢ First Period, 


at 


᾿ 
ν᾽ 


he 


4 


“ ¥ 


Christianity in C es 
Antioch ST ” 
Eaystra oo: 

Phrygia . ee. Bee 3 
τ Ξ : - ξ ᾿ ~ 


Philipp < 


+ Coitrast of Polytheism at Lystra, Philipp, and 


Athens . 
Thessalonica . 5 brn δε 
- Athens ae 
- Paul on the Arcopagis τ Ss 
» Speech of Paul εν ἃ > 
Corinth (A Ὁ. 52). “ 5 . 
Gallio (A.D. 53) - : 
Ephesus (A.D. 54) x 
Disciples of John the Baptist - 
ΠΕΡ Magic. Ὁ ew Ue 
. Jewish Exorcists 


2s eee 


¥. 


Demetrius, the Maker of Silver Shrines (A. D. 


57 7 
St. Paul leaves ‘Rome (A. Ὁ. 63) 4 
Burning of Rome (A.D. 6 


Γ 


4) 
Probable Causes which implicated the Chris- 


lans with this Event . : ῃ 
Martyrdom of Paul . - 


hg CHAPTER IV. 


‘ee Wry 


es t Great Revolutions slow and gradual 
Imperial History divided into Four Periods 


- 


wn 


; Plato 


o the Death of Nero 
Second Peric | 
Stoic Philosophers .. 
Temple Tax 


; 188 


\ CHRISTIANITY TO CLOSE OF FIRST CENTURY. — 
CONSTITUTION OF CHRISTIAN CHURCHES. 


| to the’ Accession of Tralee 


Change in the Condition and Dstinna tii oft the 


Jews after the War 


The Descendants of the Brethren of our Lord 


brought before the ‘l'ribunal 
Flavius Clemens 


: Sli 
Legends of the Missions of the Apostles into 


different Countries 
Death of St. John 
Constitution of Christian ‘Churches 


Model of, the Synagogue 


' Christian Churches formed from, and on the 
4 


Essential Difference between the Church and 


Synagogue 


Christian Church formed round an Individual 


Authority of the aid x 
The Presbyters 
Church of Corinth an exception 


CHAPTER V. 


CHRISTIANITY AND ORIENTALISM. 


Oriental Religions 


~ Religion 
Judaism . ͵ 
General Character of Orientalism ; 
- Purity of Mind. Malignity of Matter 
The universal Primary Principle 
Source of Asceticism . : 


' Celibacy . 


“ 


Rome ᾽ » 
Orientalism in Western Asia . 


. Situation of Palestine favourable ‘for a new 

J ἢ . + . 200 
. 200 
. 200 
. 200 
. 200 
- 201 
. 201 
- 202 
- 202 
. 202 


unknown in Greece and Rome 


Combination of Orientalism with Christianity. 


Simon Magus . 


“ 
{ 
“ 


“ 
{ 


his Helena 


Probability of his History - is 
Gnosticism connects’ itself with Christianity 


his real Character and Tenets - 
. 205 
. 205 
. 206 


185 


. 199 


- 203 
203 

204 
205 


͵ 


CONTENTS. . 


“9 


Page 

Ephesus . : ᾿ 4 5 . 206 
St John: his Gospel δ δ he MRR ee 

‘| Nicolaitans  . by ES 2 ee ae 
Cerinthus 2 : . = Ὁ «207 
Later Gnostics : ok &, 208 
The primal Deity of ‘Gnosticism ote ΜΕΝ 
The Pleroma , ; J Ξ 5 . 208 
The Aon Christ . a 4 Ν ὃ . 208. 
Malignity of Matter ᾿ . ot $e 

"| Rejection of the Old Testament . 208 
ἐν of some Parts of the New . 209 
Saturninus ἐ 3 4 ἃ . 209 


Alexandrea ᾿ ᾿ ‘ 
Basilides . ε Ρ 
Valentinus 4 5 
Bardesanes oan ᾿ 
Marcion of Pontus . 3 
Varieties of Gnosticism . 
Gnosticism not popular 
conciliatory towards Paganism: 


CHAPTER VI. 


CHRISTIANITY DURING THE PROSPEROUS PERIOD 
OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE, 


©, es BL a πον, ὦ 
cee 8 @ © © @ 
δ: 

w 


Roman Emperors at the Commencement of the 


Second Century Ξ . 21} 
Characters of the Emperors favourable to the 
Advancement of Chnistianity rer τ (2 
rote Emperor (A.D. 98-116) 4 3 218 
rian Emperor (A.D. 117-138), 218 
Nitoinng Pius Emperor (A.D. 138-161) 218. 
Christianity in ee and the adjacent ἘΠῸ 
1η0658. . . ὃ - 218 
Letter of Pliny = Ξ Ξ - - . 219 
Answer of Trajan . 4 . 219 
The Jews not averse to Theatrical Amuse. 
ments . 3 2 = . 220. 
Christians abstain from them . 
Their Danger on Occasions of Politial itor 
—cings . 
| Probable connexion of the Persecution under 
. Pliny with the State of the East . . 22] 
Hadrian Emperor (A.D. 117). Mir 1 He . 222 
Character of Hadrian . 222 
Hadrian’s Conduct towards Christianity” . 223 


Hadrian incapable of understanding Cogan: 


ity mS 
Antoninus Pius Emperor ὯΝ D. 138) Ὗ τὰ 


“ CHAPTER VIL 
CHRISTIANITY AND MARCUS AURELIUS: THE PHI- 
LOSOPHER. oe 


Three Causes of the Hostility of Marcus Aure- 


lius and his Government to Christianity . 225) 
1.. Altered Position of Christianity in regard to 
Paganism. 
Connexion of Christianity with the Fall ri the 
Roman Empire ." 226 
Tone of some Christian Writings confirmatory 
of this Connexion ὃ 6 . 226 
The Sibylline Books “31 


2. Change in the Circumstances of the Times 229 


Terror of the Roman World . . ~ 4 5230 
3. The Character of the Emperor . 
Priv Se aig of the Aprperor in his Med- 

i 231 
Calamities Empire (A. Ἢ 166) 2 232 
Christian Martyrdoms — . ᾿ . 232 
Perse fin Asia Minor . . . ©. 233 
Polycai » 233 
Miracle of the Thundeting Legion . . + 235 
Martyrs of Vienne (A.D.177). «ws. 236 
Martyrdomof Blandina . . . « . 237 


Ψ. 


+ 


é 


CHAPTER VIII. 


FOURTH PERIOD. CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SUC- 
-CESSORS OF MARCUS‘AURELIUS, Pag 
Fourth Period . 
i Succession of ‘Emperors (A. D. 1804284) 338 
curity of the Throne favourable to Christi- 


a 


anity : . 238 
Causes of Persecutions during this Period . 238 
Commodus (A.D. 180-193) . 239 

eign of Severus (A. D. 194-210) . 240 

cy of Caracalla ὃ . 240 
Peaceful Conduct of the Christians’ . 240 

ersecutionin the East . . 240 
Ghristianity not persecuted in the West.  , 940 
Probable Causes of en . 240 
ie SiN Mana 
Africa . kal ΥΨΥΜΉ 0 
African Chiistianity . ait A τῷ 242 
Montanism 3 = ω : 242 
Vande of Tertullian ξ - 243 

artyrdom of Perpetua and Felicitas 243 
Caracalla. Geta(A.D.21]-217) . . 246 
Elagabalus Emperor (A D. 218). 246 
Worship of the Sun in Rome . . 247 


Religious Innovations meditated by Flagabalus 247 


Alexander Severus Emperor (A.D. 222 δε . 248 
Change . 248 
hange in the Relation of ‘Christianity to Soci- 
5 ὃ . 248 
First Christian Churches 248 
Influence of Christianity on Heathenism 249 
Change in Heathenism . 5 249 
Paganism becomes serious . . . . 250 
Apollonius of ‘Tyana 3. uaa Aes - 250 
PPornynus ἀπ τολν τς 3 . 250 
Life. of Pythagoras . ἘΠ fam \ EP BSS 
Philosophic τὰκ τ not ‘popular ὃ + 250 
Maximin (A.D. 23. . - 251 
Gordian (A.D. 338 445 4 ° . : . 251 
Philip (A.D. 244): . ᾿ ὃ ἘΠ» τι 
Secular Games) A.D. 247) . Ἐπ - « B51 
Decius (A.D. 249-251) . ὃ . 251 
Causes of the Decian Persecution . ᾿ 251 
Fabianus, bishop of Rome - 2/252 
Enthusiasm of Christianity less strong > 4 ¥262 
Valerian (A.D. 254) . ᾿ Ἶ 3 . 252 
ape op of Carthage ° ες τῶν . 253 
; ᾿ arthage . : . 25 
Cor om of Cyprian and the Christians ἐς, 254 
Cyprian’ 8 Retreat oa! #1264 
Return to Cartha ge . . 25 
Miserable Death of the’ Persuators of Christi- 
anity . : . . 25. 
Gallienus alone’ (A. D. 260) Bi ite ek OR AMS 
Aurelian (A.D.271-275) . 2 2-2 ss 26 
‘Paulof Samosata .  . .« « «+ «256 
CHAPTER IX. 
THE PERSECUTION UNDER DIOCLESIAN. 
i of the Christians (A.D. 284): . ὁ 257 
Τόσα of Christianity . - eager ΟΥ; 
ation of Christian Morals. 257 
“ of Christian Charity . . « 257 
Dioclesian » 258 
Change in the State of the Empire . 258 
Neglect of Rome . . at | aed . 258 
deen of Dioclesian rm SO ὁ 
lew Paganism aes ᾿ Sit αι . 259 
V Aa of the Sun. F . 260 
nt 3 260 
δ + 261 
. 261 
. . 261 
oe 908 


CONTENTS : 


# 


xv 


Edict of a its Execution in Nico- ae 


media . t . 262 

ue a ‘torn down . 262 
Fire in the Palace at Nicomedia Ρ . 262 
The Persecution becomes general 263 


Illness and Abdication of Dioclesian (A.D. 304) Bt 
General Misery εἶ 264 


Galerius, emperor of the Bast oe Ne 
Maximin Daias a a a 264 
Maxentius* .° . . 7 : 264 
Constantine. ‘ . 264 
Sufferings of the Christians. 265 
Edict of Galerius (A.D, 311, April 30) 265 
Conduct of Maximin inthe East . 266 
Maximin hostile to Christianity 266 
Reorganization of Paganism. 267 
Persecutions in the Dominions of Maximin 207 - 


The Pagans appeal to the flourishing State of 


the East in support of μιν ἘΝ : 267 
Reverse 5 268 
Tyranny of Maximin > 3 : : 268 
War with Armenia . " ee τ . 268 
Famine . Σ : 4 Β ᾿ . 268 
Pestilence β = . 268 
Maximin retracts his persecuting Edict . . 269 
Death of Maximin Boge ye 
The new Paganism falls with. Maximin ey 269 


Rebuilding of the Church of Tyre .. . . 269 


shay ν 
BOOK IIL 

CHAPTER ΝΡ 

CONSTANTINE, 
Reign of Constantine 3 j ‘ P 271 
Change inthe Empire. Υ ἃ 271 
Degradation of Rome «, 27% 
Unity of the Empire still preserved « 271 
New Nobility . 272 
State of the Rehielth of Rome. . 272 
Motives for the Conversion of Constantine 272 
Revival of Zoroastrianism es 


Restoration of the Persian M onarchy by Ardes- 


chir Babhegan . . 274 
_| Restoration of the Religion of Zoroaster 274 
Vision of Erdiviraph : 274 
Intolerance of the Magian “Hierarchy Ἶ 274 
Destruction of Christianity in Persia ends 
_| Connexion of the Throne and the Hierarchy . 275 
Armenia the first Christian Kingdom 22 
Gregory the Illuminator . .  . Ὁ 276 
Murder of Khosrov . : λ Df 276 
Tiridates, king of Armenia ὃ 5 276 
‘Persecution of Gregory 277 
‘Conversion of the King RICHES Ὡς 277 
Persecution by the oe pa Ck 277 
‘Manicheism =. Ἀ - NR Sit 
‘Mani : : 277 
« yarious Sources of his Doctrines 277 
«his Paintings . a = . 278 
« his Life and Opinions 279 
« “his Death , : 282 
«Propagation of his Religion ᾿ 282 
Triumph of Christianity . , 283° 
Numbers of the Christians . 283 


Different State of the East with nears t tothe 


Propagation of Christianity . . 284 
ἴέ of the West ᾿ . 284 

End of the Persecutors of Christianity 285 
War of Constantine against Maxentius f 285 
Religion of Maxentius . . . - 285 
‘His Paganism . ἄν Mode ἡ Ὁ 286 
Religion of Constantine . , . Ὁ 287 


‘Vision of Constantine . . « « 4 287 


at 
» > 


“ei ¥ ν A 


* “Page 
Conduct of Constantine after his May over . 


Maxentius 
ict of Constantine from Milan. ξ ϊ 
‘Earlier Laws of Constantine 
ictityof the Sunday . . . ; 
against Divination . 
Constantine’s Encouragement ‘of Christianity 


. 288 
289 


- 289 
. 289 


. 290 
290 


Churches in Rome . i Ἶ . 290 
Dissensions of Christianity . A 4 . 291 
Donatism . . 291 


The Christian ‘Hierarchy different from the 
Pagan Priesthood . F 
The Traditors . ᾿ 
. Contest for the See of Carthage 


. 291 
« 292 
. 292 


Appeal to the Civil Power.» «ee 2:98 
Council of Rome . 2 : F . 293 
. Donatists persecuted Εν 
The Circumcellions . . . . . 295 
Passion for Martyrdom . Ὁ . ate te ery) 
CHAPTER II. 

CONSTANTINE BECOMES SOLE EMPEROR. 
The East still Pagan εν... . 296 
Clerical Order recognised by the Law . 297 
Exemption from the Decurionate « 297 
Wars with Licinius . . 297 
Licinius becomes more decidedly Pagan . 298 
Battle of Hadrianople (A.D. 323) . 299 
Conduct of Constantine to his Enemies . . 299 
Crispus, son of Constantine . ott 800 
Death of Crispus (April, A.D. 396). Ἶ . 300 
Death of Fausta : Samir 310] 
Pagan Account of the Death of Crispus ‘ . 301 

CHAPTER III. 
_ FOUNDATION OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 

Rise of ee favourable to Christi- 
anity . . ἦ . 303 
Constantinople : a Christian City ἤν ΡΠ 15) 
se ‘Building of the City : este 
“Ceremonial of the ΕΝ . 304 
Statue of Constantine : ms i . 305 
Progress of Christianity . . : A . 305 
The Amphitheatre . 306 
Ancient Temples . 306 
» Basilicas . . 307 


Relative Position of Christianity and Pa ganism 
Temples suppressed Ὰ , 


308 


. 308 


Christianity at Jerusalem . 308 
Churches built in Palestine . 309 
. CHAPTER IV. 
TRINITARIAN CONTROVERSY. 
Origin of the Controversy 310 


Constant Struggle between the intellectual 
and devotional Conception of the Deity 
Controversy commences at Alexandrea . 


« 31 
. 312 


Noetus : ᾿ 5 i 6 ἼΔΕ} 
Sabellianism . ᾿ ; : Ἵ Ἴ . 312 
Trinitarianism . 4 SplZ 
Alexander, patriarch of Alexandrea ᾿ 318 
Arius 5 ἄ 1313 
δ Letter of Constantine . . 2.) 0814 
Council of Nice (A.D. 325). ὃ ’ . 315 
ontroversy about keeping Easter . A pale 
umber of Bishops present . - 4 . 315 
First Meetings of the Council . . 316 
Behaviour of Constantine - 5 . 316 
MWacene Cre€d, . 1} Ὁ wn Se . 316 
Five Recusants : Ὅν τ «317 
Banishment of Arius wr B17 
Change in the Opinions of Constantine»). 317 
Eusebius of Nicomedia . . . #318 


CONTENTS. : 


x ‘ * 


Conduct of the Arian κου in Antioch A.D. 
328) i aes ‘ " st i , 318 


Athanasius. 4 δ mn ats 
Charges against τος a ee: |, MO. 
Synod of Tyre (A.D. 335) we Gea . 320 
Athanasius in ee nentioals 3 "De ie 920 
New Accusations . _ ») ARR AD 
Death of Sopater, the Philesopher SY hook 
Banishment of Athanasius to Treves uty D. 336, 
February) . ; δ τ 9.9 ἢ 
Arius in Constantinople SERGE MRA arc 
Death of Arius. c A 4 Β .« 321 
Baptism of Constantine . 3 = 5 . 322 
Extent to which Paganism was suppressed . 322 
Legal Establishment of Christianity ὁ | iw 324 
Effects of this on the Religion a hirey Wise 
Ke Civil Power . 324 
ον; he the Religion of the Empire : . 324 
Effect of the legal Establishment of Christian- 
ity on Society 5 . : ἃ . 325 
Laws relating to Sundays” Pe day aac An covet oes 
tending to Humanity ἀν ΝΌΣΦΙΝ 
“concerning Slavery 3 Ἢ ἕ 3326 © 
“against Rape and Abduction. . . 326, 
‘¢ against Adultery . i : pee Pa 
“concerning Divorce 5 ᾿ 5 . B27 
“against Pederasty . ᾿ SEY 
“against making of Eunuchs , Wh) 329) 
“ favourable toCelibacy . .  . ©. 327 
Burial of Constantine 5 3 Ε . 328 
Conversion of Aithiopia . 4 é F . 328 
2 oftheIberians/ . . τους . 329 
CHAPTER V. Me 


CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE. © 


Accession of the Sons of Constantine. . 329 
Religious Differences of the two surviving Sons 330 


Moral more slow than Religious Revolution . 330 
Athanasius : . 331 
Restoration of Athanasius to Alexandrea (A. D. 

338) ΐ 3 332 
Council of Antioch (A.D. 341). 54 332 
Athanasius flies to Rome Z : 332.) 
Usurpation of Gregory 3 4 . 333 
Bloody Quarrel at Constantinople oye 333 
Effects of the Trinitarian ), Conon in the’ el, 

West. ΐ 2 Sin. tates 
Athanasius at Rome. ; : **; "834 
Julius, bishopof Rome . θάψας, 
Synod at Rome: at Milan (A. D. 343) 334. 
Council of Sardica (A.D. 345, 346). 334. 

Rival Council at Philippopolis 334 
Reconciliation of Constantius with Athanasius 

(A.D. 349). 5 Ξ " : 334 
Persian War . Ἴ Aira 335 
Death of Constans . 335 
War with Magnentius (A.D. 351) | 335 
Battle of Mursa A 335 
Paul deposed from the Bishopric of Constanti- 

nople : Macedonius reinstated 335 
Councils of Arles and Milan ; 336 
Persecution of Liberius, bishop of Rome 336 
New Charges against Athanasius . . 336 Κ᾿ 
Council of Milan. . A F 336 
Fall of Liberius 4 4 . 337 

“ of Hosius . Ἐ 337 
Reception of Constantius at Rome . 337 
Orders to remove Athanasius . ". 337 


Tumult in the Church of Alexandrea 

George of Cappadocia. 3 
Escape and Retreat of Athanasius . ὺ. 
Hilary of Poictiers . > ἢ Β δ 


Lucifer of Cagliari . awe 340 
Mutual Accusations of Cruelty . Fa Deis SY ἢ 
Athanasius asa Writer . . δ β . 341 

« 


! 


va ει. ἢ Υ 
* 
4. Ἢ fo.) ,α'. 
᾿ 
Page a ᾿ 
4 Necessity of Creeds si the be Cruelty of Valentinian . αὐ i n'y 366 ᾿ 
~~ Centuries 342 | Trials in Rome before Maximin a, 366 M 
Influence of the Athanasian Controversy on the Connexion of these crimes with Paganism . 367 ~ 
Growth of the Papal Power Τὰ Ge . 342 | Rebellion of Procopius in the East (A.D. 365) 367 aed 
εν, Superiority of Arianism . δὰ hs . 343 | State of Christianity m the East ᾿ς, 369 
he Heresy of Aetius rey «ihe . 343 | Interview of Valens with Basil : . 370 
of Macedoni oe oye ἐγ . 343 | Effects of Christianity in padgeting the Evile.. 
_ one of Rimini ΦΉΣ Οὐ 6 . 344) οἵ Barbarism ; τ ‘ . 370 
ἂν, τ Page of the Clery Jam 06.711 
᾿ eir Importance in the new State δ Ings 371 
P CHAPTER VI. Influence of Christianity on Literature . ο. 371 
ἘΣ ἔν. mn a se on Language . 372 
Ti ἐς 
Short Reign of Julian (A.D, 861-363) . 345 eg useing In- 
His Character . 5 «ἀν ἦν. . 345 stitutions Ἢ ἄς Ή912 
His Religion . : ella me 346 Influence of Christianity on general ‘Habits. 372 = 
- Unfavourable State of Re "1 347 | Early Christianity among the Goths es 
Ulphilas’s Version of the Scriptures . 313 
Julian’s Education . . 347 f th G th 374 
“Intercourse with the βμῃρωριοῖες | 348 | Arianism of the Goths . ἢ 
Conduct of Constante tc shim. . 349 > 
Julianat Athens —. ἐν eye tee CHAPTER VIII. 
_ “ initiated at El el B40 THEODOSIUS. ABOLITION OF PAGANISM. 
Julian's Elevation to. 4 aes of Cesar . - 350 | Hostility of Theodosius to Paganism BRR) ὩΣ, 
.  Deathof Constantius” . . - - 350 | Alienation of the Revenue of the Pewiee 276, Ὁ" 
Conduct of Julian . ©. - 350 | Oration of Libanius : mn Ὰ 
Restoration of Paganism . + 365 Syrian Temples destroyed y 377 ἐ Υ͂ 
Julian’s new Priesthood . 352 | Temple of Serapis at Alexandrea . . . 317 ᾿ 
“charitable Institutions imitated “from Worship of Serapis. . . . . 378 
Christianity. . . .  «. ©. |. 353| Statue of Serapis . eda > HOTS, 
Julian’s Ritual. . - +»  « «+ 358) The first Attacks on Paganism ἥ . 378 
‘«. Respect for Temples - + 353 | Olympus the Philosopher eateries |! s OLS 
« ~ Pfan of Religious Instruction ὃ . 353 | War in the City ᾿ς - ᾿ y cae) t 370 
“animal Sacrifices : : . . 353 | Flight of Olympus . ἥ = eee (31379 
Philosophers . =. + «© + - 354 | Rescript of Theodosius μι sabia BO 
Maximus . Be a a Ye - 354) The Temple assailed ehy Aj ae adie SEO 
ξ Tulian’s ΤΟΙ γα δα ἢ 60>. 995. ἘΠ 6 Statues. ὁ τ ee ea ee 
» sarcastic Tone. - 355 | Paganism at Rome . i eek, SPR reLaee 
© Taunts of the Christians? Professions Gratian Emperor (A.D. 367) Abad 381 
δ _ of Poverty. + + 355 “refuses the Pontificate a, Was 382 
Julian’s Withdrawal ‘of their Privileges ᾿ - 356 | Statue of Victory ἧ ; ἢ . 382 
Exclusion of them from public Seraticn - 356 | Apology of Symmachus . , ᾿ i 384 
’ Education of the higher Classes - 356| Reply of Ambrose . ᾿ 384 
Arts of Julian to undermine Christianity | . 357 | Murder of Valentinian (A. D. 805) Paar tie . 385 
Persecutions . : 4 F - 991 Accession of Eugenius 3 f Ὁ 385, 
Restoration of Temples ἘΠ τὸ Law of Honorius e ῇ Ρ νὴ 3 6 
“ Julian contends on ill-chosen Ground . 358 Capture of Rome by Alaric uae. a 3 τ 
Constantinople. ! Antioch : ὃ . 358 ' 
Julian at Antioch . : 7 J . 358 I \ 
iAtemple on Mount Casius. Grove of Daphne 359 eee φῳ 
Remains of Babylas : ‘ . ., 359 | THEODOSIUS. TRIUMPH OF TRINITARIANISM. THE 
Fire in the new-built Temple. . . . 359 GPE, Peer oe. THE EAST. 
A Alexandrea.. ἐπε φ ἘΠ} eo ὧν. 5591} Orthodoxy Theodosius oi ee 888 
ἥδ, George, the Arian Bishop . 359 | Laws against Heretics (A.D. 380) . . 388 
. His Death ean . 360 | All the more powerful ecclesiastical Writers fa- 
Athanasius ᾿ : ὁ . 860 vourable te Trinitarianism . . . 389 
Death of Mark of Atethusa Ὁ . . «361 Theophilus of ΕΊΕΧΘΗΠΗΣ, Bishep’ (A. D. 385- 
Julian courts the Jews + 361;} 115} ὁ, ' «| 988 
“determines to rebuild the Temple at Je- St. Ephrem, the Syrian ) .« 290 
rusalem ~ see oe eee oe” κάθα] ἡ Cappadnerm ΧΗ . 391 
Writings of Julian . οὐ τὶ αν Wat SOeA SMEs ΔΕ gy ᾽ς de, a lata τὸν ΦΉΣ 
His Work against Christianity . 362 | Gregory of Nazianzum . : é . 392 
The  Misopogon” . - 363 | His Poems gy bee 
Julian sets forth on his Persian Expedition . 363 | Characteristic Difference eee Greek and 
Death of Julian : . 303) Christian Poetry . . 392 
“ Probable petite of his. Conflict with Christi- Value of Gregory’s Poems : . 393 
᾿ ᾿ ἈΠ. ἢ . 304 | Gregory, bishop of Sasima (A.D. 372) . 393 
_ | Gregory, aid of Panspe pany: A.D. 339- 
» 379 ; . . . ἄν. 393 
CXAPTER ὙΠ: ι ee " : ἃ = . Ts, 306 
VALENTINIAN AND VALENS. “ ἐπε 2 Sy a, ΝΥ ΠΩΣ 
_ Lamentations of the Pagans at the Death of Riots in Antioch 4 . 397 
Julian . ἃ ΓΕ ᾿ . . 364 | Intercession of Flavianus for the Rioters . 397 
Reign of Jovian ᾿ . 805 | Sentence of Theodosius . . 398 
Valentinian and Valens . . 365 | Issue of the Interview of Flavianus with the 
τς Toleration of Valentinian (A. D. - 264) .365| Emperor. . 398 
Laws of Valentinian . 365 eae δὶ bishop ‘of Constantinople (A.D. 
. 365 aif) nn! owaies tr ti ti 390) 


Persecutions τι Magic 


- 


ἡ 
xviii , CONTENTS. om 
, ᾿ Page ἫΝ Page 
Difference of the Sacerdotal Power in Rome Life of Jerome Re ae A ie ἃ . 433 
and Constantinople ᾿ς 5 399 | Trials in his Retreat $8 4 3 ἃ . 433 
Political Difficulties of Chrysostom . 399 | His classical Studies a ἊΣ ESE 
Interference of the Clerey in secular cane . 399 | His Return to Rome : . o4) chases 
Eutropius the Eunuch ~ : 400 Morality of the Roman Clergy, ovens ye ABE 
Right of Asylum™— . 400 | Jerome’s Influence over the females 434 
Chrysostom saves the Life of Eutropius | 401 | Character of Roman Females auth καὶ 435 
“ is governed by his Deacon Sera- Paula ; 4 , 4 . 435 
pion . «401 | Controversies of Jerome... .. 435 
Cheophilus a Alexandrea . 402 | Retreat to Palestine. . . . . 435 
Council of the Oak . ; : . 402 | Jovinian and Vigilantius . : 436 
Condemnation of Chrysostom . 403 | Vigilantius 5 ὲ 4 Ὰ τ 437 
He leaves Constantinople . 403 
Kelumta ch , . 403 a 
. Returm of C rysostom ὃ ; : . 403 
le the Empress. R . 404 % BOOK IV. 
ee ἊΣ ἫΝ οἵ Chrysostom τ . 404 
Tumults in the Church (A.D. sss - . 404 CHAPTER I. 
Chrysostom surrenders . - . 405] * THE ROMAN EMPIRE UNDER CHRISTIANITY. 
His Seclusion and Death 405 | General Survey of the euige stented by 


His Remains transported to Constantinople 


ν Fe So CHAPTER X, 
THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST. 


Ambrose, archbishop of Milan 5 

his Youth ᾿ 

is made bishop (A.D. 374) 

an Advocate of Celibacy . 3 
his Redemption of Captives 


", 


“cc 


compels the Emperor to yield . 


Maximus. 
Accession of Theodosius (A. D. 338) 
Jewish Synagogue destroyed . 
Conduct of Ambrose : 
Massacre of Thessalonica (A. D. 390) 


First Capital Punishment for speek) ie D. of Sacerdotal Power . . . .  . 444 
385). Ὁ ᾿ . 419} Language of the Old Testament . . . 445 
Priscillian and his Followers . + . (415) Clergy and Laity. - 445 
Martin of Tours > . 413 | Change in the Mode of electing the Priesthood 446 
Death of Valentinian (A. D. 392) - . 413 | Metropolitan Bishops . . - . 446 
“of Theodosius (A.D. 3905). Η . 413] Formation of the Diocese . . . ᾿ . 446 
“of Ambrose Ge D. ὅπ}: ον 4}83] Chorepiscopi . on. > eae 
Augustine . ‘ } . 413 | Archbishops and Patriarchs ‘ R 447 
Augustinian Theology Yon Τὰ 410 Church of Rome . «τς, « «  . 447 
Augustine’s Batitiate (A. D. on ee” ὰ 417} New sacred Offices. @ . « . . 448 » 
“ controversial Writings. . 418 | Unity of the Church a ye, Nol) ἐν 448 
a “City of God”. . 418] General Councils . A ‘ ἢ . . 448 
“ Life and Character 419| {Increase in Pomp . ᾿ - : . . 449 
Wealth of the Clergy . ἘΠ 450 
CHAPTER XI. Uses to which it was applied . . 450. Ἡ 
Law of Constantine empowering the Church 
’ _ JEROME. THE MONASTIC SYSTEM. to receive Bequests a a eee 
Jerome EMAAR) ob γον 420 | Restrictive Edict of Valentinian ν he ish See oe 
Mopachism, 3 νὸς : 422 | Pope Damasus . . 451 
Coenobitism . ὧν ree ἐς 422 | Application of Church Wealth ain Samat ye GOL 
rigin of Monachism F δ 422 | Celibacy of the Clergy Ἴ ᾿ 2 ° . 452 
Celibacy . 423} Married Bishopsand Clergy . . . - 453 
Causes ἰδ tended to promote Monachism + 423 | Moral Consequences of Celibacy . 453 
tony ὲ 2 Σ 5 . 424 | Mulieres subintroducte . 454 
zemonology . F 7 425 | Union of Church and State. . 454 
Self-torture . ; . iz + . 426] The State under Heckgeyest Discipline . 456 
“Influence of Antony . ina 426|Divore . .  . - a hp ΘΝ - ΘΙ͂Ν 
Cenobitic Establishments A 427 | Wills S00 ey yi! 
Dangers of Cenobitism . . . 427 | Penitential Discipline Se εἰ ΩΣ 5351" 
Bigotry . 2 ᾿ é ‘ . - 428! Excommunication . σον ἐμ μά oy * 4588 “(ὦ 
Fanaticism F ὁ + 428] Synesius . τς 459 
Ignorance . 428 | Ecclesiastical Censures chiefly confined to Her- 
General Effects of Monachism on Christianity 429) esy " O. ἂν 
: * ce on Political Af- “ “cc executed by’ the State ἂν» 
fairs 43 ᾿ Ξ - 429 | Civil Punishment for Ecclesiastical Offences , 400 
Some of its Advantages : - 430 | Objects of the great Defenders of the Hierar- ἡ ai 
Effect on the Maintenance of Christianity - 430] chical Power 5 . 461 
_ Influence on the Clergy ἱ ge 1.9] Dignity and Advantages of the Clerical Station 461 
“in promoting Celibacy. + + 482] General Influence of the Clergy . . . 462, | 
ἃ δὼ a ? " ᾽ ΝΣ 
AAS “ ‘ 
ee ‘ ὃ " 
; εὐ 
᾿ “ age Me 
ἀκ τὶ = 
See Ay υ 
ν ἋΣ 


disputes with the Empress Justina . 


his second Embassy to the Usurper 


. 405 Christianity . ᾿ : 


Sources of Information : ἢ : . 438 
‘Theodosian Code 3 Ἢ : . 438 
Christian Writers. + hes . - . 438 

4068] Slavery . . . . . . 438 
406 | Manners of the ‘Court “ ° Β . 439 
407 | Government of Eunuchs . ὃ oer . 439 
407| The Emperor . J ° . ᾿ . . 439 
407 | The Aristocracy 5 A . . . . 440 
408 | Their Manners ἃ < . . . 440 

. 409 | The Females . 441 
Gradual Development of the Hierarchical Pow. P 

. 410 er . . ς . 442 
. 41] | Expulsion or Excommunication A a . 443 
. 411 | Increase of Priestly Civil Influence . 443 
. 411 | The Bishop in the early Community 444 


Dissensions in the Church the cause of Increase 


. 438° 


τς, 


CHAPTER II. 
PUBLIC SPECTACLES. 


_ Public Spectacles 


" 


. 


“ Religious Ceremonial 


Divisions of the Church . 


The Porch © 

The Penitents . 

The Narthex . 
.The Preacher . 


Secrecy of the Sacraments 


“ Baptism 
Eucharist 


Christian Funerals > 
Worship of the er 


Festivals . 


Profane Spectacles F 


Heathen Calendar 
The Theoretica 


Four Kinds of Spectacles 


Gymnastic Games 


_ Tragedy and Comedy 


Mimes 
Pantomimes 


8 2 2 6? » δὰ 


Amphitheatre. ee Shows 


The Circus. Chariot Races 


CHAPTER III. 
5 CHRISTIAN LITERATURE, 
_ Fate of Greek Literature and Language 


. 


-_.* Βοιηδὴ Literature and Language 
Christian Literature 


Poetry 

Bacio Writings 
Legends . 
Spurious Gospels 
Lives of Saints 
History . : 
Apologies. . 
Hermeneutics . 


fy 


r 


+ ee 
CONT 3 N T S. } 4 xix 
! ΜῊΝ of Faith ἃ = 4 ᾿ 483 
sbi " Saek Writings . Hy Jae : 483 
* re hristian Oratory τς δ Ne 483 
ἐν Ἶ of 
463 
. 463 CHAPTER IV. 
. 464 CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS. 
pe Mine AAT ok. ats 
- 464 | architecture i δ He . 486 
464 | Windows . ae 486 
- 465 | Subdivisions of. the Church J ‘ 486 
466 Sculpture | Ὁ oy MAR an 487 
460) Symbolism AGS » . . 489 
. 467 eo of the Saviour : F . 490 


Earliest Images Gnostic . P 
Earliest Portraits of the Saviour . 


> 


The Father rarely represented 
The Virgin . om te ae 
The Apostles. oe 
Martyrdom not represented 


- 


oe © © © © & © "»- 
~ 
[19] 
ΓΝ 


The Crucifix . 3 ὦ = ͵ 495 
Paintings at Nola . 3 os ee 495 
Music ὃ : i 2 - 7 . 496 
ΟΗΑΡΤΕΕν 
CONCLUSION. Ἧ 


Christian Theology of the Period τὰ ᾽ 
Separation of Christian Faith and Christian 


Morals never complete.. ὃ ᾿ . 499 
Christian Feelings never extinct . . 499 
Mythic Age of Christianity νος - 500 
Faith ° - 500 
Imaginative State of the Human Mind 
The Clergy . : i “ 501 


πότ, impressions . ΡΨ 
Effect on Natural Philosophy . τ, 
Polytheistic Form of Christianity . 
Worship of Saints and An ἢ 
“ofthe Virgin τῷ δ. . 


e 8 © Bie © « co Se 
tn © 
σι 
Θ 
i) 


Teter, 
ἢ 


‘ee 


γι ρεκλιρίνν 


3 


sf 


4 : 

εξ 

- HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
" CHAPTER I. 


* 
ΚΣ 


“ 


“| 
) ἢ 


5" 


INTRODUCTION.—STATE AND VARIOUS FORMS OF PAGAN RELIGION, AND OF PHILOSOPHY. 


Tue reign of Augustus Cesar is the 
Era of most remarkable epoch in the his- 
Augustus tory of mankind. For the first 
Cesar. time, a large part of the families, 
tribes, and nations, into which the human 
race had gradually separated, were united 


manent social system. The older Asi- 
atic empires had, in general, owed their 
rise to the ability and success of some ad- 
-venturous conqueror; and, when the mas- 
ter-hand was withdrawn, fell asunder, or 
were swept away to make room for some 
new kingdom or dynasty, which sprang 
up with equal rapidity, and in its turn ex- 
perienced the same fate. The Grecian 
monarchy established by Alexander, as 


though it shared in the Asiatic principle of 


vast and sudden growth and as rapid de- 
cay, broke up at his death into several 
conflicting kingdoms ; yet survived in its 
influence, and united, in some degree, 
Western Asia, Egypt, and Greece into one 
political system, in which the Greek lan- 
guage and manners predominated. But 
the monarchy of Rome was founded on 
principles as yet unknown ; the kingdoms, 
which were won by the most unjustifiable 
aggression, were, for the most part, gov- 
erned with a judicious union of firmness 
and conciliation, in which the conscious 
strength of irresistible power was temper- 
ed with the wisest respect to national 


usages. The Romans conquered like sav- 
ages, but ruled like philosophic states- 
-men.* ‘Fill, fr-m the Euphrates to the 


_ Atlantic,’from ἢ 6 shores of Britain, and 
the borders of th 5 German forests, to the 

sands of the Af ican Desert, the whole 
. Western world w \s consolidated into one 


—_ - ὦ" ὁ 

* Onthe captureof city, promiscuous massacre 
was the general order, which descended even to 
brute animals, until a ceztain signal.—Polyb., x., 
15. As tothe latter point, I mean, of course, the 
general policy, not the local tyranny, which was so 
often exercised by the individual provincial governor. 


under a vast, uniform, and apparently per- | 


great commonwealth, united by the bonds 
of law and government, by facilities of 
communication and commerce, and by the 
‘general dissemination of the Greek and 
Latin languages. 

For civilization followed in the train 


ty of her martial temperament Mization. 

|seemed to have spent itself in the civil 
wars: the lava flood of her ambition had 
cooled; and, wherever it had spread, a 
rich and luxuriant vegetation broke forth. 
At least down to the time of the Anto- 
nines, though occasionally disturbed by 
the contests which arose on the change 
of dynasties, the rapid progress of im- 
provement was by no means retarded 
Diverging from Rome as a centre, mag 
nificent and commodious roads connectea 
the most remote countries; the free nav- 
igation of the Mediterranean united the 
most flourishing cities of the empire; the 
military colonies had disseminated the 
language and manners of the South in the 
most distant regions; the wealth and pop- 
ulation of the African and Asiatic provin- 


‘the forests of Gaul, the morasses of Brit- 
ain, the sierras of Spain, flourishing cities 
arose ; and the arts, the luxuries, the or- 
der, and regularity of cultivated life were 
introduced into regions which, a short 
time before, had afforded a scanty and pre- 
carious subsistence to tribes scarcely ac- 
quainted with agriculture. The frontiers 
of civilization seemed gradually to ad- 
vance, and to drive back the still-receding 
barbarism ;* while within the pale, nation- 
al distinctions were dying away ; all tribes 
and races met amicably in the general re- 
lation of Roman subjects or citizens, and 


* Que sparsa congregaret imperia, ritusque molli- 
ret, et tot populorum discordes ferasque linguas ser- 
monis commercio contraheret ad colloquia, et hu- 
manitatem homini daret.—Plin., Nat. Hist., iil., 5. 


of Roman conquest: the feroci- Roman civ- 


665. had steadily increased; while, amid. 


oe ἢ 


«᾽ν» 


τ great 


22 


ry % 

mankind seemed settling down into one 
cederal society.* 
_ About this point of time Christianity ap- 
Appearance peared. As Rome had united 
f Christi- the whole Western world into 
i one, as it might almost seem, 
lasting social system, so Christianity was 
the first religion which aimed at ἃ. uni- 
versal and permanent moral conquest. 


ΠΟ The older The religions of the older world 


religious. were content with their domin- 
ion over the particular people which were 
their several votaries. Family, tribal, 


National deities were universally recog-. 


nised; and, as their gods accompanied the 
migrations or the conquests of different 
nations, their worship was extended over 
a wider surface, but rarely propagated 
among the subject races. ΤῸ drag in tri- 
umph the divinities of a vanquished peo- 
ple was the last and most insulting mark 
of subjugation.t Yet, though the gods of 
the conquerors had thus manifested their 


superiority, and, in some cases, the sub= 


ject nation might be inclined to desert their 
inefficient protectors, who had been found 
wanting in the hour of trial, still the god- 
head even of the defeated divinities was 
not denied: though their power could not 
withstand the mightier tutelar deity of the 
invaders, yet their right to a seat in the 
crowded synod of heaven, and their rank 
among the intermediate rulers of the world, 
was not called in question.{ The con- 
queror might indeed take delight in show- 
ing his contempt, and,.as.it..were, tram- 
pling under foot the rebuked and impotent 
deities of his subject; and thus religious 
persecution be inflicted by the oppressor, 
and religious fanaticism excited among the 
oppressed. Yet, if the temple was des- 
ecrated, the altar thrown down, the priest- 
hood degraded or put to the sword, this 
was done in the fierceness of hostility or 
the insolence of pride ;§ or from policy, 


* “Unum esse reipublice corpus, atque unius 
animo regendum.” Such was the argument of 
Asinius Gallus, Tac., Ann., i., 12. 

+ Tot de diis, quot de gentibus triumphi. Ter- 
tullian. Compare Isaiah, xlvi., 1, and Gesenius’s 
note. Jer., xlvill.,7; xlix.,3. Hos.,x.,5,6. Dan., 
xi, 8 

There is a curious passage in Lydus de Osten- 
tis, a book which probably contains some parts of 
the ancient ritual of Rome. A certain aspect of a 
comet not merely foretold victory, but the passing 
over of the hostile gods to the side of the Romans: 
καὶ αὐτὰ δὲ τὰ ϑεῖα καταλείψουσι τοὺς πολεμίους, 
ὥστε ἐκ περισσοῦ προστεθῆναι τοῖς νικηταῖς.--- 
Lydus, de Ostentis, lib, 12. 

ὁ Such was the conduct of Cambyses in Egypt. 
Xerxes had, before his Grecian invasion, shown the 
proud intolerance of his disposition, in destroying 
the deities of the Babylonians, and slaying their 
priesthood (Herod., 1., 183, and Arrian, vil, 19); 
though, in this case, the rapacity which fatally in- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


lest the religion should become the rally- 
ing-point of evil independence * rarely, 
if ever, for the purpose of extirpating a 
false, or supplanting it by a true, system 
of belief; perhaps in no instance with the 
design of promulgating the tenets of a 
more pure and perfect religion. A wiser 
policy commenced with Alexan- Policy of 

der. The deities of the conquer- 4!exander; 
ed nations were treated with uniform rev- 
erence, the sacrilegious plunder of their 
temples punished with exemplary severi- 


ty.t According to the Grecian system, 


their own gods were recognised in those 


of Egypt and Asia; they were called by _ 


Grecian names,{ and worshipped with the 
accustomed offerings; and thus all reli- 
gious differences between Macedonian, 
and Syrian, and Egyptian, and Persian a 


once vanished away. On the same prin- 


ciple, and with equal sagacity, 
Rome, in this as in other respects, 
aspired to enslave the mind of those na- 
tions which had been prostrated by her 
arms. The gods of the subject nations 
were treated with every mark of respect : 
sometimes they were admitted within the 
walls of the conqueror, as though to ren- 
der their allegiance, and rank themselves 
in peaceful subordination under the’ su- 
preme divinity of the Roman Gradivus, or 
the Jupiter of the Capito] ;§ till, at length, 
they all met in the amicable synod of the 
Pantheon, a representative assembly, as 
it were, of the presiding deities of all na- 
tions, in Rome, the religious as well as the 
civil capital of the world.|| The state, as 


of Rome. 


duced him to pillage and desecrate the temples of 


Greece may have combined with his natural arro- 
gance.—Herod., viii., 53. 

* This was most likely the principle of the hor- 
rible persecution of the Jews by Antiochus Epiph- 
anes, though a kind of heathen bigotry seems to 
have mingled with his strange character.—1 Macc., 
i., 41, et seqq. 2 Macc., vi. Diod. Sic, xxxiv., }. 
Hist. of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 37. — 

+ Arrian, Jib. vi., p. 431, 439 (edit. Amst., 1668). 
Polyb., v., 10. i 

1 Arrian, lib. iii., p. 1585 vii, p. 464 and 486. 
Some Persian traditions, perhaps, represent Alex- 

nder asa religious persecutor; but these are of no 
authority against the direct statement of the Greek 
historians. The Indian religious usages, and the 
conduct of some of their faquirs, excited the won- 
der of the Greeks. 

ὁ Solere Romanos Deos omnes urbium supera- 
tarum partim privatim per familias spargere, par- 
tim publice consecrare.—Arniob., iii., 38. 

It was a grave.charge against Marcellus, that, by 
plundering the temples in Sicily, he had made the 


«i 


state an object of jealousy (ἐπίφθονον), because not — 


only men, but gods, were led intriumph. The older 
citizens approved rather the conduct of Fabius 
Maximus, who left to the Tarentines their offended 
gods.—Plnt., Vit Mare. _ 

|| According to Verrius Flaccus, cited by Pliny 
(xxviii., 2), the Romans used to invoke the tntelary 


deity of every place which they besieged, and bribed 


¢ 


oe 


© 


Τό 


\" 


bf 


τ tyofChris- nation, but of universal man. 


‘Cicero shows in his Book of Laws, re- 
tained the power of declaring what forms 
of religion were permitted by the law 
(licite) ;* but this authority was rarely 
exercised with rigour, excepting against 
such foreign superstitions as were consid- 
ered pernicious to the morals of the peo- 
ple, in earlier times, the Dionysiac ;7 in 
later, the Isiac and Serapic rites. 

_ Christianity proclaimed itself the reli- 
Universali gion, not of family, or tribe, = 
t 
admitted within its pale, on equal 
terms, all ranks and allraces. It address- 
ed mankind as one brotherhood, sprung 


tianity. 


_ from one common progenitor, and raised 


Ὄ 
att, 


to immortality by one Redeemer. In this 
respect Christianity might appear singu- 
larly adapted to become the religion of a 

sat empire. At an earlier period in the 


annals of the world, it would have encoun- 


tered obstacles apparently insurmounta- 
ble, in passing from one province to an- 
other, in moulding hostile and jealous na- 
tions into one religious community. A 
fiercer fire was necessary to melt and fuse 
the discordant elements into one kindred 
mass before its gentler warmth could pen- 
etrate and permeate the whole with its 
vivifying influence. Not only were the 
circumstances of the times favourable to 
the extensive propagation of Christianity, 
from the facility of intercourse between 
the most reinote nations, the cessation of 
hostile movements, and the uniform sys- 


him to their side by promising greater honours. 
Macrobius has a copy of the form of Evocation. 
The name of the tutelar deity of Rome was a se- 
cret.— Pliny, Nat. Hist., iii, 5. Bayle, Art. So- 
ranus. Plut., Quest. Rom. Note on Hume’s 
Hist. Nat. Rel. Essays, p. 450. 


Roma triumphantis quotiens ducis inclita currum 
Plausibus excepit, totiens altaria Divam 
Addidit, et spoliis sibimet nova numina fecit. 

a Da PRUDENTIUS. 
Compare Augustin., de Cons. Evang., i., 18. 

For the Grecian custom on this subject, see Thu- 
cyd.,iv., 98. Philip, the king of Macedon, defeated 
by Flaminius in his wars with the Grecian states, 
paid little respect to the temples. His admiral Di- 
czarchus is said to have erected and sacrificed on 
two altars to Impiety and Lawlessness, ’Acs6efa and 
Παρανόμια. This fact would be incredible on less 
grave authority than that of Polybius, lib. xviii., 37. 
On the general respect to temples in war, compare 
Grot , de Jur. Bell. et Pac, iii., 12, 6. 

* The question is well discussed by Jortin, Dis- 
courses, p..53, note. Dionysius Hal distinguishes 
between religions permitted and publicly received, 
lib. ii, vol. i., p. 275, edit. Reiske. 

t Livy, Xxix., 12, et seqq. 

¢ During the republic, the temples of Isis and 
Serapis were twice ordered to be destroyed, Dion., 
xl., p. 142, xlii., p. 196, also liv., p. 525. Val. 
Max.,i., 3. Prop., ii. 24. On the Roman law on 
his subject, compare Jortin, Discourses, p. 53. 

ibbon, vol. i., p. 21, with Wenck’s note. 


δ» 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tem of internal police, but the state of 
mankind seemed imperiously to demand 
the introduction of a new religion, to sat-_ 
isfy those universal propensities of human 
nature which connect man with a higher 
order of things. Man, as history and ex- 
perience teach; is essentially a religious 
being; there are certain faculties and 
modes of thinking and feeling apparently 
inseparable from his mental organization, 
which lead him irresistibly to seek some 
communication with another and a higher 
Wor But at the present juncture the 
cient religions were effete: they be- 

longed to a totally different state of civ- 
ilization; though they retained the strong 
hold of habit and interest on different 
classes of society, yet the general. mind 
was advanced beyond them; they could 
not supply the religious necessities of the 
age. Thus the world, peaceably united. 
under one temporal monarchy, might be 
compared to a vast body without a soul: 
the throne of the human mind appeared 
vacant; among the rival competitors for 
its dominion, none advanced more than 
claims local, or limited to a certain class. 
Nothing less was required than a religion 
co-extensive with the empire of Rome, 
and calculated for the advanced state of in- 
tellectual culture : and in Christianity this 
new element of society was found ; which, 
in fact, incorporating itself with manners, 
usages, and laws, has been the bond which 
has held together, notwithstanding the in- 
ternal feuds and divisions, the great Eu- 
ropean commonwealth ; maintained a kind 
of federal relation between its parties, 
and stamped its peculiar character on the 
whole of modern history. 

Christianity announced the appearance 
of its Divine Author as the era Disateiiby 
of a new moral creation; and principle οἱ 
if we take our stand, as it were, “14 Teligions. 
on the isthmus which separates the an- 
cient from the modern world, and survey 
the state of mankind before and after the 
introduction of this new power into human 
society, it is impossible not to be struck 


with the total revolution in the whole as- 


pect of the world. If from this point of 
view we look upward, we see the dissoci- 
ating principle at work both in the civil 
and religious usages of mankind; the hu- 
man race breaking up into countless inde- 
pendent tribes and nations, which recede 
more and more from each other as they 
gradually spread over the surface of the 
earth; and insome parts, as we adopt the 
theory of the primitive barbarism,* or that 


* The notion that the primeval state of man was 
altogether barbarous and uncivilized, so generally 


29. 


4 


. 


¢ 


24 


of the degeneracy of man from an earlier 
state of culture, either remaining station- 
ary at the lowest point of ignorance and 
rudeness, or sinking to it; either resuming 
the primeval dignity of the race, or rising 
gradually to a higher state of civilization. 
A certain diversity of religion follows the 
diversity of race, of people, and of coun- 
try. Inno respect is the common nature 
of human kind so strongly indicated as in 
the universality of some kind of religion ; 
in no respect is man so various, yet so 
much the same. All the religions of an- 
tiquity, multiform and countless as they 
appear, may be easily reduced to certain 
classes; and, independent of the tradi- 
tions which they may possess in common, 
throughout the whole reigns something 
like a family resemblance. Whether all 
may be rightly considered as depravations 
of the same primitive form of worship ; 
whether the human mind is necessarily 
confined to a certain circle of religious no- 
tions; whether the striking phenomena of 
the visible world, presented to the imagi- 
mation of various people in a similar state 
uf civilization, will excite the same train 
of devotional thoughts and emotions, the 
philosophical spirit and extensive range of 
inquiry, which in modern times have been 
carried into the study of mythology, ap- 
proximate in the most remarkable manner 
the religions of the most remote coun- 
ries.* The same primary principles ev- 


prevalent in the philosophy of the last two centu- 
ries (for Dryden’s line, 
Since wild in woods the noble savage ran, 


contains the whole theory of Rousseau), has en- 
countered a strong reaction. It is remarkable that 
Niebuhr in Germany, and Archbishop Whateley in 
this country, with no knowledge of each other's 
views, should at the same time call in question this 
almost established theory. Dr. Whateley’s argu- 
ment, that there is no instance in history of a na- 
tion sel{-raised from savage life, is very strong. I 
have been much struck by finding a very strong 
and lucid statement to the same effect, in an un- 
published lecture of the late Lord Stowell (Sir 
William Scott), delivered when professor of history 
at Oxford. 

* The best, in my opinion, and most comprehen- 
sive work on the ancient religions, is the (yet un- 
finished) translation of Creuzer’s Symbolik, by M. 
De Guigniaut, Réligions de l’Antiquité, Paris, 1825, 
1835. Itis far superior im arrangement, and does 
not appear to me so obstinately wedded to the sym- 
bolic theory as the original of Creuzer. The Ag- 
laophamus of Lobeck, as might be expected from 
that distinguished scholar, is full of profound and 
accurate erudition. Yet1l cannot but think that 
the Grecian polytheism will be better understvod 
when considered in connexion with the other reli- 
gions of antiquity than as an entirely independent 
system; and surely the sarcastic tone in which M. 
Lobeck speaks of the Oriental studies of his con- 
temporaries is unworthy of a man of consummate 
learning. The work of the late M. Constant, Sur 
la Réligion, extensive in research, ingenious in ar- 


νὸν 


ΓΙ 
a * 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


os 
erywhere appear, modified by the social ~~ 
state, the local circumstances, the civil , 


customs, the imaginative or practical char- 
acter of the people. 
culture has its characteristic theology, 
self-adapted to the intellectual and moral 
condition of the people, and coloured in 
some degree by the habits of life. In the 
rudest and most, savage races we find a 
gross superstition, called by modern for- 
eign writers Fetichism,* in which 
the shapeless stone, the meanest 
reptile, any object however worthless or 
insignificant, is consecrated by a vague 
and mysterious reverence as the repre- 
sentative-of an unseen Being. The be- 
neficence of this deity is usually limited 
to supplying the wants of the day, or to 
influencing the hourly occurrences of a 
life, in which violent and exhausting la- 
bour alternates either with periods of slug- 
gish and torpid indolence, as among some 
of the North American tribes; or, as 
among the Africans, with wild bursts of 
thoughtless merriment.t This Fetichism 
apparently survived in more polished na- 
tions, in the household gods, perhaps in 
the Teraphim, and in the sacred stones 


Fetichism. 


(the Béetylia), which were thought either - 


to have fallen from heaven, or were sanc- 
tified by immemorial reverence. 

In the Oriental pastoral tribes, Tsaba- 
ism,{ the simpler worship of the pupaism 
heavenly bodies, in general pre- j 
vailed; which among the agricultural 
races grew up into a more complicated 
system, connecting the periodical revolu- 


gument, and eloquent in style, is, in my, perhaps 
partial, judgment, vitiated by an hostility to every 
kind of priesthood, better suited to the philosophy 
of the last than of the present century. M. Con- 
stant-has placed the evils of sacerdotal influence in 
the strongest light, and disguised or dissembled its 
advantages. The ancient priestly castes, I con- 
ceive, attained their power over the rest of their 
race by their acknowledged superiority; they were 
the benefactors, and thence the rulers of their peo 
ple: to retain their power, as the people advanced, 
they resorted to every means of keeping men in ig- 
norance and subjection, and so degenerated inta 
the tyrants of the human mind. Atall events, sacer- 
dotal domination (and here M. Constaut would have 
agreed with us) is altogether alien to genuine 
Christianity. 

* The Fetiche of the African is the Manitou of 
the American Indian. The word Fetiche was first, 
I believe, brought into general use in the curious 
volume of the President De Brosses, Du Culte des 
Dieux Fétiches. The word was formed by the tra- 
ders to Africa, from the Portuguese, Fetisso, chose 
fée, enchantée, divine, ou rendant des oracles.— 
De Brosses, page 18. 

+ Hume (History of Nat. Religion) argues that a 
pure and philosophical theism could never be the 
creed of a barbarous nation struggling with want. 

1 The astral worship of the East is ably and 
clearly developed in an Excursus at the end of Ge 
senius’s Isaiah. 


Each state of social — 


ν 


+ 


ἢ 


a a 


Ρ 
᾿ 


, 


. 


᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tions of the sun and moon with the pur- 
Nature Suits of husbandry. It was Na- 


_ worship. ture-worship, simple in its primary 


elements, 


* upon the human race. 


τ᾿ 


τος Sideribus, &c. 


t branching out into mytho- 
logical fables, rich and diversified in pro- 
portion to the poetic genius of the people. 
This Nature-worship in its simpler, prob- 
ably its earlier form, appears as a sort of 
dualism, in which two great antagonist 
powers, the creative and destructive, Light 
and Darkness, seem contending for the 
overeignty of the world, and, emblemat- 
ical of moral good and evil, are occupied 
in pouring the full horn of fertility and 
blessing, or the vial of wrath and misery, 
Subordinate to, or 
as a modification of, these two conflicting 
powers, most of the Eastern races concur- 
red + cabo ate the active and passive pow- 
ers of generation. The sun and the earth, 
Osiris and Isis, formed a second dualism. 
And it is remarkable how widely, almost 
universally extended throughout the ear- 
lier world, appears the institution of a 
solemn period of mourning about the au- 
tumnal, and of rejoicing about the vernal, 
equinox.* The suspension, or apparent 
extinction of the great} vivifying power of 
nature, Osiris or Jacchus; the destitution 
of Ceres, Isis, or the Earth, of her hus- 
band or her beautiful daughter, torn in 
pieces or carried away into their realms by 
the malignant powers of darkness; their 
reappearance in all their bright and fertil- 
izing energy; these, under different forms, 
were the great annual fast and festival of 
,, the early heathen worship.t But the 
* poets were the priests of this Na- 
ture-worship ; and from their creative im- 
agination arose the popular mythology, 


Poet 


* Plutarch, de Iside et Osiride: Φρύγες τὸν ϑεὸν 
οἰόμενοι χειμῶνος μὲν καθεύδειν, ϑέρους δ᾽ ἐγρη- 
γορέναι, τότε μὲν κατευνασμοὺς τότε δ᾽ ἀνεγέρσεις 
βακχεύοντες αὐτῷ τελοῦσι. Παφλαγόνες δὲ κατα- 
δεῖσθαι καὶ καθείργνυσθαι χειμῶνος, ἦρος δὲ ἀνα- 
λύεσθαι φάσκουσι. 

+ Bohlen (das Alte Indien, p. 139. et 564 gives ἃ 
long list of these festivals of the sun. Lobeck (i, 
690) would altogether deny their symbolical char- 
acter. It is difficult, however, to account for the 
remarkable similarity between the usages of so 
many distinct nations in the New World as well as 
the Old, in Peru and Florida, in Gaul and Britain, 
as in India and Syria, without some such common 
origin —-See Picart’s large work, Cérémonies et 
Coutumes Religieuses, passim. δ 


Compare likewise Dr. Pritchard’s valuable work 


on Egyptian Mythology; on the Deification of the 
Active and Passive Powers of Generation; the 
Marriage of the Sun and the Earth, p. 40 and p. 
62-75. 
+ Nam rudis ante illos, nullo discrimine, vita 
In speciem conversa, operum ratione carebat, 
Et stupefacta novo pendebat lumine mundi, 
Tum velut amissis merens, tum leta renatis — 
ManIt., 1., 67. 
D 


“4 / 


gt 
«ἡ 


’ 


25 


which gave its Separate deity to every part 
of animate or inanimate being ; and, de- 
parting still farther from the primitive al- 
legory, and the symbolic forms under 
which the phenomena of the visible world 
were imbodied, wandered into pure fic- 
tion, till Nature-worship was almost sup- 
planted by religious fable: and hence, by 
a natural transition, those who discerned 
God in everything, multiplied every separ- 
ate part of creation into a distinct divini- 
ty. The mind fluctuated between a kind 
of vague and unformed pantheism, the de- 
ification of the whole of nature, or its an- 
imation by one pervading power or soul, 
and the deification of every object which 
impressed the mind with awe or admira- 
tion.* While every nation, every tribe, 
every province, every town, every village, 
every family had its peculiar local or tu- 
telar deity, there was a kind of common 
neutral ground on which they all met, a 
notion that the gods, in their collective 
capacity, exercised a general controlling 
providence over the affairs of men, inter- 
fered, especially on great occasions, and, 
though this belief was still more vague and 
more inextricably involved in fable, ad- 
ministered retribution in another state of 
being. And thus even the common lan- 
guage of the most polytheistic nations ap- 
proached to monotheism.t 
Wherever, indeed, there has been a 
great priestly caste, less occupied priestly 
with the daily toils of life, and ad- caste. 


* Some able writers are of opinion that the re- 
verse of this was the case—that the variety was 
the primary belief; the simplification the work of a 
later and more intellectual age. On this point A. 
W. Schlegel observes, ‘‘ The more I investigate the 
ancient history of the world, the more I am con- 
vinced that the civilized nations set out from a 
purer worship of the Supreme Being; that the 
magic power of Nature over the imagination of the 
successive human races, first, at a later period, pro- 
duced polytheism, and, finally, altogether obscured 
the more spiritual religious notions in the popular 
belief; while the wise alone preserved within the 
sanctuary the primeval secret. Hence mythology 
appears to me the last developed and most change- 
able part of the old religion. The divergence of 
the various mythologies. therefore, proves nothing 
against the descent of the religions from a common 
source. The mythologies might be locally formed, 
according to the circumstances of climate or soil ; 
it is impossible to mistake this with regard to the 
Egyptian myths.”— Schlegel, p. 16. Preface to 
Pritchard’s Egyptian Mythology. My own views, 
considering the question in a purely historical light, 
coincide witb those of M. Schlegel. 

+ This is strikingly expressed by a Christian wri- 
ter: “ Audio vulguscum ad celum manus tendunt, 
nihil aliud quam Deum dicunt, et Deus magnus 
est, et Deus verus est, et si Deus dederit. Vulgi 
iste naturalis sermo est, an Christiani confitentis 
oratio?”—Min. Fel. Octavius. The same thought 
may be found in Cyprian, de Van. Idol , and Tertul- 
lian, Apolog. . ἀν 


€ 


᾿ 
20 


vanced beyond the mass of the people, 
the primitive Nature-worship has been 
perpetually brought back, as it were, to 
its original elements ; and, without dis- 
turbing the popular mythological religion, 
furnished a creed to the higher and more 
’ thinking part of the community, less wild 
and extravagant.* Jn Persia the Magian 
order retained or acquired something like 
a pure theism, in which the Supreme De- 
ity was represented under the symbol 
of the primal uncreated fire; and their 
Nature-worship, under the form of the 
two conflicting principles, preserved much 
more of its original simplicity than in most 
other countries. To the influence of a 
distinct Sarcerdotal order may be traced,t 
in India, the singular union of the sub- 
limest allegory, and a sort of lofty poeti- 
cal religious philosophy, with the most 
monstrous and incoherent superstitions ; 
and the appearance of the profound polit- 
ical religion of Egypt in strange juxtapo- 
sition with the most debasing Fetichism, 
the worship of reptiles and vegetables.} 


ἃ This is nowhere more openly professed than in 
China. The early Jesuit missionaries assert that 
the higher class (the literatorum secta) despised 
the idolatry of the vulgar. One of the charges 

᾿ against the Christians was their teaching the wor- 
ship of one God, which they had full liberty to wor- 


᾿ς ship themselves, to the common people ; “ Non eque 


placere, rudem plebeculam rerum novarum cupidi- 
tate, coeli Dominum venerari.”—Trigault, Exped. 
in Sinas, p. 438-575. 

+ ‘“ The learned Brahmins adore one God, with- 
out form or quality, eternal, unchangeable, and oc- 
cupying all space: but they carefully confine these 
doctrines to their own schools, as dangerous; and 
teach in public a religion. in which, in supposed 
compliance with the infirmities and passions of hu- 

_ man nature, the deity is brought more to a level 
with our prejudices and wants. The incomprehen- 
sible attributes ascribed to him are invested with 
sensible and even human forms. ‘The mind, lost in 
meditation, and fatigued in the pursuit of some- 
thing, which, being divested of all sensible quali- 
ties, suffers the thoughts to wander without finding 
a resting-place, is happy, they tell us, to have an 
object on which human feelings and human senses 
may again find repose. ‘lo give a metaphysical 
deity to ignorant and sensual men, absorbed in the 
cares of supporting animal existence, and entangled 
in the impediments of matter, would be to condemn 
them to atheism. Such is the mode in which the 
Brahmins excuse the gross idolatry of their reli- 
gion.”—William Erskine, Bombay Transactions, i., 
199. Compare Colebrooke, Asiat. Res., vii , 279: 
and other quotations in Bohlen, Das Alte Indien, i., 
153. which, indeed, might be multiplied without 
end. Mr. Mill (Hist. of India), among the ablest 
and most uncompromising opponents of the high 
view of Indian civilization, appears to me not to pay 
sufficient attention to this point. 

t Heeren has conjectured, with his usual inge- 
nnity, or rather, perhaps, has adopted from De 
Brosses, the theory that the higher part of the 
Egyptian religion was that of a foreign and domi- 
nant caste ; the worship of plants and brutes, the 
original undisturbed Fetichism of the primitive and 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


From this Nature-worship arose the 
beautiful anthropomorphism of the , nropo- 
Greeks, of which the Homeric morphiein 
poetry, from its extensive and of the 
lasting popularity, may in one Το 
sense be considered the parent. The 
primitive traditions and the local supersti- 
tions of the different races were moulded 
together in these songs, which, dissemi- 
nated throughout Greece, gave a kind of 
federal character to the religion of which 
they were, in some sort, the sacred books. 
But the genius of the people had already 
assumed its bias: few, yet still some, ves- 
tiges remain in Homer of the earlier theo- 
gonic fables.* Conscious, asit-were, and 
prophetic of their future pre-eminence in 
all that constitutes the physical and men- 
tal perfection of our race, this wogderful 
people conformed their religion to them- 
selves. ‘The cumbrous and multiform idol, 
in which wisdom, or power, or fertility 
were represented by innumerable heads, 
or arms, or breasts, as in the Ephesian 
Diana, was refined into a being, only 
distinguished from human nature by its 
preterhuman development of the noblest 
physical qualities of man. The imagina- 
tion here took another and a nobler course ; 
it threw an ideal grandeur and an unearth- 
ly loveliness over the human form, and 
by degrees, deities became men, and men 
deities, or, as the distinction between the 
godlike (ϑεοείκελος) and the divine (eior) 
became more indistinct, were united in 
the intermediate form of heroes and demi- 
gods. he character of the people here, 
as elsewhere, operated on the religion ; 
the religion reacted on the popular char- 
acter. The religion of Greece was the 
religion of the Arts, the Games, the Thea- 
tre; it was that of a race, living always 
in public, by whom the corporeal perfec- 
tion of man had been carried to the high- 
est point. In no other country would the 
legislator have taken under his protection 


barbarous African race. (Compare Von Hammer, 
Geschichte der Assassinen, p. 57.) On the whole, 
I prefer this theory to that of Cicero (Nat. Deor., 1., 
36), that it was derived from mere usefulness; 
to the political reason suggested by Plutarch (de 
Isid.et Osir ); to that of Porphyry (de Abst, iv., 9), 
which, however, is adopted. and, I think, made 
more probable by Dr, Pritchard in his Egyptian 
Mythology, from the transmigration of the soul into 
beasts; of Marsham and Warburton, from hiero- 
glyphics ; of Lucian (de Astrol.) and Dupuis, from 
the connexion with astronomy; or, finally, that of 
Bohlen (Das Alte Indien, i., 186). who traces its ori- 
gin to the consecration of particular animals to par- 
ticular deities among their Indian ancestors. 

* Nothing can be more groundless or unsnecess- 
ful thay the attempt of later writers to frame an al- 
legorical system out of Homer ; the history and de- 
sign of this change are admirably traced by Lobeck, 
Aglaophamus, i., 158. ‘ 


Ὺ 
Υ 
᾿ 


*.. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the physical conformation, in some cases 
the procreation, in all the development of 
the bodily powers by gymnastic educa- 
tion; and it required the most consum- 
mate skill in the sculptor to preserve the 
endangered pre-eminence of the gods, in 
whose images were imbodied the perfect 
models of power, and grace, and beauty.* 

The religion of Rome was political and 
Religion of Military.t Springing originally 
Rome. from a kindred stock to that of 
earlier Greece, the rural gods of the first 
cultivators of Italy,f it received many of 
its rites from that remarkable people, the 
Etruscans ; and rapidly adapted itself, or 
was forced by the legislator into an adap- 
tation to the character of the people.§ 
Mars or Gradivus was the divine ancestor 
of the race.|| The religious calendar was 
the early history of the people; a large 
part of the festivals was not so much the 
celebration of the various deities, as the 
commemoration of the great events in 
their annals.§] The priesthood was united 
with the highest civil and military offices ; 
and the great occupation of Roman wor- 
ship seems to have been to secure the 
stability of her constitution, and, still more, 
to give a religious character to her wars, 
and infuse a religious confidence of suc- 
cess into her legionaries. The great of- 
fice of the diviners, whether augurs or 
aruspices, was to choose the fortunate day 
of battle ; the Feciales, religious officers, 
denounced war: the standards and eagles 


* Maximus Tyrius (Dissert. viii.) defends the an- 
thropomorphism of the Greeks, and distinguishes it 
from the symbolic worship of barbarians: “If the 
soul of man is the nearest and most like to God, God 
would not have enclosed in an unworthy taberna- 
cle that which bears the closest resemblance to 
himself.” Hence he argues that God ought to be 
represented under the noblest form, that of man. 

+ Dionvsius Halicarn. compares the grave and 
serious character of the Roman as contrasted with 
the Greek religion. The Romans rejected many 
of the more obscene and monstrous fatles of the 
Greeks. But it isas part of the civil polity that he 
chiefly admires the Roman religion, lib. il., ¢. 7. 

1 The Palilia and other rural rites. ‘Uhe stat- 
ues of the goddesses Seja and Segesta, of seed and 
of harvest, stood in the great Circus in the time of 
Pliny, H Ν᾽, xviii, 2. 

§ Beaufort’s République Romaine, b. i, ch. 8. 
Compare the recent and valuable work of Walter, 
Geschichte des Romischen Rechts, p. 177. 

|| et tamen ante omnes Martem coluere priores, ἢ 

Hoe dederat studiis bellica turba suis. 
After reciting the national deities of other cities, the 
Teligious poet of Rome proceeds, 
Mars Latio venerandus erat; quia presidet armis, 
Arma fere genti remque decusque dabant. 
Ovip, Fasti, iii., 79. 

The month of Mars began the year.—Ibid. 

4 Compare the proportion of Roman and of reli- 
gious legend in the Fasti of Ovid. See, likewise, 
Constant, I., 21, &c. Ce tue 


κε Ἶ 


? 
Β͵ 


‘were, the deified ambition of Rome. 


4t~were, deified her own virtues. 


> 


27 


possessed a kind of sanctity; the eagle 
was, in fact, a shrine.* The altar had its 
place in the centre of the camp, as the 
ark of God in that of the Israelites. The 
Triumph may be considered as the great 
religious ceremony of the nation; the god 
Terminus, who never receded, ‘was, as it 
At 
length Rome itself was impersonated and 
assumed her rank in heaven, as it were 
the representative of the all-conquering 
and all-ruling republic. 

Thére was a stronger moral element in 
the Roman religion than in that yporar ete. 


of Greece.t In Greece the gods ment of 
had been represented, in their col- Pata 


lective capacity, as the avengers ὶ 
of great crimes; a kind of general retribu- 
tive justice was assigned to them; they 
guarded the sanctity of oaths. But, in the 
better days of the republic, Rome had, as 
Tem- 
ples arose to Concord, to Faith, to Con- 
stancy, to Modesty (Pudor), to Hope. 
The Penates, the household deities, be- 
came the guardians of domestic happi- 
ness. Venus Verticordia presided over 
the purity of domestic morals,f and Jupi- 
ter Stator over courage. But the true 
national character of the Roman theology 
is most remarkably shown in the various. 
temples, and various attributes assigned to 
the good Fortune of the city, who might 
appear the Deity of Patriotism.§ Even 
Peace was at length received among the 
gods of Rome. And as long as the wor- 
ship of the heart continued to sanctify 
these impersonations of human virtues, 
their adoration tended to maintain the 
lofty moral tone; but, as soon as that 
was withdrawn, or languished into apa- 
thy, the deities became cold abstractions, 
without even that reality which might ap- 
pear to attach itself to the other gods of 
the city: their temples stood, their rites 
were perhaps solemnized, but they had 
eeased to command, and no longer re- 
ceived the active veneration of the peo- 
ple. What, in fact, is the general result 
of the Roman religious calendar, half a 
year of which is described in the Fasti of .” 
Ovid? ‘There are festivals founded on old 


*'Q γὰρ ἀετὸς ὠνομασμένος ζἐστὶ δὲ νεὼς 
μικρὰ καὶ ἐν αὐτῷ ἀετὸς χρυσδῦς ἐνίδρυται, 
Dion. Cassius, χ]., c. 18, Gibbon, ἰ.. 7. Moyle’s 
Works, ii, 86. Compare Tac., Ann, |., 39. 

+ The distinction between the Roman and Greek 
religions is drawn with singular felicity in the two 
supplemental (in my opinion the most valuable and 
original), but, unfortunately, unfinished volumes of 
M. Constant, Du Polytheisme Romain. 

t The most virtuous woman in Rome was cho- 
seu to dedicate her statue, Val. Max., vill, 15. 

§ Constant, i., 16. 


28 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Italian and on picturesque Grecian legends ; 
others commemorative of the great events 
of the heroic days of the republic ; others 
instituted in base flattery of the ruling dy- 
nasty ; one ceremonial only, that of the 
anes,* which relates to the doctrine of 
another life, and that preserved, as it-were, 
from pride, and as a memorial of older 
‘times. Nothing can show more strongly 
the nationality of the Roman religion, and 
its almost complete transmutation from a 
moral into a political power. 
Amid all this labyrinth, we behold the 
Religion of sacred secret of the Divine Unity 
the Jews. preserved inviolate, though some- 
times under the most adverse circumstan- 
ces, and, as-it-were, perpetually hovering 
on the verge of extinction, in one narrow 
district of the world, the province of 
Palestine. Nor is it there the recondite 
treasure of a high and learned caste, or 
he hardly worked-out conclusion of the 
shinking and philosophical few, but the 
plain and distinct groundwork of the pop- 
ular creed. Still,even there, as though in 
its earlier period, the yet undeveloped mind 
of man was unfit for the reception, or, at 
least, for the preservation of this doctrine, 
in its perfect spiritual purity; as though 
the Deity condescended to the capacities 
of the age, and it were impossible for the 
Divine nature to maintain its place in the 
mind of man without some visible repre- 
sentative ; a kind of symbolic worship 
still enshrines the one great God of the 
Mosaic religion. There is ἃ striking 
analogy between the Shechinahf{ or lumi- 
nous appearance which “ dwelt between 
the cherubim,” and the pure, immaterial 
fire of the Theism, which approaches 
nearest to the Hebrew, that of the early 
Persians. Yet even here likewise is 
found the great indelible distinction be- 
tween the religion of the ancient and of 
the modern world; the characteristic 
which, besides the general practice of 
propitiating the Deity, usually by animal 


* ii, 533. The Lemuria (Remuria) were insti- 
tuted to appease the shade of Remus, v., 451, &c. 

Ovid applies on another occasion his general 
maxim, 


“ 


Pro magna teste vetustas 
Creditur : acceptam parce movere fidem. 
Fasti, iv., 203. 


+ See the fine description of Majestas (Fasti, v., 
25-52), who becomes, at the end, the tutelar deity 
of the senate and matrons, and presides over the 
triumphs of Rome. 

1 Even if the notion of a visible Shechinah was 
of a later period (note to Heber’s Bampton Lectures, 
Ῥ. 278), God was universally believed to have a lo- 
cal and personal residence behind the veil, in the 
unapproachable Holy of Holies ; and the imagina- 
tion would thus be even more powerfully excited 
than by a visible symbol. 


sacrifices, universally prevails in the prx- 
Christian ages. The physical predomi- 
nates over the moral character of the 
Deity. God is Power in the old goq under 
religion, he is Love under the the old and 
new. Nor does ~his pure and {he new Re- 
essential spirituality, inthe more τ 
complete faith of the Gospel, attach itself 
to, or exhibit itself under any form. “God,” 
says the divine author of Christianity, “is 
a Spirit, and they that worship him must 
worship him in spirit and in truth.” In 
the early Jewish worship, it was the phys- 
ical power of the Deity which was pre- 
sented to the mind of the worshipper : he 
was their temporal king, the dispenser 
of earthly blessings, famine and plenty, 
drought and rain, discomfiture or success 
in war. The miracles recorded in the 
Old Testament, particularly in the earlier 
books, are amplifications, ‘as=it—were, or 
new directions of the powers of nature; 
as if the object were to show that the 
deities of other nations were but subordi- 
nate and obedient instruments in the hand 
of the great self-existent Being, the Jeho- 
vah of Jewish worship. 

Yet, when it is said that the physical 
rather than the moral character of the 
Deity predominated, it rust not be suppo- 
sed that the latter was altogether exclu- 
ded. It is impossible entirely to dissoci- 
ate the notion of moral government from 
that belief, or that propensity to believe in 
the existence of a God, implanted in the 
human mind; and religion was too useful 
an ally not to be called in to confirm the 
consciously imperfect authority of human 
law. But it may be laid down as a prin- 
ciple, that the nearer the nation approach- 
es to barbarism, the childhood of the hu- 
man race, the more earthly are the con- 
ceptions of the Deity; the moral aspect 
of the Divine nature seems gradually to 
develop itself with the development of the 
human mind. It is at first, as in Egypt 
and India, the prerogative of the higher 
class; the vulgar are left to their stocks 
and their stones, their animals and their 
reptiles. In the Ea states of 
Greece, the intellectual aristocracy of the 
philosophers, guarded by no such legally 
established distinction, rarely dared open- 
ly to assert their superiority ; but conceal- 
ed their more extended views behind ἃ. 
prudential veil, as a secret or esoteric 
doctrine, and by studious conformity to 
the national rites and ceremonies. 

Gradually, however, as the period ap- 
proaches in whieh the religion Preparation 
of civilization is to be introdu- for new reli- 
ced into the great drama of hu- fiver 5 
man life, as we descend nearer world. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


towards the point of separation between 
the ancient and modern world, the human 
mind appears expanding. Polytheism is 
evidently relaxing its hold upon all class- 
es: the monarch maintains his throne, not 
from the deep-rooted, or rational, or con- 
scientious loyalty of his subjects, but from 
the want of a competitor; because man- 
kind were habituated to a government 
which the statesman thought it might be 
dangerous, and the philosopher, enjoying 
perfect toleration, and rather proud of his 
distinctive superiority than anxious to 
propagate his opinions throughout the 
world, did not think it worth while, at the 
hazard of popular odium, to disturb. 
Judaism gave manifest indications of a 
Among the preparation for a more essential- 
ews. ly spiritual, more purely moral 
faith. The symbolic presence of the Dei- 
ty (according to their own tradition)* 
ceased with the temple of Solomon; and 
the heathen world beheld with astonish- 
ment a whole race whose Deity was rep- 
resented under no visible form or likeness. 
The conqueror Pompey, who enters the 
violated temple, is filled with wonder at 
finding the sanctuary without image or 
emblem of the presiding Deity ;f the poet 
describes them as worshipping nothing 
but the clouds and the divinity that fills 
the heaven ;{ the philosophic historian, 
whose profounder mind seems struggling 
with hostile prejudices, defines, with his 
own inimitable compression of language, 
the doctrine, to the sublimity of which he 
has closed his eyes. ‘The worship of 
the Jews is purely mental; they acknowl- 
edge but one God, and that God supreme 
and eternal, neither changeable nor per- 
ishable.”§ The doctrine of another life 
(which derived no sanction from the Law, 
and was naturally obscured by the more 
immediate and intelligible prospect of 
temporal rewards and punishments) dawns 
in the prophetic writings; and from the 
apocryphal books and from Josephus, as 
well as from the writings of the New 
Testament, clearly appears to have be- 
come incorporated with the general senti- 
ment. Retribution in another life has al- 
ready taken the place of the immediate or 
speedy avenging or rewarding providence 
of the Deity in the land of Canaan.|| 
Judaism, however, only required to ex- 


* Hist. of the Jews, ii., 11. ΤΙΣ ΕΝ 

t Nil preter nubes et cceli numen adorant.—Juv., 
Xiv., 97. 

ὁ Judzi mente sola, unumque numen intelligunt. 
*** Summum illud et eternum, neque mutabile, 
neque interiturum.—Tac., Hist., v., 5. 

|| See Chap. ii., in which this question is resu- 
med, ; 


own mould. 


29 


pand with the expansion of the Expansion 
human mind; its sacred records ofJudaism. 
had preserved, in its original. simplicity, 
the notion of the Divine Power; the preg- 
nant definitions of the one great self-ex- 
isting Being, the magnificent poetical am- 
plifications of his might and providence 
were of all ages: they were eternal poe- 
try, because they were eternal truth. If 
the moral aspect of the Divine nature was 
more obscurely intimated, and, in this re- 
spect, had assumed the character of a lo- 
cal or national Deity, whose love was 
confined to the chosen people, and dis- 
played itself chiefly in the beneficence of 
a temporal sovereign, yet nothing was 
needed but to give a higher and more ex- 
tensive sense to those types and shadows 
of universal wisdom; an improvement 
which the tendency of the age manifestly 
required, and which the Jews themselves, 
especially the Alexandrean school, had al- 
ready attempted, by allegorizing the whole 
annals of their people, and extracting a 
profound moral meaning from all the cir- 
cumstances of their extraordinary his- 
tory.* 

But the progress of knowledge was fatal 
to the popular religion of Greece Effects of 
and Rome. The awe-struck im- progress of 
agination of the older race, which upon poly- 
had listened with trembling be- theism. 
lief to the wildest fables, the deep feeling 
of the sublime and the beautiful, which, 
uniting with national pride, had assembled 
adoring multitudes before the Parthenon 
or the Jove-of Phidias, now gave place to 
cold and sober reason. Poetry had been 
religion, religion was becoming mere po- 
etry. Humanizing the Deity, and bring- 
ing it too near the earth, naturally produ- 
ced, in a less imaginative and more re- 
flecting age, that familiarity which de- 
stroys respect. When man became more 


knowledge 


acquainted with his own nature, the less 


was he satisfied with deities cast in his 
In some respects 
the advancement of civilization 
had no doubt softened and purified the 
old religions from their savage and licen- 
tious tendencies. Human sacrifices had 


Beneficial. 


ceased,t or had retired to the remotest 


* Philo wrote for the unbelievers among his own 
people, and to conciliate the Greeks. (De Conf. 
Linguar., vol. i. p. 405.) ‘The same principle 
which among the heathens gave rise to the system 
of Euhemerus, who resolved all mythology into 
history, and that of the other philosophers who at- 
tempted to reduce it to allegory, induced Philo, and 
no doubt his predecessor Aristobulus, thus to en- 
deavour to accommodate the Mosaic history to an 
incredulous age, and to blend Judaism and Plato- 
nism into one harmonious system. 

+ Human sacrifices sometimes, but ΠΑ occur 


ὡ-» 


?. 


a ee 
* ‘ 


30 


parts of Germany, or to the shores of the 
Baltic.* Though some of the secret rites 
were said to be defiled with unspeakable 
pollutions,t yet this, if true, arose from 
the depravation of manners rather than 


τ 
in the earlier periods of Grecian history. Accord- 
ing to Plutarch, Vit. Arist., 9, and Vit. Themistoclis, 
three sons of Sandauke, sister of the King of Per- 


_ sia, were offered, in obedience to an oracle, to Bac- 


chus Omestes. The bloodstained altar of Diana of 
‘Tauris was placed by the tragedians in a barbarous 
“gion. Prisoners were sometimes slain on the 
tombs of warriors in much later times, as in the 
Homeric age, even on that of Philopemen.—Plut., 
Vit. Philop., c. 21. Compare Tschirner, Fall des 
Heidenthums, p. 34. ᾽ 
Octavius is said (Suet., Vit. Octav.) to have sacri- 
ficed 300 Perugian captives on an altar sacred to 
the deified Julius (Divo Julio). This may be con- 
_ sidered the sanguinary spirit of the age of proscrip- 
tions taking for once a more solemn and religious 
form. As to the libation of the blood of the gladia- 
tors (see Tertullian, Apolog., c. 9. Scorpiac., 7. 
Cyprian, De Spectaculis. Compare Porphyr., de 
Abstin. Lactant., 1-21), 1 should agree with M. 
Constant in ascribing this ceremony to the barbari- 
ty of the Roman amusements rather than to their 
religion, All public spectacles were, perhaps, to a 
certain degree, religious ceremonies ; but the gladi- 
ators were the victims of the sanguinary pleasures 
of the Roman people, not slain in honour of then 
gods.—Constant, iv., 335. Tschirner, p.45. ὁ 
* Tac., Ann.,i., 61. Tac., Germ., 10, 40. Com- 
pare, on the gradual abolition of human sacrifices, 
‘Constant, iv., 330. The exception, which rests on 
the authority of Pliny, xxviil., 2, and Plutarch, Vita 
Marii. in init., Quest. Rom., appears to me very 
doubtful. The prohibitory law of Lentulus, AU. 
DCLVIL., and Livy’s striking expression, more non 


~ Romano, concerning the sacrifice said to be con- 


ao Mithriac. — Lobeck, i., 197. 


tinued to a late period, as well as the edict of Tibe- 
rius, promulgated in the remoter provinces, indicate 
the general Sr entiites the time. Non satis esti- 
mari potest quantum Romanis debeatur, qui sustu- 
lere monstra in quibus hominem occidere religio- 
sissimum erat, mandi vero saluberrimum.— Plin., 
H.N., xxx.,]. See in Ovid, Fasti, iii., 341, the 
reluctance of Numa to offer human sacrifice. Ha- 
drian issued an edict prohibiting human sacrifices ; 
this was directed, according to Creuzer (Symb., i., 
363), against the later Mithriac rites, which had re- 
introduced the horrible practice of consulting fu- 
turity in the entrails of human victims. The sav- | 
age Commodus (Lamprid. in Comm.) offered a*hu- 
man victim to Mithra. The East, if the accounts. 
are to be credited, continually reacted on the reli- 
gion of Rome, Human sacrifices are said to have 
taken place under Aurelian (Aug. Hist., Vit. Aurel.), 
and even under Maxentius. 

The dissolute rites against which the Fathers 
inveigh were of foreign and Oriental origin; Isiac,. 
See 

mstant, vol. iv.,c. 11. Compare the Confession 
of Hispala in Livy. I cannot refrain from transcri- 
bing an observation of M. Constant on these rites, 
which strikes me as extremely profuund and just : 
‘‘ La mauvaise influence des fables licencieuses 
commence avec le mépris et le ridicule versé sur 
ces fables. Il en est de méme des cérémonies. 
Des rites indécens pouvent étre pratiqués par un 
τ peuple réligieux avec une grande pureté de cceur. 
Mais quand l’incrédulité atteint ces peuples, ces 
rites sont pour lui la cause et la prétexte de la plus 
révoltante corruption.”—Du Polyth. Rom., ii., 102. 


s* ' 
. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


te 


from religion. The orgies of the Bona 
Dea were a profanation of the sacred rite, 
held up to detestation by the indignant 
satirist, not, as among some of the early 
Oriental nations, the rite itself. ? 
But with the tyranny, which could thus 
extort from reluctant human na- peel 
ture the sacrifice of all humanity hic > 
and all decency, the older religions ‘had 
lost their more salutary, and, if the ex- 
pression may be ventured, their constitu- 
tional. authority. They had been driven 
away, or silently receded from their post, 
in which, indeed, they had never been 
firmly seated, as conservators of public 
morals. The circumstances of the times 
tended no less to loosen the bonds of the 
ancient faith. Peace enervated the deities 
as well as the soldiers of Rome: their oc- 
cupation was gone ;* the augurs read ‘Ko 
longer the signs of conquest in the en- 
trails of the victims ; and though, down to 
the days of Augustine, Roman pride clung 
to the worship of the older and glorious 
days of the republic, and denounced the 
ingratitude of forsaking gods, under whose 
tutelary sway Rome had become the em- 
press of the world, yet the ceremonies had 
now no Stirring interest ; they were pa- 
geants in which the unbelieving aristocra- 
cy played their parts with formal cold- 
ness, the contagion of which could not 
but spread to the lower classes. The 
only novel or exciting rite of the Roman 
religion was that which probably tended 
more than any other, when the immediate 
excitement was over, to enfeeble the reli- 
gious feeling, the deification} of the living, 


* Our generals began to wage civil wars against 
each other as soon as they neglected the auspices, 
—Cic., Nat. Deor., ii., 3. This is good evidence to 
the fact ; the cause lay deeper. ὼ 

+ This was the main argument of his great work, 


De Civitate Dei. It is nowhere more strongly ex- 


‘pressed than in the oration of Symmachus to Theo- 


dosius. Hic cultus in leges meas orbem redegit ; 
hee sacra Annibalem a meenibus, a Capitolio Sen- 
nonas repulerunt. This subject will frequently re- 
cur in the course of our History. 

t The deification of Augustus found some oppo- 
nents. \Nihil Deorum honoribus relictum, cum se 
templis et effigie numinum, per flamines et sacer- 
dotes coli vellet.—Tac., Ann.,i., 10. The more sa 
gacious Tiberius shrunk from such honours. In 
one instance he allowed himself to be joined in 
divine honours with his mother and the senate, but 
in general he refused them.—Tac., Ann., iv., 15, 37, 
v., 2. The very curious satire of Seneca, the 
Αποκολυντωσις, though chiefly aimed at Claudius, 
throws ridicule on the whole ceremony. Augus- 
tus, in his speech to the gods, says: Denique dum 
tales deos facitis, nemo vos deos esse credet. A 
later writer complains: Aliquanti pari libidine in 
ceelestium numerum referuntur, egre exequiis dig- 
ni.—Aur. Victor, Cesar, in Gallieno. M. Ranke, in 
the first chapter of whose admirable work (Die Ré- 
mischen Papste) I am not displeased to find some 


᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ἊΨ 


or the apotheosis of the dead emperor, 
whom a few years, or perhaps a few days, 
abandoned to the open execration or con- 
tempt of the whole people. At the same 
time, that energy of mind, which had con- 
sumed itself in foreign conquest or civil 
faction, in carrying the arms of Rome to 
the Euphrates or the Rhine, or in the mor- 
tal conflict for patrician or plebeian su- 
premacy, now that the field of military or 
civil distinction was closed, turned inward 
and preyed upon itself; or, compressed by 
the iron hand of despotism, made itself a 
vent in philosophical or religious specula- 
tions. The noble mind sought a retreat 


_ + from the degradation of servitude in the 


groves of the Academy, or attempted to 
find consolation for the loss of personal 
dignity by asserting, with the Stoic, the 


__ dignity of human nature.*« 


But Philosophy aspired in vain to fill 
that void in the human mind 
which had been created by the 
expulsion or secession of religion. The 
objects of Philosophy were twofold: ei- 
ther, 1. To refine the popular religion into 
amore rational creed; or, 2. To offer it- 
self as a substitute. With this first view, 
it endeavoured to bring back the fables to 
their original meaning ;} to detect the la- 
tent truth under the allegoric shell: but 
in many cases the key was lost, or the 
fable had wandered so far from its pri- 
mary sense as to refuse all rational inter- 
pretation ; and, where the truth had been 
less encumbered with fiction, it came forth 
eold and inanimate : the philosopher could 
strip off the splendid robes in which the 
moral or religious doctrine had been dis- 
guised, but he could not instil into it the 
breath of life. The imagination refused 
the unnatural alliance of cold and calcula- 


Philosophy. 


coincidences of view, even of expression, with my 
own, seems to think that much of the strength of 


the old religion lay inthe worship of the emperor. | 


I am not disposed to think so ill of human nature. 
* Cicero, no doubt, speaks the language of many 
of the more elevated minds when he states that he 
took refuge in philosophy from the afflictions of life 
at that dark period of civil contention. Hortata 
etiam est, ut me ad hec conferrem, animi zgritudo, 


magna et grayi commota-injurid: cujus si majorem 


aliquam levationem reperire potuissem, non ad hee 
potissimum confugissem.—De Nat. Deor., i, 4. 

t Πραγμάτων ὑπ’ ἀνθρωπίνης ἀσθενείας οὐ 
καθορωμένων σαφῶς εὐσχημονέστερος ἑρμηνεὺς ὁ 
μῦθος.---Μαχ. Tyr., Dissert. x. The whole essay 
is intended to prove that poetry and philosophy 
held the same doctrine about the gods. This pro- 
cess, it should be observed, though it had already 
commenced, was not carried to its height until phi- 
losophy and polytheisin coalesced again, from the 
sense of their common danger, and endeavoured to 
array a system, composed of the most rational and 
attractive parts of both, against the encroachments 
of Christianity. 


7 


" 


31 


ting reason; and the religious feeling, when 
it saw the old deities reduced into inge- 
nious allegories, sank into apathy, or 
vaguely yearned, for some new excite- 
ment, which it knew not from what quar- 
ter to expect. 

The last hopes of the ancient religion 
lay in the Mysteries. Of them Theis 
alone, the writers about the time ‘eries. 
of the appearance of Christianity, speak 
with uniform reverence, if not with awe. 
They alone could bestow happiness in life 
and hope in death.* In these remarkable 
ritest the primitive Nature-worship had 
survived under a less refined and less hu- 
manized form ; the original and more sim- 
ple symbolic forms (those of the first ag- 
ricultural inhabitants of Greecet) had been 
retained by ancient reverence : as its alle- 
gory was less intricate and obscure,} it 
accommodated itself better with the ad- 
vancing spirit of the age. It may indeed 
be questioned whether the Mysteries did 
not owe much of their influence to their 
secrecy, and to the impressive forms un- 
der which they shadowed forth their more 
recondite truths.|| 


gressive and continued excitement. They 
were, 14 id, a great religious. 
drama, in which the initiated were at once 
spectators and actors; where the fifth act 
was designedly delayed to the utmost pos-. 
sible point, and of this still suspended ca- 
tastrophe, the dramatis persone, the only 
audience, were kept in studied ignorance. 


* Neque solum cum letitia vivendi rationem ac- 
cepimus, sed etiam cum spe meliore moriendi.— 
Cic., de Leg., i., 14. The theory of Warburton on 
the Mysteries is now universally exploded; but 
neither, with the utmost deference to his erudition, 
can I enter altogether into the views of Lobeck. 
In my judgment, his quotations do not bear him out 
as to the publicity of the ceremonies ; nor can I con- 
ceive that there was none, or scarcely any, secret, 

Vetabo qui Cereris. sacrum 
~ Vulgarit arcane, sub iisdem 
Sit trabibus, fragilemque*mectom 

_ Solvat phaselum. Hor., Carm., iii., 2. 

+ The theories of Maier, Warburton, Plessing, 
Boulanger, Dupuis, Meiners, Villoison, P. Knight, 
Heeren, St. Croix, Creuzer, may be found briefly 
stated, Lobeck, 1, 6, 8. : 


1 Quibus explicatis, ad rationemque revocatis, 


rerum magis natura cognoscitur, quam deorum.— 
Cic., de Nat. Deor., i., 42. 

§ See Varro’s View of the Eleusinian Mysteries, 
preserved by Augustin, De Civ. Dei, vii., 15. 

| ᾿Αγνωσία σεμνότης ἐπὶ τελετῶν καὶ νὺξ. διὰ 
τοῦτο πιστεύεται τὰ μυστήρια, καὶ ἄθατα σπήλαια 
διὰ τοῦτο ὀρύττεται, καιροὶ καὶ τόποι κρύπτειν 
εἰδότες ἀῤῥητουργίαν évOeov.—Synes., de Prov. 
Compare the splendid passage in Dio Chrys., Or. 12. 

4 Non semel quedam sacra traduntur: Eleusis 
servat, quod ostendat revisentibus. Rerum natura, 
sacra sua non simul tradit. Initiatos nos credimus: 
in vestibulo ejus heremus.—Sen., Nat. Quest., 


These, if they did not — 
satisfy, yet kept the mind ina state of pro- . 


= 


ms 


" 
ῖ 


“" 


92 ᾿ς HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


The Mysteries had, perhaps, from an early 
period, associated a moral* purport with 
their sacred shows; and with the progress 
of opinion, the moral would more and 
more predominate over the primitive reli- 
gious meaning.t Yet the morality of the 
Mysteries was apparently that of the an- 
| cient Nature-worship of the East. It 


_ taught the immortality of the soul, as a 


_ part of that vast system of nature which, 
᾿ emanating from the Supreme Being, pass- 
ed through a long course of deterioration 
or refinement, and at length returned and 
resolved itself into the primal source of all 
existence. But the Mysteries, from their 
very nature, could only act upon the pub- 
lic mind in a limited manner :} directly as 
they ceased to be mysteries, they lost tHeir 
power.) Norcan it be doubted, that while 
the local and public Mysteries, particularly 
the greatest of all, the Eleusinian, were 
pure and undefiled by licentiousness, and, 
if they retained any of the obscene sym- 
bols, disguised or kept them in the back- 
ground, the private and moveable mys- 
teries, which, under the conduct of vaga- 
bond priests, were continually flowing in 
from the East, displayed those symbols in 
unblushing nakedness, and gave occasion 
for the utmost license and impurity.|| 
II. Philosophy, as a substitute for reli- 
gion, was still more manifestly 
deficient. For, in the first place, 
it was unable, or condescended not, to 
reach the body of the people, whom the 
progress of civilization was slowly bring- 
ing up towards the common level; and 
where it found or sought proselytes, it 
spoke without authority, and distracted 
vii., 31. Ut opinionem suspendio cognitionis zdifi- 
cent, atque ita tantam majestatem adhibere vide- 
antur, quantum prestruxerunt cupiditatem.—Tert. 
adv, Valent., c. 1. 

* Pindar, Frag. 116. Sophocles, Fragm. Luc. 
LVIII. Isoc., Pan. VII. Plato, Men. 

+ Even Lobeck allows this of the Eleusinian 
Mysteries: Sacerdotesinterdum aliquid de metemp- 
sychosi dixisse largiar,” 1, 73. 

+ The Jews were forbidden to be initiated in the 
Mysteries. In the Greek text of the LXX., a text 
was interpolated or mistranslated (Deut., xxili., 
17), in which Moses, by an anachronism not un- 
common in the Alexandrean school, was made dis- 
tinctly to condemn these peculiar rites of paganism. 

§ Philo demands why, if they are so useful, they 
are not public: ‘‘ Nature makes all her most beau- 
tiful and splendid works, her heaven and all her 
stars, for the sight of all; her seas, fountains, and 
rivers, the annual temperature of the air, and the 
winds, the innumerable tribes and races of animals, 
and fruits of the earth, for the common use of man; 
why, then, are the Mysteries confined to a few, and 
those not always the most wise and most virtu- 
ous?” This is the general sense of a long passage, 
vol. ii., p. 260, ed. Mang. ee 

|| The republic severely prohibited these prac- 
tices, which were unknown [ἢ its earlier and better 
days.—Dionys. Hal., ii., vill. 


Philosophy 


with the multitude of its conflicting sects 
the patient but bewildered inquirer.* Phi- 
losophy maintained the aristocratic tone, 
which, while it declared that to a few elect 
spirits alone it was possible to communi- 
cate the highest secrets of knowledge, 
more particularly the mysteries of the 
great Supreme Being, proclaimed it vain 
and unwise to attempt to elevate the many 
to such exalted speculations.t “ The Fa- 
ther of the worlds,” says Plato in this tone, 
“it is difficult to discover, and, when dis- 
covered, it is impossible to make him 
known to all.” So, observes a German 
historian of Christianity, think the Brah- 
mins of India. Plato might aspire to the 
creation of an imaginary republic, which, 
if it could possibly be realized, might stand 
alone, an unapproachable model of the 
physical and moral perfection of man; but 
the amelioration of all nations, orders, and 
classes to a higher degree of moral ad- 
vancement, would have been a vision from 
which even his imagination would have 
shrunk in despair. ‘This remained to be 
conceived and accomplished by one who 
appeared to the mass of mankind, in his 
own age, as a peasant of Palestine. 

It cannot be denied, that to those whom 
it deigned to address, philosophy 
was sufficiently accommodatin £5 P 


g ; philosophic 
and, whatever the bias of the in- eet. 
dividual mind, the school was open, and 
the teacher at hand, to lead the inquirer 
either to the luxurious gardens of Epicu- 

og oo. 
rus, or among the loftier spirits of the 
Porch. In the two prevalent systems of 
philosophy, the Epicurean and the Stoic, 
appears a striking assimilation to the na- 
tional character of the two predominant 
races which constituted the larger part of 
the Roman world. The Epicu- ppicurean- 
rean, with its subtle metaphys- ism accord- 
ics, its abstract notion of the Mt to Greek 

3 oe og ee ee F character ; 

Deity, its imaginative material- 
ism, its milder and more pleasurable mor- 
als, and, perhaps, its propensity to degen- 
erate into indolence and sensuality, was 
kindred and congenial to that of Greece, 
and the Grecian part of the Roman socie- 
ty. The Stoic, with its more practical 


"ἢ Ὁρᾷς τὸ πλῆθος τῶν συνθήματων ; πῆ τις 
τράπηται ; ποῖον αὐὑτων κατελέξομεν ; τίνι πεισ- 
θῶ τῶν παραγγελμάτων ; Max. Tyr.,xxxv.,sub fin. 

+ Neander has likewise quoted several of the 
same authorities adduced in the following passage. 
See the translation of Neander, which had not been 
announced when the above was written. It is cu- 
rious that Strabo remarks, on another point, the 
similarity of the Indian opinions to Platonism, and 
treats them all as μύθοι : IlaparAékovor δὲ καὶ 
μύθους, ὥσπερ καὶ Πλάτων, περί te ἀφθαρσίας 
ψυχῆς, καί τῶν καθ᾽ ἅδου κρίσεων καὶ ἄλλα τοις 
avra.—L, xv., p. 713. ᾿ 


Α 
_> 


Stoicism to Character, its mental strength 
Roman. _—_ and _self-confidence, its fatalism, 


_» its universally-diffused and all-governing 


Deity, the soul of the universe (of which 
the political power of the all-ruling re- 
public might appear an image), bore the 
same analogy to that of Rome. While 
the more profound thinkers, who could 
not disguise from themselves the insuffi- 
ciency of the grounds on which the philo- 
_sophical systems rested, either settled 
into a calm and contented skepticism, or, 
with the Academics, formed an 
eclectic creed from what appear- 
ed the better parts of the rest. 
Such, on all the great questions of reli- 


Academics. 


_ gion, the Divine nature, Providence, the 


origin and future state of the soul,* was 
the floating and uncertain state, of the 
human mind. In the department of mor- 
als, Philosophy nobly performed her part; 
but perhaps her success in this respect 
more clearly displayed her inefficiency. 
The height to which moral science was 
carried in the works of Cicero, Seneca, 
Epictetus, and Mareus Antoninus, while it 
made the breach still wider between the 
popular religion and the advanced state of 
the human mind, more vividly displayed 


_ the want ofa faith which would associate 


‘itself with the purest and loftiest morality ; 
and remarry, as—it-were, those thoughts 
and feelings, which connect’ man with a 
future state of being, to the practical du- 
ties of life.t 
For, while these speculations occupied 
Philosophy the loftier and more thinking 
fataltopopu- minds, what remained for the 
larreligion. vulgar of the higher and of the 
lower orders? Philosophy had shaken 
the old edifice to its base ; and, even if it 
could have confined its more profound and 
_ secret doctrines within the circles of its 
own elect; if its contempt for the old 
fables of the popular creed had been 


- more jealously guarded, it is impossible 


but that the irreligion of the upper order 
must work downward upon the lower. 


* Augustin, speaking of the great work of Varro, 
concludes thus: In hac-tota serie pulcherrime et 


$ subtilissime disputationis, vitam e#eternam frustra 


quer! et. sperari, facillime apparet.—Civ.. Dei, vi., 3. 
_ + Gibbon and many other writers (Law, Theory 
‘of Religion, 127, 130; Sumner, Evidences, p. 76) 
have adduced the well-known passages from Sal- 
- Just and Cicero which indicate the general state of 
feeling on the great question of the immortality of 
the soul. There is a striking passage in a writer 
whose works have lately come to light through the 
industry of Angelo Mai. The author is endeavour- 


ing to find consolation for the loss of a favourite 


grandson: Si maximé esse animas immortales 


᾿ constet, erit hoc philosophis disserendi argumen- 


᾿ tum,noz parentibus desiderandi remedium.—Front., 
de Nep, Amiss, ’ 


-» 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


33 


When religion has, if not avowedly, yet 
manifestly, sunk into an engine of state 
policy, its most imposing and solemn rites 
will lose all their commanding life and 
energy. Actors will perform ill who do 
not feel their parts. “It is marvellous,” 
says the Epicurean in Cicero, “ that one 
soothsayer (haruspex) can look another 
in the face without laughing.” And, when 
the Epicurean himself stood before the 
altar, in the remarkable language of Plu- 
tarch, “he hypocritically enacted prayer 
and adoration from fear of the many ; he 
uttered words directly opposite to his phi- 
losophy. While he sacrifices, the minis- 
tering priest seems to him no more than 
a cook, and he departs uttering the line 
of Menander, ‘I have sacrificed to gods 
in whom I have no concern.’ ”* 
Unless, indeed, the literature as well as 
the philosophy of the age imme- 
diately preceding Christianity had 
been confined to the intellectual aristoc- 
racy, the reasoning spirit, which rejected 
with disdain the old imaginative fables, 
could not but descend at least as low as 
the rudiments of liberal education. When 
the gravest writers, like Polybius and 
Strabo, find it necessary to apologize to 
their more learned and thinking readers 
for the introductisn of those mythi¢ ie- 
gends which formed the creed of their 
ancestors, and to plead the necessity of © 
avoiding offence, because such tales are 
still sacred among the vulgar, this defer-. 
ence shows rather the increasing indiffer- 
ence than the strength of popular opinion. 
“ Historians,” says the former writer, 
“must be pardoned, if, for the sake of 
maintaining piety among the many, they 
occasionally introduce miraculous or fab- 
ulous tales ; but they must not be permit-— 
ted on these points to run into extrava-— 
gance.” ‘ Religion,” he declares in an- 
other passage, “ would perhaps be unne- ~ 
cessary in a commonwealth of wise men. 
But, since the multitude is ever fickle, full 
of lawless desires, irrational passions, and 
violence, it is right to restrain it by the 
fear of the invisible world and such tragic 
terrors. Whence our ancestors appear to 
have introduced notions concerning the 
gods, and opinions about the infernal re- 
gions, not rashly or without considera- 
tion. Those rather act rashly and incon- 
siderately who would expel them.’* “Itis 
impossible,” observes the inquiring geog- 
rapher, “to govern a mob of women, or 
the whole mixed multitude, by philosophic 


* Quoted also by Neander from Plutarch.—( Non 
poss. suav. viv. sec. Epic.) I have adopted Re 
iske’s reading of the latter clause. 

t Polyb., vi., 56. 


Literature. 


» 


ἐποχὴ ἑῷ 


᾿ “ A! mm , 4. nd 
reasoning, and to exhort them to piety, 


holiness, and faith ; we must also employ 


_ superstition, with its fables and prodigies. 


‘> 


᾿ 


_ utmost respect for the religious institu- 


| Rooov.—Corinth., xvii. 


+232 


For the thunder, the wgis, the trident, the 
torches, the serpents, the thyrsi of the 
gods are fables, as is all the ancient the- 

logy ; but the legislature introduced these 
things as bugbears to those who are chil- 
dren in understanding.”* In short, even 
when the Roman writers professed the 


A 


tions of their country, there was a kind 
of silent protest against their sincerity. 
It was an evident, frequently an avowed 


condescension to the prejudices of the 
Livy admires the wisdom of 
Numa, who introduced the fear of the. 


vulgar. 


gods as a “most efficacious means of 
controlling an ignorant and barbarous 
populace.”+ Even the serious Dionysius 
judges of religion according to its useful- 
ness, not according to its truth; as the 
wise scheme of the legislator rather than 
85 the revelation of the Deity.f{ Pausa- 
nias, while he is making a kind of reli- 


gious survey of Greece, expressing a 


grave veneration for all the temples and 
rites of antiquity, frequently relating the 
miraculous intervention of the several 
deities,§ is jealous and careful lest he 
should be considered a believer in the fa- 
bles which he relates.|| The natural con- 
sequence of this double doctrine was not 
unforeseen. ‘ What,” says the Academic 
‘in Cicero, “when men maintain all be- 
lief in the immortal gods to have been 
invented by wise men for the good of the 
state, that religion might lead to their duty 
those who would not be led by reason, do 
they not sweep away the very foundations 
of all religion ?’4 
The mental childhood of the human 
Future Face Was passing away, at least it 
life. had become wearied of its old toys.** 
The education itself, by which, according 
to these generally judicious: writers, the 
youthful mind was to be impregnated with 
reverential feelings for the objects of na- 
tional worship, must have been coldly 


conducted by teachers conscious that they 


* Strabo, lib. i., p. 19. 

1 Ant. Rom., ii., 8,9. 

ὁ Beotica, 25; Laconica, 4. 

|| Τοῦτον τὸν λόγον, Kai ὅσα ἑοικότα εἴρη- 
ται, οὐκ ἀποδεχόμενος γράφω, γράφω δὲ οὐδὲν 
In another place he re- 
peats that he gives the popular legend as he finds 
it:—Aread., vill, ~ ¥ De Nat. Deor., i., 42, 
κα Gibbon has a striking sentence in his juvenile 
Essai sur la Litterature (Misc. Works, iv., 61): 
“Tes Romains étaient éclairés: cependant ces 
mémes Romains ne furent pas choqués de voir ré- 
unir dans la personne de César un dieu, un preétre, 
et unathée.” He adds atheist, as disbelieving with 
the Epicureans'the providence of God. 


ε + HRs i, 19. 
‘ 


_ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 


ae 


A 


were per pious fraud upon their 
disciples, and perpetually embarrassed by 
the necessity of maintaining the gravity 
befitting such solemn subjects, and of 
suppressing the involuntary smile which 
might betray the secret of their own im- 
piety. . One class of fables seems to have 
been universally exploded, even in the 
earliest youth—those which related to an- 
other life. The picture of the unrivalled 
satirist may be overcharged, but it corre- 
sponds strictly with the publie language 
of the orator and the private sentence of 
the philosopher : i . 

The silent realm of disimbodied ghosts, 

The frogs that croak along the Stygian coasts ; 


The thousand souls in one.crazed vessel steer’d, 
Not boys believe, save boys without a beard.* — 


ie, 


Even the religious Pausanias speaks of 
the immortality of the soul as a foreign 
doctrine, introduced by the Chaldeans and 
the Magi, and embraced by some of the 
Greeks, particularly by Plato.¢ Pliny, _ 
whose Natural History opens with a dec- 
laration that the universe is the sole dei- 
ty, devotes a separate chapter to a con- 
temptuous exposure of the idle notion of 
the immortality of thie soul, as a vision of 
human pride, and equally absurd, whether 
under the form of existence in another 
sphere or under that of inherit 

We return, then, again to the question, 
What remained for minds thus €n- geception Ὁ 
lightened beyond the poetic faith of foreign 9 
of their ancestors, yet not ripe for Téligions. ." 
philosophy? How was the craving forre- 
ligious excitement. to be appeased, which. ie d 
turned with dissatisfaction or disgust from 
its accustomed nutriment? Here is the 
secret of the remarkable union between ‘ied 
the highest reason and the most abject 
superstition which characterizes the age | 
of Imperial Rome. Every foreign ΣΝ ees’ 
gion found proselytes in the capital of the — 4 
world; not only the pure and rational the- = 
ism of the Jews, which had made ἃ Brae 
ress, the extent of which itis among the 
most difficult questions in history to esti- Ὁ Ὁ 
mate, but the Oriental rites of Phrygia, 
and the Isiac and Serapic worship of 
Egypt, which, in defiance of the edict of © 


* Esse aliquid manes et subterranea regna, 
Et contum, et Stygio ranas in gurgite nigras; — 
Atque una transire vadum tot milhacymba, ὃ 
Nec pueri credunt nisi qui-nondum ere lavantur. — $ 

Ms an Pro Sat., ii., ¥49. 
Nisi forte ineptiis ac fabulis ‘dacimnr, ut existi- 
memus apud inferos impiorum supplicia perferre 

* * * que si falsa sunt, id quod omnes intelli ae oe 

—Cic., Pro Cluent., c. 61. Nemo tam puer est ut ‘ee 

Cerberturn timeat, et tenebras et larvarum habitum 


nudis ossibus cohzrentem. Mors nos aut consu= ΕἾ 
mit aut emittit.—Sen., ρέων νι 
1 Lib. vil.,. 585. 
[1 


Ry %u 
ΨΩ 


+ Messeniaca, c. xxxil. 


7 


ΕἼ m Ἢ 


the magistrate* and the scorn of the phi- 
ο΄ Josopher, maintained their ground in the 
capital, and were so widely propagated 
among the provinces that their vestiges 
may be traced in the remote districts of 
Gaul} and Britain ;{ and, at a later period, 
the reviving Mithriac Mysteries, which in 
the same manner made their way into the 
western provinces of the empire.§ In the 
capital itself, everything that was new, or 
secret, or imposing, found a welcome re- 
ception among a people that listened with 
indifference to philosophers who reason- 
ed, and poets who imbodied philosophy in 
the most attractive diction. For in Rome, 
poetry had forsworn the alliance of the 
old imaginative faith. The irreligious 
τ system of Euhemerus|| had found a trans- 
lator in Ennius; that of Epicurus was 
commended by the unrivalled powers of 
Poetry ceas- Lucretius, Virgil himself, who, 
es to be reli- aS he collected from all quarters 
gious. —_the beauties of ancient poetry, 
so he inlaid in his splendid tesselation 
the noblest images of the poetic faith of 
‘Greece; yet, though at one moment he 
transfuses mythology into his stately 
verse with all the fire of an ardent votary, 
at the next he appears as a pantheist, and 
describes the Deity but as the animating 
soul of the universe.{] An occasional fit 
of superstition crosses over the careless 
and Epicurean apathy of Horace.** As-. 
trology and witchcraftt} led captive minds 
τς ἃ See anté, p. 23. 
“ _—s- + As late as the time of Julian, the son of a Ger- 
_ man king had changed his barbarous name of Age- 
_ nario for that of Serapion, having been instructed in 
‘certain Mysteries inGaul_—Amm. Marc., xvi., c. 12. 
$1 have been informed, that in some recent exca- 
vations at York, vestiges of Isiac worship have been 
τον, discovered. "᾿ NN λῆμα 
ιν Réligions de l’Antiquité, i, 363; and note 9, p. 
[ _ || Euhemerus, either of Messina in Sicily, or of 
Messene in Peloponnesus (he lived in the time of 
᾿ς Cassander, king of Macedon), was of the Cyrenaic 
shool of philosophy, and was employed on a voy- 
a age to the Red Sea by Cassander. But he was 
still more celebrated for his theologic innovation: 
_ he pretended to have discovered during this voyage, 
τς on an island in the Eastern Ocean, called Panchaia, 
_ aregister of the births and deaths of the gods in- 
~ scribed on a golden column in the temple of the 
_ Triphylian Jupiter. Hence he inferred that all the 
__. popular deities were mere mortals deified on ac- 
count of their fame, or their benefactions to the hu- 
man race.-—Cic., de Nat. Deor., i, 42. Plut., de 
δ id. et Osir., p. 421. Brucker, i, 604. 
| & ἄτη, vi., 724. According to his life by Dona- 
tus, Virgil was an Epicurean. 


7 


__ ** Insanientis dum sapientiz 
att ᾿ς Consultus erro, nunc retrorsum ἴω 
ὡ “ἢ Vela dare, atque iterare cursus ; 


oe Cogor relictos. 


nd this because he heard thunder at noonday. 
+ See the Canidia of Horace. According to Gib- 
n’s just criticism, a “vulgar witch,” the, Erictho 


"| HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


 ¥ Dio., xlix., c. 43. 


᾿ ᾿ Ἢ 


which boasted themselves emancipated 
from the idle terrors of the avenging gods. 
In the Pharsalia of Lucan, which mani- 
festly soars far above the vulgar theology, 
where the lofty Stoicism elevates the 
brave man who disdains, above the gods 
who flatter, the rising fortunes of Cesar; 
yet, in the description of the witch Erictho 
evoking the dead (the only purely imagin- 
ative passage in the whole rhetorical po- 
em), there is a kind of tremendous truth 
and earnestness, which show that if the 
poet himself believed not “the magie 
wonders which he drew,” at least he well 
knew the terrors that would strike the 
age im which he wrote. 
The old established traders in human 
credulity had almost lost their oc- supersti- 
cupation, but their place was sup- tos: 
plied by new empirics, who swarmed from 
all quarters. The oracles were silent, 
while astrology seized the administration 
of the secrets of futurity. Pompey, and 
Crassus, and Cesar, all consulted the 
Chaldeans,* whose flattering predictions 
that they should die in old age, in their 
homes, in glory, so belied by their miser- 
able fates, still brought not the unblush- 
ing science into disrepute. The repeated 
edicts which expelled the astrologers and 
“mathematicians” from Rome, was no 
less an homage to their power over the 
public mind, than their recall, the tacit 
permission to return, or the return in de- 
fiance of the insulted edict. Banished by 
Agrippa,t by Augustus,f by Tiberius,§ by 
Claudius,|| they are described, in the inim- 
itable language of Tacitus, as a race who, 
treacherous to those in power, fallacious 
to those who hope for power, are ever 
proscribed, yet will ever remain.§] They 
were at length taken under the avowed 
patronage of Vespasian and his success- 
ors.** All these circumstances were 
manifest indications of the decay, and of 
the approaching dissolution of the old re- 
ligion. The elegiac poet had read, not 
without sagacity, the signs of the times. 


of Lucan, is “ tedious, disgusting, but sometimes 
sublime.”—Note, ch. xxv., vol. ii., p. 86. It is the 
difference between the weird sisters in Macbeth 
and Middleton’s ‘‘ Witch,” excepting, of course, the 
prolixity of Lucan. ee ie 3 
* Chaldeis sed major erit fiducia, quicquid 
Dixerit astrologus, credent de fonte relatum 
Hammonis; quoniam Delphis oracula cessant, 
Et genus humanum damnat caligo futuri. 
i Juv., vi., 553. 
t Ibid., lvi., c. 25. 
Ὑ §,.Tae., Anns, 11.32. ἡ || Ibid., xii., 52. 

4 Genus hominum, potentibus infidum, speranti- 
bus fallax, quod in civitate nostra et vetabitur sem- 
per et retinebitur.--Tac., Hist., i., 22. 

** Tac, Hist., ii, 77. Suet. in Vesp. Dio., 
Ixvili. Suet, in Dom., xiv., xv. 


36 


None sought the aid of foreign gods, while bow’d 
Before their native shrines the trembling crowd.* 


And thus, in this struggle between the old 
household deities of the established faith, 
and the half-domiciliated gods of the stran- 
ger, undermined by philosophy, supplanted 
by still darker superstition, Polytheism 
seemed, aS~itewere, to await its death- 
blow ; and to be ready to surrender its an- 
cient honours to the conqueror, whom 
Divine Providence should endow with suf- 
ficient authority over the human mind to 
seize upon the abdicated supremacy. 
Such is the state in which the ancient 
Revolution World leaves the mind of man. 
effected by Qn a sudden a new era com- 
Christianity. mences; a rapid yet gradual 
revolution takes place in the opinions, 
sentiments, and principles of mankind; 
the void is filled ; the connexion between 
religion and morals re-established with an 
intimacy of union yet unknown. The 
unity of the Deity becomes, not the high 
and mysterious creed of a privileged sa- 
cerdotal or intellectual oligarchy, but the 
common property of all whose minds are 
fitted to receive it: all religious distinc- 
tions are annihilated ; the jurisdictions of 
all local deities abolished ; and impercep- 
tibly the empire of Rome becomes one 
great Christian commonwealth, which 
even sends out, as-it™Wwere, its peaceful 
colonies into regions beyond the limits of 
the Imperial power. The characteristic 
distinction of the general revolution is 
this, that the physical agency of the Deity 
seems to recede from view, while the spir- 
itual character is more distinctly unfolded ; 
or, rather, the notion of the Divine Power 
is merged in the more prevailing senti- 
ment of his moral goodness. The re- 
markable passage in the Jewish history, in 
which God is described as revealing him- 
self to Elijah, “neither in the strong wind, 
nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but 
in the still small voice,” may be consider- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


became at once popular, simple, and spir- 
itual, It was disseminated throughout all 
orders of society: it admitted no aristo- 
cratic elysium of heroes and demi-gods, — 
like that of the early Greeks ;* it separa- 
ted itself from that earlier and widely prev- 
alent form, which it assumed in the the- 
ogonies of the Nature-worship, where the 
soul, emanating from the source of Being, 
after one or many transmigrations, was re- 
absorbed into the Divine Essence. It an- 
nounced the resurrection of all mankind to 
judgment, and the reunion of the spirit to 
a body, which, preserving the principle of 
identity, nevertheless should be of a purer 
and more imperishable nature. Such are ᾿ 
the great primary principles which be- 
came incorporated with the mind of man; 
and, operating on all human institutions, 
on the common sentiments of the whole 
race, form the great distinctive difference 
between the ancient and the modern, the 
European and the Asiatic world. During 
the dark ages there was a strong reaction 
of barbarism: in its outward form Chris- 
tianity might appear to recede towards the 
polytheism of older times; and, as has 
been shown, not in a philosophic, but in a 
narrow polemic spirit of hostility to the 
Church of Rome, many of the rites and 
usages of heathenism were admitted into 
the Christian system; yet the indelible 


difference between the two periods re- — 


mained. A higher sense and meaning 
- - a 
was infused into these forms; God was 


considered in his moral rather than his — 


physical attributes—as the Lord of the fu- 


te 
ture as much or even more than of the 


present world. The saints and angels, 
who have been compared to the interme- 
diate deities of the older superstitions, had, 
nevertheless, besides their tutelar power 
against immediate accidents and temporal 
calamities, an important influence over the 
state of the soul in the world to come; 
they assumed the higher office of minis- 


ed, we will not say prophetic, but singu-| tering the hopes of the future, in a still 


larly significant of the sensations to be ex- 
cited in the human mind by the successive 
revelations of the Deity. 


greater degree than the blessings of the 
present life. | 
To the more complete development of 


The doctrine pf the immortality of the | this fact we shall descend in the course of | 


Immortality Soul partook in the same change 
of the soul. with the notion of the Deity ; it 


-* Nulli cura fuit externos quezrere Divos, 
Cum tremeret patrio pendula turba foro. 
Prop., iv., 1-17. 
Propertius may be considered, in one sense, the 
most religious poet of this period: his verses teem 
with mythological allusion, but it is poetical orna- 
ment rather than the natural language of piety ; it 
has much of the artificial school of the Alexandrean 
Callimachus, his avowed model, nothing of the sim- 
photy of faith which breathed in Pindar and Soph- 
ocles. 


* It is curious to see, in another mythology, the 
same martial, aristocratic spirit which, in the earlier 
religions, excluded the dyevnva kapnva, the inglori- 


ous vulgar, from the seats of bliss, where Achilles ~ 


and Diomed pursued their warlike amusements. _ It 
was not proper to appear poor before Odin; and it 
is very doubtful whether a poor man was thought 
worthy of any place in his dwellings, unless he 


ἡ 


" 


+ yi 


* 


came from the field of battle in the bloody train of 


some great chieftain. 
tinctly excluded, and, after death, turned away from — 
the doors of Valhalla.— Geijer, History of Sweden, 
Germ. transl., 1., 103. A Ω 


Slaves at least, were dis- — 


δι 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Design of Our history, which will endeav- 
this history. Qyr to trace all the modifications 
_of Christianity by which it accommodated 
itself to the spirit of successive ages; and 
by this apparently almost skilful, but, in 
fact, necessary condescension to the pre- 
dominant state of morad culture, of which 
itself formed a constituent element, main- 
tained its uninterrupted dominion. It is 
the author’s object, the difficulty of which 
he himself fully appreciates, to portray the 
genius of the Christianity of each success- 
ive age, in connexion with that of the 
age itself; entirely to discard all polemic 
views ; to mark the origin and progress of 
all the subordinate diversities of belief; 
their origin in the circumstances of the 
place or time at which they appeared; 
their progress from their adaptation to the 
prevailing state of opinion or sentiment, 
rather than directly to confute error or to 
establish truth; in short, to exhibit the re- 
ciprocal influence of civilization on Chris- 
tianity, of Christianity on civilization. To 
the accomplishment of such a scheme 
he is well aware, that, besides the usual 
high qualifications of a faithful historian, 
is requisite, in an especial manner, the 
union of true philosophy with perfect char- 
ity, if, indeed, they are not one and the 
same. This calm, impartial, and dispas- 


_ sionate tone he will constantly endeavour, 


he dares scarcely hope, with such warn- 
ings on every side of involuntary prejudice 
and unconscious prepossession, uniformly 
to maintain. In the honesty of his pur- 
te he will seek his excuse for all imper- 
fection or ceneney. in the execution of 
his scheme. r is he aware that he en- 
ters on ground preoccupied by any writers 
of established authority, at least in our 
own country, where the History of Chris- 
tianity has usually assumed the form of a 
History of the Church, more or less con- 
troversial, and confined itself to annals of 
the internal feuds and divisions in the 
Christian community, and the variations 
in doctrine and discipline, rather than to 
its political and social influence. Our at- 
tention, on the other hand, will be chiefly 
directed to its effects on the social and 
even political condition of man, as it ex- 


_ tended itself throughout the Roman world, 


Ἵ 
ἴ 


and at length entered into the administra- 
tion of government and of law; the grad- 
ual manner in which it absorbed and in- 
corporated into the religious common- 
wealth the successive masses of popula- 
_ tion, which, after having overthrown the 
temporal polity of Rome, were subdued to 
the religion of the conquered people; the 
separation of the human race into the dis- 


_ tinct castes of the clergy and laity; the 


37 


former at first an aristocracy, afterward a. 
despotic monarchy: as Europe 
sank back into barbarism, the 
imaginative state of the human fern “peri. 
mind, the formation of a new ods of civil- 
poetic faith, a mythology, and a ization. 
complete system of symbolic worship; 
the interworking of Christianity with bar- 
barism, till they slowly grew into a kind 
of semi-barbarous heroic period, that of 
Christian chivalry ; the gradual expansion 
of the system, with the expansion of the 
human mind; and the slow, perhaps not 
yet complete, certainly not general, devel- 
opment of a rational and intellectual reli- 
gion. Throughout his work the author will 
equally, or, as his disposition inclines, even 
more diligently, labour to show the good 
as well as the evil of each phasis of Chris- 
tianity ; since it is his opinion that, at ev- 
ery period, much more is to be attributed 
to the circumstances of the age, to the 
collective operation of certain principles 
which grew out of the events of the time, 
than to the internal or accidental influence 
of any individual or class of men. Chris- 
tianity, in short, may exist in a certain 
form in a nation of savages as well as ina 
nation of philosophers, yet its specific. 
character will almost entirely depend upon 
the character of the people who are its. 
votaries.* It must be considered, there- 
fore, in constant connexion with that char- 
acter: it will darken with the darkness, 
and brighten with the light of each suc- 
ceeding century ; in an ungenial time it 
will recede so far from its genuine and es- 
sential nature as scarcely to retain any. 
sign of its Divine original: it will advance 
with the advancement of human nature, 
and keep up the moral to the utmost height 
of the intellectual culture of man. 

While, however, Christianity necessa- 
rily submitted to all these modifi- Christiani- ~ 
cations, I strongly protest against ty not self- 
the opinion, that the origin of the “*ered: 
religion can be attributed, according to a 
theory adopted by many foreign writers, 
to the gradual and spontaneous develop- 
ment of the human mind.t Christ is as 
much beyond his ownage, as his own age 
is beyond the darkest barbarism. The 

* By the accounts of Bruce, Salt, and recently 
of Pearce, the Christianity of Abyssinia may be ad- 
duced as an instance of the state to which it may 


be degraded among a people at a very low state οὖ 
barbarism. The conversions among the South Sea 


Christianity 
different in 
form in dif= 


islanders, it will of course be remembered, were 


effected, and are still superintended by strangers in 
avery different stage of civilization. 

+ This theory is sketched by no means with an 
unfair though unfriendly hand by Chateaubriand, 
Etudes sur |’Histoire; a book of which, I am con- 
strained to add, the meager performance contrasts 
strangely with the loftiness of its pretensions. 


38 


time, though fitted to receive, could not, 
by any combination of prevalent opinions, 
or by any conceivable course of moral im- 
provement, have produced Christianity. 
The conception of the human character of 
Jesus, and the simple principles of the new 
religion, as they were in direct opposition 
to the predominant opinions and temper of 
his own countrymen, so they stand com- 
pletely alone in the history of our race ; 
and, as imaginary no less than as real, al- 
together transcend the powers of man’s 
᾿ moral conception. Supposing the Gospels 
purely fictitious, or that, like the ‘* Cyro- 
pedia” of Xenophon, they imbody on a 
groundwork of fact the highest moral and 
religious notions to which man had attain- 
ed, and show the utmost ideal perfection 
of the Divine and human nature, they can 
be accounted for, according to my judg- 


᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ment, on none of the ordinary princi- 
ples of human nature.* When we behold 
Christ standing in the midst of the wreck. 
of old religious institutions, and building, 
or, rather, at one word commanding to 
arise, the simple and harmonious structure 
of the new faith, which seems equally 
adapted for all ages—a temple to which 
nations in the highest degree of civiliza- 
tion may bring their offerings of pure 
hearts, virtuous. dispositions, universal 
charity—our natural emotion is the recog- 
nition of the Divine goodness, in the pro- 
mulgation of this beneficent code of reli- 
gion, and adoration of that Being in whom > 
that Divine goodness is thus imbodied and 
made comprehensible to the faculties of 
man. In the language of the apostle, 
“God is in Christ, reconciling the world 
unto himself.’’t ᾿ 
® 5 


' { ἢ é 


CHAPTER II. 


LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST.—STATE OF JUDEA.—THE BELIEF IN THE MESSIAH. 


Tue history of Christianity without the 
Lite of Christ Life of its Divine Author ap- 
necessary toa pears imperfect and incom- 
poeae of plete, particularly considering 

mswan'Y- the close connexion of that 
life, not only with the more mysterious 
doctrines, but with the practical, and even 
political influence of the religion; for 
even its apparently most unimportant in- 
cidents have, in many cases, affected most 
deeply the opinions and feelings of the 
Christian world. The isolation of the 
history of Christ in a kind of sacred se- 
clusion has no doubt a beneficial effect on 
the piety of the Christian, which delights 
in contemplating the Saviour, undisturbed 
and uncontaminated by less holy associa- 
tions ; but it has likewise its disadvanta- 
ges, in disconnecting his life from the 
general history of mankind, of which it 
forms an integral and essential part. Had 
the life of Christ been more generally 
considered as intimately and inseparably 
connected with the progress and develop- 
ment of human affairs, with the events 
and opinions of his time, works would 
not have been required to prove his ex- 
istence ; scarcely, perhaps, the authenti- 
city of his history. The real historical 
evidence of Christianity is the absolute 
necessity of his life, to fill up the void in 
the annals of mankind, to account for the 
effects of his religion in the subsequent 
history of man. 

Yet to write the life of Christ, though 


dertake. 


at first sight it may appear the 
most easy, is perhaps the most 
difficult task which an historian can un-- 
Many lives have been compo- 
sed with a devotional, none, at least to my 
knowledge, in this country,{ with an his- 
toric design; none in which the author 
has endeavoured to throw himself com- 
pletely back into the age when Jesus of 
Nazareth began to travel as the teacher 
of a new religion through the villages of 
Greece; none which has attempted to 
keep up a perpetual reference to the cir- 
cumstances of the times, the habits, and 
national character of the people, and the 
state of public feeling ; and thus, identi- 
fying itself with the past, to show the ori- 
gin and progress of the new faith, as it 
slowly developed itself, and won its way 
through the adverse elements which it 
encountered in Judea and the adjacent 
provinces. ΤῸ depart from the evangelic 


Its difficulty, _ 


* Dirons nous que Vhistoire de l’Evangile est in- _ 


ventée a plaisir ¢ 
et les faits de Socrate, dont personne ne doute, sont 
bien moins attestés que ceux de Jésus Christ. Au 
fond c’est reculer la difficulté sans la détruire; il 
sercit plus inconcevable. que plusieurs hommes 
d’accord eussent fabriqué ce livre, qu’il ne lest 
qu'un seulena fourni le sujet. Et l’Evangilea des 
caractéres de vérité si frappans, si parfaitement in- 
imitables, que l’inventeur en seroit plus étonnant 
que le héros.—Rousseau, Emile, liv. iv. ᾿ 

+ 2 Cor., v., 19. TE 

t See Appendix 1., on the recent Lives of 
Christ. hr 


ΧΩ 


Ce n’est pas ainsi qu’on invente: — 


% 


’ ᾿ 


, : HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


‘simplicity in the relation of the facts 
would not merely offend the reverential 
feelings of the reader, but tend likewise 
to destroy the remarkable harmony be- 
yen the facts and doctrines which ehar- 
acterizes the narrative of the Gospels, and 
on which their authenticity, as genuine 
uistorical documents, might, to an intelli- 
gent mind, be safely rested. The first 
three Gospels, unless written at a very 
early period, could scarcely have escaped 
the controversial, or, at least, argumenta- 


tive tone which enters into the later 


" 


_ Inind. 
degree, of the nature of an historical 


φ 


Christian writings, and with which the 
relation of St. John is imbued.* The 
plan, then, which the author will pursue, 
will be to presume, to a certain degree, 
on the reader’s acquaintance with the 
subject on which he enters: he will not 
think it necessary to relate at length all 
the discourses, or even all the acts of 
Christ, but rather to interweave the his- 
toric illustration with the main events, 
disposed, as far as possible, in the order 
of time, and to trace the effect which 
each separate incident, and the whole 
course of the life of Jesus, may be sup- 
posed to have produced upon the popular 
In short, it will partake, in some 


comment, on facts which it will rather 
endeavour to elucidate than to draw out 
to their full length. 

' The days of the elder Herod were 
State of Iu- drawing to a close; his pros- 
dea. Herod perous and magnificent reign 
the Grea. Was ending in darkness and 
misery, such as the deepest tragedy has 
rarely ventured to imagine. His last 
years had revealed the horrible, the hu- 
‘Iiliating secret, that the son, at whose 
instigation he had put to death the two 
noble and popular princes, his children by 
Mariamne the Asmonean, had almost ail 
his life been overreaching him in that 
dark policy of which he esteemed him- 
self the master; and now, as a final re- 
turn for his unsuspecting confidence, had 
conspired to eut short the brief remainder 
of his days. Almost the last, and the 
most popular exercise of Herod’s royal 
Intrigues | authority, was to order the exe- 
and death of cution of the perfidious Antipa- 
Antipater. ter. Fearful times! when the 
condemnation of a son by a father, and 
that father an odious and sanguinary ty- 


‘rant, could coincide with the universal 


entiment of the people! The attach- 
ent of the nation to the reigning family 
might have been secured, if the sons of 


_ Mariamne, the heiress of the Asmonean 


=e” 


* See A ppendix II., on the Origin of the Gospels. 


” 


39 


line, had survived to claim the succession : 


the foreign and Idumean origin of the fa- 

ther might have been forgotten in the na- 

tional and splendid descent of the mother. 

There was, it should seem, a powerful 

Herodian party, attached to the fortunes 

of the ruling house ; but the body of the 
nation now looked with ill-concealed aver- 

sion to the perpetuation of the Idumean 
tyranny in the persons of the sons sons of 
of Herod. Yet to those who con- Herod. 

templated only the political signs of the 

times, nothing remained but the degrading 
alternative, either to submit to the line of 

Herod, or to sink into a Roman province. 

Such was to be the end of their long ages 

of national glory, such the hopeless ter- 
mination of the national independence. 

But, notwithstanding the progress of Gre- 

cian opinions and manners, with which 
the politic Herod had endeavoured to 

counterbalance the turbulent and unruly 
spirit of the religious party, the great 
mass of the people, obstinately wedded 

to the law and the institutions of their fa- 

thers, watched with undisguised jealousy 
the denationalizing proceedings of their 
king. This stern and inextinguishable 

enthusiasm had recently broken out into 

active resistance, in the conspiracy to tear 
down the golden eagle, which Herod had 
suspended over the gate of the temple.* 

The signal for this daring act had been a 
rumour of the king’s death; and the ter- 
rifie vengeance which, under a temporary 
show of moderation, Herod had wreaked 
on the offenders, the degradation of the 

high-priest, and the execution of the pop- 
ular teachers, who were accused of hav- 
ing instigated the insurrection, could not 
but widen the breach between the dying 
sovereign and the people. The greater 
part of the nation looked to the death of 

Herod with a vague hope of liberation and 
independence, which struck in with the 
more peculiar cause of excitement pre- 
dominant in the general mind. ‘ 

For the principle of this universal fer- 
ment lay deeper than in the im- G.noral ex- 
patience of a tyrannical govern- pectation of 
ment, which burdened the peo- ‘e Messiah. 
ple with intolerable exactions, or the ap- 
prehension of national degradation, if Ju- 
dea should be reduced to the dominion of 
a Roman proconsul : it was the confidence 
in the immediate coming of the Messiah, 
which was working with vague and mys- 
terious agitation in the hearts of all or- 
ders.t The very danger to which Jewish 


* Hist. of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 105. 

Ἐ Whoever is curious in such inquiries will find 
a fearful catalogue of calamities, which were to pre- 
cede, according to the Rabbinical authorities, the 


40 


independence was reduced was associated 
with this exalted sentiment; the nearer 
the ruin, the nearer the restoration of 
their Theocracy. For there is no doubt, 
that, among other predictions, according 
to the general belief, which pointed to the 
present period, a very ancient interpreta- 
tion of the prophecy, which declared that 
the sceptre, the royal dominion, should 
not depart from the race of Israel until 
the coming of the Shiloh, one of the titles 
uniformly attributed to the Messiah, con- 
nected the termination of the existing pol- 
ity with the manifestation of the Deliver- 
er.* This expectation of a wonderful 
revolution to be wroughtt by the sudden 
appearance of some great mysterious per- 
son, had been so widely disseminated as 
to excite the astonishment, perhaps the 
jealousy of the Romans, whose historians, 
Suetonius and Tacitus, as is well known, 
bear witness to the fact. ‘“ Among many,” 
writes the latter, “ there was a persuasion. 
that in the ancient books of the priesthood 
it was written that, at this precise time, 
the East should become mighty, and that 
the sovereigns of the world should issue 
from Judea.”{ ‘In the East an ancient 
and consistent opinion prevailed, that it 
was fated there should issue, at this time, 
from Judza those who should obtain uni- 
versal dominion.’’§ 

Yet no question is more difficult than 
Nature of ἴθ ascertain the origin, the ex- 
the belief in tent, the character of this belief, 
the Messiah. as it prevailed at the time of our 
Saviour’s coming ; how far it had spread 
among the surrounding nations; or, how 
far, on the other hand, the original Jewish 
creed, formed from the authentic prophet- 


coming of the Messiah, either in Lightfoot’s Har- 
mony, vol. v., p. 180 (8vo edit.), or in Schoetgen, 
Hore Hebraice, vol. ii., p. 509, or Eisenmenger, 
das entdecktes Judenthum, ii., p.711. The notion 
may have been grounded on the last chapter of the 
Prophecy of Daniel. Compare Bertholdt, c. 13.— 
The Rabbins deliver, “In the first year of that 
week (of years) that the Son of David is to come, 
shall that be fulfilled, ‘I will rain upon one city, 
but I will not rain upon another.’ ”—Amos, iv., 7. 
“The second year the arrows of famine shall be 
sent forth. The third, the famine shall be griev- 
ous, and men, and women, and children, holy men 


and men of good works, shall die; and there shall | 


be a forgetfulness of the Law among those that 
learn it. The fourth year, fulness and not fulness. 
The fifth year, great fulness: they shall eat, and 
drink, and rejoice, and the Law shall return to its 
scholars. The sixth year, voices.” (The gloss is, 
“8 fame shall be spread that the Son of David 
comes,” or, ‘‘they shall sound with the trumpet.’’) 
“The seventh year, wars; and, in the going out of 
that year, the Son of David shall come.”—Light- 
foot, xi., 421. 

* Casaubon, Exercit. anti-Baron., ii. 

+ 2 Esdras, vi., 25, Tac., Hist., v., 13. 

§ Suet,, Ves., Ρ. 4. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ἃ 


ical writings, had become impregnated 


with Oriental or Alexandrean notions. It 
is most probable that there was no con- 
sistent, uniform, or authorized opinion on 
the subject: all was vague and indefinite; 
and in this vagueness and indefiniteness 
lay much of its power over the general 
mind.* Whatever purer or loft- ‘The Propn- 
ier notions concerning the great ¢ts. 

Deliverer and Restorer might be imparted 
to wise and holy men, in whatever sense 
we understand that ‘‘ Abraham rejoiced to 
see the day” of the Messiah, the intima- 
tions on this subject in the earlier books 
of the Old Testament, though distinctly 
to be traced along its whole course, are 
few, brief, and occurring at long intervals. 
But from thé time, and during the whole 
period of the prophets, this mysterious 
Being becomes gradually more prominent. 
The future dominion of some great king, 
to descend from the line of David, to tri- 
unig over all his enemies, and to estab- 
lis universal kingdom of peace and 
happiness, of which the descriptions of 
the golden age in the Greek poets are but 
a faint and unimaginative transcript: the 
promise of the Messiah, in short, comes 
more distinctly forward. As early as the 
first chapters of Isaiah, he appears to as- 
sume a title and sacred designation, which 
at least approaches near to that of the 
Divinity ;f| and in the later prophets, not 
merely does this leading characteristic 
maintain its place, but, under the splendid 
poetical imagery, drawn from existing cir- 
cumstances, there seems to lie hid a more 
profound meaning, which points to some 


great and general moral revolution to be 


achieved by this mysterious Being. 

But their sacred bocks, the Law and the 
Prophets, were not the clear and 
unmingled source of the Jewish 
opinions on this all-absorbing subject. 
Over this, as over the whole system of 
the law, tradition had thrown a veil; and 
it is this traditionary notion of the Mes- 
siah which it is necessary here to develop; 
but from whence tradition had derived its 
apparently extraneous and independent 
notions becomes a much more deep and 


Tradition. 


* The Jewish opinions concerning the Messiah 
have been examined with great diligence and accu- 
racy by Professor Bertholdt, in his Christologia Ju- 
dworum. Bertholdt is what may be called a mod- 
erate Rationalist. To his work, and to Lightfoot, 
Schoetgen, Meuschen, and Eisenmenger, I am in- 
debted for most of my Rabbinical quotations. 


+t Such is the opinion of Rosenmiiller (on Isaiah, 
Compare likewise, on Psalm xlv., 7). On 


1m) co 
a point much contested by modern scholars, Gese+ 
nius, in his note on the same passages, espouses 
the opposite.opinion. Neither of these authors, it 
may be added, discuss the question cn theological, 
but purely on historical and critical grounds. Ὁ 


| 


Ἷ: pp 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Al 


Ee . ἢ ? 
embarrassing question.* It is manifest 
froin the Evangelic history,t that, although 
there was no settled or established creed 
upon the subject, yet there was a certain 
conventional language : particular texts 
of the sacred writings were universally 
recognised as bearing reference to the 
Messiah ; and there were some few char- 
acteristic credentials of his title and office 
which would have commanded universal 
assent. 

There are two quarters from which the 
Foreign con. JEWS, as they ceased to be an 
nexions of insulated people, confined in the 
the Jews. narrow tract of Palestine, and 
by their captivity and migrations becom- 
ing more mingled with other races, might 
insensibly contract new religious notions, 
the East and the West, Babylonia and 
Alexandrea. The latter would be the 
chief, though not, perhaps, the only chan- 
nel through which the influence of Gre- 
cian opinions would penetrate into Pales- 
tine ;{ and of the Alexandrean notions of 
the Messiah we shall hereafter adduce 
two competent representatives, the author 
of the Book of Wisdom and Philo. But 
the East, no doubt, made a more early, 
profound, and lasting impression on the 
popular mind of the Jews. Unfortunate- 
ly, in no part does history present us with 
so melancholy a blank as in that of the 
᾿ . great Babylonian settlement of 
abylonia. yl 

the people of Israel. Yet its im- 

* Bertholdt, p: 8. 

+ The brief intimations in the Gospels are almost 
the only absolutely certain authorities for the nature 
of this belief at that particular period, except, per- 
haps, the more genuine part of the Apocrypha. Jo- 
sephus, though he acknowledges the existence and 
the influence of this remarkable feature in the na- 
tional character, is either inclined to treat it asa 
popular delusion or to warp it to his own purposes, 
its fulfilment in the person of Vespasian. For his 
own school, Philo is a valuable witness ; but among 
the Alexandrean Jews the belief in a personal Mes- 
siah was much more faint and indistinct than in 
Palestine. The Rabbinical books, even the oldest 
Targumin or comments on the Sacred Writings, 
are somewhat suspicious, from the uncertainty of 
their date: still, in this as in other points of coin- 
cidence, where their expressions are similar to 
those of the Christian records, there seems so man- 
ifest an improbability that these should have been 
adopted after the two religions had assumed an 
hostile position towards each other, that they may 
be fairly considered as vestiges of an earlier system 
of opinions, retained from ancient reverence, and 
indelible even by implacable animosity. It is far 
m ely that Christianity should speak the cur- 
rent language of the time, than that the Synagogue 
sbould interpolate their own traditionary records 
with terms or notions burrowed from the Church. 

+ Even as early as the reign of Antiochus the 
Great, certain Jews had attempted to introduce 
Grecian manners, and had built a Grecian school 
or gymnasium at Jerusalem.—l Macc.,i., 11, 16. 
2 Macce., ii., 4, 11, 12. 

B 


— δ. 


portance in the religious, and even in the. 
civil affairs of the nation cannot but have 
been very considerable. It was only a 
small part of the nation which returned 
with the successive remigrations under 
Bzra and Nehemiah to their native land ; 
and, though probably many of the poorer 
classes had remained behind at the period 
of the Captivity, and many more returned 
singly or in small bodies, yet, on the other 
hand, it is probable that the tide of emi- 
gration, which at a later time was perpet- 
ually flowing from the valleys of Palestine 
into Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor, and even 
more remote regions, would often take the 
course of the Euphrates, and swell the 
numbers of the Mesopotamian colony. 
In the great contest between Alexander 
and the Persian monarchy, excepting from 
some rather suspicious stories in Jose- 
phus, we hear less than we might expect 
of this race of Jews.* But as we ap- 
proach the era of Christianity, and some- 
what later, they emerge rather more into 
notice. While the Jews were spreading 
in the West, and, no doubt, successfully 
disseminating their Monotheism in many 
quarters, in Babylonia their proselytes 
were kings; and the later Jewish Temple 
beheld an Eastern queen (by a singular 
coincidence, of the same name with the 
celebrated mother of Constantine, the 
patroness of Christian Jerusalem) lavish- 
ing her wealth on the structure on Mount 
Moriah, and in the most munificent chari- 
ty to the poorer inhabitants of the city. 
The name of Helena, queen of the Adia- 
beni, was long dear to the memory of the 
Jews; and her tomb was one of the most 
remarkable monuments near the walls of 
the city. Philo not only asserts that Bab- 
ylon and other Eastern satrapies were full 
of his countrymen,y but intimates that the 


* There may be truth in the observation of St. 
Croix ; “ Les Grecs et les Romains avoient tant de 
haine et de mépris pour le peuple Juif, qu’ils affec- 
toient n’en pas parler dans leurs écrits.” (Histo- 
riens d’Alex., p.555.) This, however, would apply 
only to the Jater writers, which are all we now pos- 
sess; but if in the contemporary historians there 
had been much more, it would probably, at least if 
to the credit of his countrymen, have been gleaned 
by Josephus. 

+ See, on the numbers of the Jews in the Asiatic 
provinces, particularly Armenia, ata later period 
(the conquest of Armenia by Sapor, A.D. 367), St 
Martin’s additions to Le Beau’s Hist. du Bas Em- 
pire. The death of this valuable writer, it is to be 
feared, will deprive the learned world of his prom- 
ised work on the History of the Birth and Death 
of Jesus Christ, which was to contain circumstan- 
tial accounts of the Jews beyond the Euphrates. 

Of the different races of Jews mentioned in the 
Acts, as present in ‘Jerusalem, four are from this 
quarter: Parthians, Medes, Elamites, dwellers in 
Mesopotamia. 


wv 


42 


apprehension of their taking up arms in 
behalf of their outraged religion and 
marching upon Palestine weighed upon 
the mind of Petronius, when commanded, 
at all hazards, to place the statue of Cal- 
igula in the Temple.* It appears from 
some hints of Josephus, that, during the 
last war, the revolted party entertained 
great hopes of succour from that quarter ;t 
and there is good ground for supposing 
that the final insurrection in the time of 
Hadrian was connected with a rising in 
Mesopotamia.f At the same period, the 
influence of this race of Jews on the reli- 
gious character of the people is no less 
manifest. Here was a chief scene of the 
preaching of the great apostle :} and we 
cannot but think that its importance in 
early Christian history, which has usual- 
ly been traced almost exclusively in the 
West, has been much underrated. Hence 
came the mystic Cabalal| of the Jews, the 
chief parent of those gnostic opinions out 
of which grew the heresies of the early 
Church: here the Jews, under the Prince 
of the Captivity, held their most famous 
schools, where learning was imbodied in 
the Babylonian Talmud; and here the 
most influential heresiarch, Manes, at- 
tempted to fuse into one system the ele- 
ments of Magianism, Cabalism, and Chris- 
tianity. Having thus rapidly traced the 
fortunes of this great Jewish colony, we 
must reascend to the time of its first estab- 
lishment. 

From a very early period the Jews seem 
to have possessed a Cabala, a tradition- 


* Leg. ad Caium, vol. ii., p. 578, edit. Mang. 

+ Dio(or Xiphilin) asserts that they received con- 
siderable succours from the East, —L. Ixvi., c. 4. 

t Hist. of Jews, iii., 96, &c. 

§ Nothing but the stubborn obstinacy of contro- 
versy could have thrown a doubt on the plain date 
in the first Epistle of St. Peter(v.13). Philo in 
two places (ii., p. 578, 587), Josephus in one (Ant., 
xviil., 9, 8), expressly name Babylon as the habita- 
tion of the great Eastern settlement. It is not cer- 
tain whether the city was then entirely destroyed 
(Gesenius on Isaiah, xiii., 22), but, in fact, the 
name was extended to the province or satrapy. 
But it was equally the object of the two great con- 
flicting parties in Christianity to identify Rome with 
Babylon. This fact established, the Roman Cath- 
olic had an unanswerable argument, to prove the 
contested point of St. Peter’s residence in the 
Western metropolis ; Babylon, therefore, was deci- 
ded to mean pagan Rome. ‘lhe Protestant at 
once concurred ; for if Rome was Babylon, it was 
the mystic spiritual Babylon of the Apocalypse. 
The whole third chapter of the second Epistle ap- 
pears to me full of Oriental allusions, and the ex- 
ample of Balaam seems peculiarly appropriate, if 
written in that region. 

Lucan’s “ Cumque superba foret Babylon spoli- 
anda” may indeed be mere poetic license, or may 
allude to Seleucia. 

|| Cabala is used here in its most extensive sense. 
—See Chiarini, p. 97. 


IP 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, ᾿ 


᾿ 4 
: % 


ὼ 
ary comment or interpretation of 
the sacred writings. Whether it 
existed before the Captivity, it is impossi- 
ble to ascertain; it is certain that many 
of their books, even those written by dis- 
tinguished prophets, Gad and Iddo, were 
lost at that disastrous time. But whether 
they carried any accredited tradition to 
Babylonia, it seems evident, from the 
Oriental cast which it assumed, that they 
either brought it from thence on their re- 
turn to their native land, or received it 
subsequently during their intercourse with 
their Eastern brethren.* Down to the 
Captivity the Jews of Palestine had been 
in contact only with the religions of the 
neighbouring nations, which, however aif- 
ferently modified, appear to have been es- 
sentially the same, a sort of Nature-wor- 
ship, in which the host of Heaven, especial- 
ly the sun and moon, under different names, 
Baal and Moloch, Astarte and syrian Reli- 
Mylitta, and probably as sym- Zions. 
bols or representatives of the active and 
passive powers of nature, no doubt with 
some distinction of their attributes, were 
the predominant objects. These religions 
had long degenerated into cruel or licen- 
tious superstitions ; and the Jews, in fall- 
ing off to the idolatry of their neighbours, 
or introducing foreign rites into their own 
religious system, not merely offended 
against the great primal distinction of 
their faith, the unity of the Godhead, but 
sunk from the pure, humane, and com- 
paratively civilized institutes of their law- 
giver, to the loose and sanguinary usages 
of barbarism. In the East, how- Religion of 
ever, they encountered a religion Persia. 

of a far nobler and more regular struc- 
ture :¢ a religion which offered no temp- 
tation to idolatrous practices ; for the Ma- 
gian rejected, with the devout abhorrence 
of the followers of Moses, the exhibition 
of the Deity in the human form; though 
it possessed a rich store of mythological 
and symbolical figures, singularly analo- 
gous to those which may be considered 
the poetic machinery of the later Hebrew 
prophets.{ The religion of Persia seems 


Cabala, 


* Mosheim, De Rebus Christ., ii., 18. 
+ In Asia Persarum religionem ceteris esse no- 
billerer--- Bogue Instit., p. 58, and Grot., de 

wy Hi., 10, 

This, it may be observed, has no connexion 
whatever with the originality or authority of these 
predictions. It should be borne in mind, that in 
these visions it is the moral or religious meaning 
alone which can be the object of faith, not the 
figures through which that meaning is conveyed. 
There is no reason why the images of Daniel and 
Ezekiel should not be derived from, or assimilate 
to, the present forms around them, as well as those 
of the rustic Amoz be chiefly drawn from pastoral 


a } 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
4 _* 


x ἣν 
to have held an intermediate rank between 
the Pantheism of India, where the whole 
universe emanated from the Deity, and 
was finally to be reabsorbed into the Dei- 
ty, and the purer Theism of the Jews, 
which asserted the one omnific Jehovah, 
and seemed to place a wide and impassa- 
ble interval between the nature of the 
Creator and that of the created being. 
In the Persian system, the Creation owed 
its existence to the conflicting powers of 
evil and good. These were subordinate 
to, or proceeding from, the Great Primal 
Cause (Zeruane Akerene), Time without 
_bounds,* which in fact appears, as Gibbon 


observes, rather as a metaphysical ab- 


‘straction than as an active and presiding 

Deity. The Creation was at once the 
work and the dominion of the two antag- 
Onist creators, who had balanced against 
each other in perpetual conflict a race of 
spiritual and material beings, light and 
darkness, good and evil. This Magian- 
ism, subsequent to the Jewish Captivity,t 
and during the residence of the captives 
‘in Mesopotamia, either spread, with the 
conquests of the Persians, from the re- 
gions farther to the East, Aderbijan and 
Bactria, or was first promulgated by Zo- 
roaster, who is differently represented as 
the author or as the reformer of the faith. 
From the remarkable allusions or points 
of coincidence between some of the Ma- 
gian tenets and the Sacred Writings,t 
Hyde and Prideaux laboured to prove 
that Zoroaster) had been a pupil of Dan- 
jel, and derived those notions, which seem 
more nearly allied to the purer Jewish 
faith, from his intercourse with the He- 
brew prophet, who held a high station 
under the victorious Medo-Persian mon- 
archy.|| But, in fact, there is such an 
or rural life.—See, e. g., Chiarini’s Ezekiel. Pref- 
ace to Talmud, p. 90 and 10]. 

* So translated by Du Perron and Kleuker. 
There is a learned dissertation of Foucher on this 
subject.—Acad. des Ins., vol. xxix. According to 
Bohlen, it is analogous to the Sanscrit Sarvam 
akaranam, the Uncreated Whole; according to 
Fred. Schlegel, Sarvam akharyam, the Unum In- 
divisibile. 

+ The appearance of the Magian order, before 
the conquest of Babylon by the Medo-Persian 
kings, is an extremely difficult question. Nebu- 
chadnezzar’s army was attended (Jer., xxxix., 3) 
by Nergal-sharezer, the Rab-mag, 1p 39 (Archi- 
magus).— Compare Bertholdt, Daniel, Excurs, iii. 

1 Isaiah, xlvii., 7. 

ὁ The name of Zoroaster (Zerotoash) has been 


deduced from words signifying ‘ the star of gold” 
or “the star of splendour,” and may have been a 
title or appellative. } 

|| The hypothesis which places Zoroaster under 
the reign of Darius Hystaspes, identified with the 
Gushtasp of Persian mythological history, 1s main- 
tained by Hyde, Prideaux, Anquetil du Perron, 
Kleuker, Herder, Goerres, Malcoim, Von Hammer, 


- 


48 


originality and completeness completeness 
in the Zoroastrian system, and of the Zoroas- 
in its leading principles, espe- "ἊΝ system 
cially that of the antagonist powers of 
good and evil; it departs so widely from 
the ancient and simple Theism of the 
Jews, as clearly to indicate an independ- 
ent and peculiar source, at least in its 
more perfect development ; if it is not, as 
we are inclined to believe, of much more 
ancient date, and native to a region much 
farther to the East than the Persian court, 
where Zoroaster, according to one tradi- 
tion, might have had intercourse, in his 
youth, with the Prophet Daniel. 

If, as appears to be the general opinion 
of the Continental writers. who The Zen- 
have most profoundly investigated ‘vesta. 
the subject, we have authentic remains, or, 
at least, records which, if of later date, con- 
tain the true principles of Magianism, in 
the Liturgies and Institutes of the Zenda- 
vesta ;* it is by no means an improbable 


and apparently by De Guigniaut. The silence of He- 
rodotus appears to me among the strongest objec- 
tions to this view. 

Foucher, Tychsen, Heeren, and recently Holty, 
identify Gushtasp with Cyaxares I., and place the 
religious revolution under the previous Median dy- 
nasty. 

A theory which throws Zoroaster much higher 
up into antiquity is developed with great ability by 
Rhode, in his Heilige Sage. ‘The earlier date of 
the Persian prophet has hkewise been maintained 
by Moyle, Gibbon, and Volney. 

These views may in some degree be reconciled 
by the supposition that it was a reformation, not a 
primary development of the religion, which took 
place under the Medo-Persian, or the Persian mon- 
archy. The elements of the faith and the caste of 
the Magi were, I should conceive, earlier. The 
inculcation of agricultural habits on a people 
emerging from the pastoral life, so well developed. 
by Heeren, seems to indicate a more ancient date. 
Consult also Gesenius on Isaiah, Ixy., 5. Constant, 
sur la Réligion, ii., 187. 

* It may be necessary, in this country, briefly to 
state the question as to the authenticity or value of 
these documents. They were brought from the 
East by that singular adventurer, Anquetil du Per- 
ron. Sir W. Jones, in a letter, not the most suc- 
cessful of the writings of that excellent and accom- 
plished man, being a somewhat stiff and laboured 
Imitation of the easy irony of Voltaire, threw a 
shade of suspicion over the character of Du Perron, 
which in England has never been dispelled, and, 
except among Oriental scholars, has attached to all 
his publications. Abroad, however, the antiquity 
of the Zendavesta, at least its value as a trustwor- 
thy record of the Zoroastrian tenets, has been gen- 
erally acknowledged. If altogether spurious, those 
works must be considered as forgeries of Du Per- 
ron. But, I., they are too incomplete and imper- 
fect for forgeries ; if it had been worth Du Perron’s 
while to fabricate the Institutes of Zoroaster, we 
should, no doubt, have had something more elabo- 
rate than several books of prayers, and treatises of 
different ages, from which it required his own 1n- 
dustry, and that of his German translator, Kleuker, 
to form a complete system. II. Du Perron must 
have forged the language in which the books are 


44 : 

. 
source in which we might discover the or- 
igin of those traditional notions of the 
Jews, which were extraneous to their ear- 
lier system, and which do not appear to 
rest on their sacred records.* It is un- 
doubtedly remarkable, that among the 
Magian tenets we find so many of those 
doctrines, about which the great schism in 
the Jewish popular creed, that of the tra- 
ditionists and anti-traditionists, contended 
for several centuries. It has already been 
observed, that in the later prophetic wri- 


written, as well as the books themselves. But the 
Zend is universally admitted by the great Oriental- 
ists and historians of language to be a genuine and 
very curious branch of the Eastern dialects. (See 
Bopp., Vergleichende Grammatik.) It should be 
added, that the publication of the Zendavesta, in 
the original, has been commenced by M. Bournouf 
in Paris, and by M. Olshausen in Germany. 

III. These documents may be considered as more 
modern compilations, of little greater authority 
than the Sadder, which Hyde translated from the 
modern Persian. That they are of the age of Zo- 
roaster it may be difficult to prove ; but their inter- 
nal evidence, and their coincidence with the other 
notices of the Persian religion, scattered among the 
writings of the Greeks and Romans (see Du Per- 
ron’s and Kleuker’s illustrations, especially the 
Persica of the latter), afford sufficient ground for 
supposing that they contain the genuine and unadul- 
terated elements of the Zoroastrian faith, and, if 
not of primitive, are of very high antiquity. The 
traces of Mohammedanism, which Brucker (vol. vi., 
p. 68) supposed that he had detected, and which 
are apparent in the Sadder, are rather notions bor- 
rowed by Mohammed from the Jews ; but whence 
obtained by the Jews is the question. Mr, Er- 
skine, the highest authority on such subjects, con- 
siders the existing Zendavesta to have been com- 
piled in the age of Ardeshir Babhegan, the great re- 
storer of the Magian faith. (Bombay ‘Transac- 
tions.) In Professor Neuman’s translation of Var- 
tan there is a curious sentence, which seems to in- 
timateé that the books of the Magian faith either did 
not exist at that time, or were inaccessible to the 
generality. 

ΓΝ. A thought has sometimes crossed my own 
mind (it has been anticipated by Du Perron), wheth- 
er they can be the sacred books of a sect formed 
from a union of Gnostic or Manichean Christian- 
ity with the ancient Persian religion. But there is 
no vestige of purely Christian tradition; and those 
points in which Parseism seems to coincide with 
Christianity are cilia parts of their great sys- 
tem. And against all such opinions must be weigh- 
ed the learned paper of Professor Rask, who gives 
strong reasons for the antiquity both of the language 
~ and of the books. The language he considers the 
vernacular tongue of ancient Media. (Trans. of 
Asiatic Society, ili., 524.) Still, while I appeal to 
the Zendavesta as authority, I shall only adduce 
the more general leading principles of the faith, of 
which the antiquity appears certain; and rarely 
any tenet for which we have not corroborative au- 
thority in the Greek and Latin writers. The testi- 
monies of the latter have been collected both by Du 
Perron and Kleuker. 

* Mosheim has traced with brevity, but with his 
usual good sense and candour, this analogy between 
the traditional notions of the Jews and those of the 
Magians.—De Reb. anté Const. M., ii., 7 [and In- 

stit. of Eccl. Hist., i., p. 59, &c.]. 


© 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. y + 


tings, many allusions, and much of what 
may be called the poetic language and ma- 
chinery, is strikingly similar to the main 
principles of the Magian faith. Nor can 
it be necessary to suggest how completely 
such expressions as the “children of light” 
and the “children of darkness” had be- 
cone identified with the common language 
of the Jews at the time of our Saviour: 
and wen Jesus proclaimed himself “ the 
Light of the world,” no doubt he employed 
a term familiar to the ears of the people, 
though, as usual, they might not clearly 
comprehend in what sense it was applica- 
ble to the Messiah, or to the purely moral 
character of the new religion. 

It is generally admitted, that the Jewish 
notions about the angels,* one 
great subject of dispute in their 
synagogues, and what may be called their 
Demonology, received a strong foreign 
tinge during their residence in Babylonia. 
The earliest books of the Old Testament 
fully recognise the ministration of angels ; 
but in Babyloniat this simpler creed grew 
up into a regular hierarchy, in which the _ 
degrees of rank and subordination were 
arranged with almost heraldic precision. 
The seven great archangels of Jewish tra- 
dition correspond with the Amschaspands 
of the Zendavesta:{ and in strict mutual 
analogy, both systems arrayed against 
each other a separate host of spiritual be- 


The angels, 


* La doctrine de l’existence des anges, fondé sur 
la révélation, a été beaucoup modifiée par les opin- 
ions des peuples qui habitaient sur les rivages du 
fleuve Cobar, dans la Babylonie, et dans les autres 
pays de l’Orient, o& les deux royaumes d’Israel et 
de Juda furent dispersés. Sous ce point de vue on 
peut régarder les Mehestani, ou les sectateurs de 
Zoroastre, comme ceux qui ont appris beaucoup 
des choses aux dépositaires de la tradition, et dont 
les maximes se retrouvent aujourd’hui dans les 
deux Talmuds.—Chiarini, Le Talmud de Babylone, 
tom. 1., p. 101. 

+ Even the traditionists among the Jews allowed 
that the names of the angels came from Babylon ; 
they are, nevertheless, pure Hebrew or Chaldean. 
Mich-a-el (who is as God), Gabri-el, the Man of 
God.—Gesen., Lex. in verb. Bellerman, tber die 
Essaer, p. 30. The transition from the primitive 
to the Babylonian belief may be traced in the apoc- 
ryphal book of Tobit, no doubt of Eastern origin, 
On the Notions of Demons, see Jortin, Eccl. Hist., 
i., 16]. 

1 Jonathan, the Bi sides paraphrast, on Gen., 
ii, 7: “The Lord said to the seven angels that 
stand before him.”—Drusius, on Luke, i., 19. Sev- 
en, however, seems to have been the number of per- 
fection among the Jews from the earliest period.— 
Old Testament, passim. 

Six seems the sacred number with the Persians. 
The Amschaspands are usually reckoned six; but 
Oromasd is sometimes included to make up seven. 
See the Yesht of the Seven Amschaspands, in the 
Zendavesta of Du Perron or Kleuker. Compare 
also Foucher’s Disquisition, translated in Kleuker, 
Anhang.,i., p. 294. ‘ + 


= 


Ὁ 


ες κα 

ings, with distinct powers and functions. 
Each nation, each individual had in one 
case his Ferver, in the other his guardian 
angel ;* and was exposed to the malice of 
the hostile Dev or Demon. In apparent 
allusion to or coincidence with this sys- 
tem, the visions of Daniel represent Mi- 
chael, the tutelar angel or intelligence-of 
the Jewish people, in opposition to the 
four angels of the great monarchies ; and 
even our Saviour seems to condescend to 
the popular language, when he represents 
the parental care of the Almighty over 
children, under the significant. and beauti- 
ful image, “ that in Heaven their angels do 
always behold the face of my father which 
is in Heaven.”’} ἢ 

The great impersonated Principle of 
Principle Evil appears to have assumed 
of Evil. much of the character of the an- 
tagonist power of darkness. The name 
itself of Satan,{ which in the older poeti- 
cal book of Job is assigned to a spirit of 
different attributes, one of the celestial 
ministers who assemble before the throne 
of the Almighty, and is used in the earlier 
‘books of the Old Testament in its simple 
sense of an adversary, became appropri- 
ated to the prince of the malignant spirits 
—the head and representative of the spir- 
itual world, which ruled over physical as 
well as moral evil. 

Even the notion of the one Supreme De- 
The Supreme ity had undergone some modifi- 
Deity remo- cation consonant to certain pre- 
ved from all vailing opinions of the time. 
with the ma’ Wherever any approximation 
terial world. had been made to the sublime 
truth of the one great First Cause, ei- 
ther awful religious reverence or philo- 
sophie abstraction had removed the pri- 
mal Deity entirely beyond the sphere of 
human sense, and supposed that the in- 
tercourse of the Divinity with man, the 
moral government, and even the original 
creation, had been carried on by the in- 
termediate agency, either in Oriental lan- 


Φ 


* In the Ux. the doctrine of guardian angels is 
interpolated into the translation of Deut., xxxii., 8. 
Plato adopted the notion either mediately or im- 
mediately from the East.—Polit. et in Critia (in 
init.). Compare Max. Tyrius, xv., 17. Hostanes 
the Magian held the same opinions.—Cypr., de Van. 
Idol., Min. Fel. 

+ Matt., xviil., 10. 

¢ Schleusner, Lex. voc. Satan. Dr. Russell, in 
a Dissertation prefixed to his Connexion of Sa- 
cred and Profane History, has traced the gradual 
development of thistenet. It is rathersingular that 
in the work of Theodorns of Mopsuestia on Ma- 
gianism (quoted Photii Bibliotheca, num. 81), Ze- 
ruan is said ‘o have produced τὸν ᾿Ορμίσδαν * * καὶ 
τὸν Σατανᾶν. Onthe other side of this question may 
be consulted Rosenmuller on Job, chap. i, and Mi- 
chaelis, Epimetron in Lowth, de Sacra Poesi. ~ 

᾿ ΠῚ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 


, 45 


guage of an Emanation, or in Platonic of 
the Wisdom, Reason, or Intelligence of 
the one Supreme. This Being was more 
or less distinctly impersonated, according 
to the more popular or more philosophic, 
the more material or more abstract no- 
tions of the age or people.* This yp.aiator 
was the doctrine from the Ganges, p 
or even the shores of the Yellow Sea,t 
to the Ilissus; it was the fundamental 
principle of the Indian religion and Indian 
philosophy ;{ it was the basis of Zoroas- 
trianism}§, it was pure Platonism,|| it was 
the Platonic Judaism of the Alexandrean 
school. Many fine passages might be 
quoted from Philo, on the impossibility 
that the first self-existing Being should 
become cognizable to the sense of man; 
and even in Palestine, no doubt, John the 
Baptist, and our Lord himself, spoke no 
new doctrine, but rather the common sen- 
timent of the more enlightened, when they 
declared that “πὸ man had seen God at 
any time.”9] In conformity with this prin- — 
ciple, the Jews, in the interpretation of 
the older Scriptures, instead of direct and 
sensible communication from the one great 
Deity, had interposed either one or more 
intermediate beings as the channels of 
communication. According to one ac- 
credited tradition alluded to by St. Ste- 
phen, the law was delivered “ by the dispo- 
sition of angels ;”** according to another, 
this office was delegated to a single angel, 
sometimes called the angel of the Law,tt 


* It is curious to trace the development of this 
idea in the older and in the apocryphal books of the 
Old Testament. Inthe book of Proverbs, the Wis- 
dom is little more than the great attribute of the 
Deity, an intellectual personification: in Ecclesias- 
ticus it is a distinct and separate being, and " stands 
up beautiful” before the throne of God, xxv., 1. 

+ M. Abel Remusat says of the three Chinese 
religions, ‘‘ Parmi leurs dogmes fundamentaux, en- 
seignés six siécles avant notre ére par Lao-tseu, 
l'un de leurs maitres, est celui de l’existence de la 
raison primordiale, quia crée le monde, le Logos des 
Platoniciens.— Rech. Asiat , 2d ser., i., 38 

t In the Indian system, Brahm, in the neuter, is 
the great Primal Spirit. See Baron W. Von Hum- 
boldt, uber den Bhagavat Gita. Compare Bopp., 
Conjugations System, 290, 301. 

§ See above. 

| Πᾶν τὸ δαιμονιὴὸν μεταξὺ ἔστι Θεοῦ καῖ ϑνη- 
tov—Oe0¢ δὲ ἀνθρώπῳ οὐ μίγνυται, ἄλλα διὰ 
τούτου πᾶσα ἔστιν ἡ ὁμίλια.---ῬΙαἴο, in Symp. 

4 John, i, 18. Compare John, 1., 4, 18; vi., 46. 

** Compare LXX. transl. of Deut., xxxiii., 2, 
where the angels are interpolated. ‘Hudv τὰ κάλ- 
Mora τῶν δογμάτων καὶ τὰ ὁσιώτατα τῶν ἐν τοῖς 
νόμοις δι’ ἀγγέλων παρὰ τοῦ Θεοῦ μαθέντων --- 
Joseph, Ant., χν., 56, 3. Compare Chiarini, i., 307. 
And on the traces of the Judzo-Alexandrean phi- 
losophy in the LXX., Dahne, Judisch-Alexandri- 
anische Religions Philosophie, part ii., p. 49-56. 

+t Compare Gal.,iii., 19. Deus Mosen legem do- 
cuit: cum autem descenderet, tanto timore percul- 


Le 


ἌΡ 


40 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. - 


at others the Metatron. But the more ordi-| of the human mind, in the necessity of 


nary representative, as it were, of God to 
the sense and mind of man, was the Mem- 
The Word. 18») OF the Divine Word; and it is 

remarkable that the same appel- 
lation is found in the Indian,* the Persian,t 
the Platonic, and the Alexandrean systems. 
By the Targumists, the earliest Jewish 
commentators on the Scriptures, this term 
had been already applied to the Messiah ;{ 
nor is it necessary to observe the manner 
in which it has been sanctified by its in- 
troduction into the Christian scheme.$ 
From this remarkable uniformity of con- 
ception and coincidence of language has 
sometimes been assumed a common tra- 
dition, generally disseminated throughout 
the race of man. I should be content with 
receiving it as the general acquiescence 


sus est, ut ommium oblivisceretur. Deus autem 
statim Jesifiam, Angelum legis, vocavit, qui ipsi Je- 
gem tradidit bene ordinatam et custoditam, omnes- 
que angeli amici ejus facti sunt. Jalkut Ruben, 
quoted by Wetstein and Schoetgen, in loco. See 
also Eisenmenger, 1-56. Two angels seem to be 
introduced in this latter tradition, the angelus Me- 


᾿ tatron, and Jesifya, angelus Legis. 


Philo, de Prem., rationalizes farther, and consid- 
ers the commandments communicated, as it were, 
by the air made articulate, ii., 405. 

_ * It appears in the Indian system: Vach signify- 
Ing speech. She is the active power of Brahma, 
proceeding from him: she speaks a hymn in the 
Vedas, in praise of herself as the supreme and uni- 
versal soul. (Colebrooke, in Asiatic Researches, 
Viil., p. 402.) La premiére parole, que proféra le 
Créateur, ce fut Oum: Oum parut avant toutes 
choses, et il s’appelle le prémier. né du Créateur. 
Oum ou Prana, pareil au pur éther renfermant en 
801 toutes Jes qualités, tous é!émens, est le nom, le 
corps de Brahm, et par conséquent infini comme 
lui, créateur et maitre de toutes choses. Brahm 
néditant sur le Verbe divin y trouva l’eau primi- 
tive.—Oupnek-Hat , quoted in De Guigniaut, p. 644. 

Origen, or, rather, the author of the Philosophou- 
mena inserted in his works, was aware of this fact. 
*Avrol (Brachmanes) τὸν ϑεὸν φῶς εἶναι λέγουσιν 
οὐχ ὕὅποιόν τις Opa, avd’ οἷον ἥλιος καὶ πῦρ’ ἀλλὰ 
ἐστιν αὐτοῖς ὁ Θεὸς λόγος, οὐχ ὁ ἔναρθρος, ἀλλὰ 
ὁ τῆς γνώσεως, δι’ οὐ τὰ κρύπτα τῆς γνώσεως μυσ- 
τήρια ὁρᾶται σύφοις.---Τ)ὴ6. Brachman. 

According to a note, partly by M. le Normant, 
partly by M. Champollion, in Chateaubriand (Etu- 
des sur |’Histoire), Thoth is, in the hieroglyphical 
language of Kgypt, the Word. 

+ In the Persian system, the use of the term Hon- 
over is by nomeans consistent ; strictly speaking, it 
occupies only a third place. Ormuzd, the good 
Principle, created the external universe by his Word 
(Honover) : in another sense, the great primal spirit 
Is the Word ; in another, the Principle of Good. 

Ἐ lt is by the latter, as may be seen in the works 
of Lightfoot, Schoetgen, and other Talmudic wri- 
ters, and in Bertholdt (Christologia Judaica), that 
itis applied to the Messiah, not by Philo, who, as 
will appear, scarcely, if ever, notices a personal 
Messiah. » 

ὁ Dr. Burton (in his Bampton Lectures) ac- 
pe idsniing of conrse, the antiquity of the term, 
and suggests the most sensible mode of reconciling 
this fact with its adoption into Christianity. 


some mediation between the pure, spirit- 
ual nature of the Deity, and the intellect- 
ual and moral being of man, of which the 
sublimest and simplest, and, therefore, the 
most natural development, was the reve- 
lation of God in Christ ; in the inadequate 
language of our version of the original, 
“the brightness of (God’s) glory, and the 
express image of his person.”* 

No question has been more strenuously 
debated than the knowledge of 
a future state entertained by the 
earlier Jews. At all events, it is quite 
clear that, before the time of Christ, not 
merely the immortality of the soul, but, 
what is very different, a final resurrec- 
tion,t had become completely interwoven 
with the popular belief. Passages in the 
later prophets, Daniel and Ezekiel, par- 
ticularly a very remarkable one in the 
latter, may be adduced as the first distinct 
authorities on which this belief might be 
grounded. It appears, however, in its 
more perfect development, soon after the 
return from the Captivity. As early as 
the revolt of the Maccabees, it was so 
deeply rooted in the public mind, that we 
find a solemn ceremony performed for the 
dead.{ From henceforth it became the 
leading article of the great schism be- 
tween the traditionists and the anti-tradi- 
tionists, the Pharisees and the Sadducees: 
and in the Gospels we cannot but discov- 
er, at a glance, its almost universal preva- 
lence. Even the Roman historian was 
struck by its influence on the indomitable 
character of the people.§ In the Zoroas- 
trian religion, a resurrection holds a place 
no less prominent than in the later Jewish 
belief.|| On the day of the final triumph 
of the Great Principle of Light, the chil- 
dren of light are to be raised from the. 
dead, to partake in the physical splen- 
dour, and to assume the moral. perfection 
of the subjects of the triumphant Princi- 
ple of Good. In the same manner, the 
Jews associated together the coming of 
the Messiah with the final resurrection. 


Future state. 


| From many passages quoted by Lightfoot, 


* ᾿Απαύγασμα. τῆς δόξης καὶ χαρακτὴρ τῆς 
ὑποστάσεως avTov.—Hebrews, i., 3. 

+ It is singular how often this material point of 
difference has been lost sight of in the discussions 
on this subject. t 2 Macc., mii., 44. 

ὁ Animasque prelio et suppliciis peremptorum 
zternas putant.—Tac., Hist., v., 5. 

|| Hyde, de Vet. Pers. Relig., 537 and 293. 
Beausobre, Hist. du Manicheisme, i., 204. ’Ava- 
θιώσεσθαι κατὰ τοὺς Μάγους τοὺς ἀνθρώπους 
καὶ ἔσεσθαι Gbavatove.—Theopomp. apud Diog. 


Laert. Kleuker’s Zendavesta and Anhang., part 
ii., p. 110. Boundehesch, xix., xxxi., &e. Com- 
pare Gesenius on Isaiah, xxvi., 19. Σ 

* 


© 


Messiah, Jewish tradition might invest the 


* 


“ 


᾿ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 4Ἴ 


ing, according to the promise to their fa- 
thers, was to be intimately connected with 
their race ; he was to descend from the 
line of David; he was to occupy Sion, the 
holy city, as the centre of his govern- 
ment; he was to make his appearance in 
the temple on Mount Moriah; he was to 
reassemble all the scattered descendants 
of the tribes, to discomfit and expel their 
barbarous and foreign rulers. The great 
distinction between the two races of man- 
kind fell in completely with their heredi- 
tary prejudices: the children of Abraham 
were, as their birthright, the children of 
light ; and even the doctrine of the resur- 
rection was singularly harmonized with 
that exclusive natjonality. At least the 
first resurrection* was to be their separate 
portion ;} it was to summon them, if not 
all, at least the more righteous, from Par- 
adise, from the abode of departed spirits ; 
and under their triumphant King they 
were to enjoy a thousand years of glory 
and bliss upon the recreated and renova- 
ted earth.f duit ΤΟΣ 


dez, pays qui paroit répondre en partie a Khorassan. 
Il en sortira.a ]’ordre, qui lui sera apporté par un 
ized (7. e., spiritus celestis) nommé Sérosch, et re- 
viendra dans |’lran. Par l’efficace des paroles sa- 
crées de |’Avesta, il mettra en fuite les barbares, 
qui desoloient ce pays, y rétablira la religion dans 
toute sa pureté, et y fera renaitre |’abondance, le 
bonheur, et la paix.—Silvestre de Sacy, sur diy. 
Ant. de la Perse, p. 95. , 

* 2 Esd., xi., 10-31, All Israelites (says the 
Mischna. Tract. Sanh., c. xi., 12) shall partake in 
the life to come, except those who deny the resur- 
rection of the dead (the Sadducees?) and that the 
law came from Heaven, and the Epicureans. R. 
Akiba added, he who reads foreign books; Aba 
Schaul, he who pronounces the Ineffable Name 
(Jehovah). Three kings and four private individu- 
als have no share in the life to come: the kings, 
Jeroboam, Ahab, Manasseh ; the four private men, 
Balaam, Doeg, Achitophel, —— ? 

+ It is good (says the martyred youth in the book 
of Maccabees), being put to death by men, to be 
raised up again by him; as for thee, thou shalt 
have no resurrection to life.—2 Macc., vil., 14; 
xli., 44; also 2 Esd., ii., 23. Compare the speech 
of Josephus, Hist. of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 312. 
Quotations might be multiplied from the rabbini- 
cal writers. 

1 Tanchuma, fol. 255. Quot sunt dies Messie? 
R. Elieser, filius R. Jose, Galileus, dixit Messie 
tempora sunt mille anni, secundum dictum, Jer., 
xxill., 4 Dies enim Dei mille est annorum.— 
Bertholdt, p. 38. 

The holy blessed God will renew the world for 
a thousand years— quoted by Lightfoot, iil., 37. If 
I presume to treat the millennium as a fable “ of 
Jewish dotage,” | may remind my readers that this 
expression is taken from what once stood as an ar- 
ticle (the forty-first) of our Church. [" They who 
endeavour to revive the fable of the Millenarians, 
are therein contrary to the Holy Scriptures, and 
cast themselves down headlong into Jewish dota- 
ges.”] See Collier for the Articles m Edward the 
Sixth’s reign. Atque de hujus in his terris er 


I select the following: “ The righteous, 
whom the Lord shall raise from the dead 
in the days of the Messiah, when they are 
restored to life, shall not again return to 
their dust, neither in the days of the Mes- 
siah, nor in the following age, but their 
flesh shall remain upon them.”* 

Out of all these different sources, from 
Jewish πο: Whence they derived a knowl- 
tion of the edge of a future state, the passa- 
Messiah. ges of their prophets in their 
own sacred writings (among which that 
in the book of Daniel, from its coinci- 
dence with the Zoroastrian tenet, might 
easily be misapplied), and the Oriental 
element, the popular belief of the Pales- 
tinian Jews had moulded up a splendid 
though confused vision of the appearance 
of the Messiah, the simultaneous regen- 
eration of all things, the resurrection of 
the dead, and the reign of the Messiah 
upon earth. All these events were to 
take place at once, or to follow close 
upon each other. In many passages, the 
language of the apostles clearly intimates 
that they were as little prepared to ex- 
pect a purely religious renovation at the 
coming of the Messiah as the rest of their 
countrymen; and throughout the apostolic 
age this notion still maintained its ground, 
and kept up the general apprehension that 
the final consummation was immediately 
at hand.t It is no doubt impossible to as- 
sign their particular preponderance to 
these several elements, which combined 
to form the popular belief: yet, even if 
many of their notions entirely originated 
in the Zoroastrian system, it would be 
curious to observe how, by the very ca- 
lamities of the Jews, Divine Providence 
adapted them for the more important part 
which they were to fill in the history of 
mankind; and to trace the progressive 
manner in which the Almighty prepared 
the development of the more perfect and 
universal system of Christianity. 

For, with whatever Oriental colouring 


national jmage of the great Deliverer, in 
Palestine it still remained rigidly national 
and exclusive. If the Jew concurred with 
the worshipper of Ormuzd in expecting a 
final restoration of all things through the 
agency of a Divine Intelligence,f that Be- 


ὁ * Lightfoot, v., 255; x., 495; xi., 353. 

+ Compare 2 Esdras, vi., 24, 25. 7 

1 The Persians long preserved the notion of a 
restoration of the law of Zoroaster by a kind of 
Messiah. ‘“ Suivant les traditions des Parses, rap- 
ἔθει dans la Zerdouscht-nameh et dans | 

jamaspi-nazem, Pashoutan, l’un des personnages 
destinés a faire réfleurir la religion de Zoroastre, et 


7empire des Perses dans les derniers temps, de- | mille annos duraturo, ejusdemque deliciis et volup- 
__ Meure en attendant ce moment dans le Kangué- | tatibus, de bellis ejus cum terribili quodam adver- 
an . Φ., 
eh ks 
sere 


48 : 


We pass from the rich poetic imperson- 
Judro-Gre- ations. the fantastic but ex- 
cian system. pressive symbolic forms of the 
East, to the colder and clearer light of 
Grecian philosophy, with which the West- 
ern Jews, especially in Alexandrea, had 
endeavoured to associate their own reli- 
gious truths. The poetic age of Greece 
had long passed away before the two na- 
tions came into contact; and the same 
rationalizing tendency of the times led the 
Greek to reduce his religion, the Jew the 
history of his nation, to a lofty moral al- 
legory.* Enough of poetry remained in 
the philosophic system, adopted in the 
great Jewish Alexandrean school, that of 
Plato, to leave ample scope for the ima- 
gination ; and, indeed, there was a kind of 
softened Orientalism, probably derived by 
Plato from his master Pythagoras, by 
Pythagoras from the East, which readily 
assimilated with the mystic interpreta- 
tions of the Egypto-Jewish theology. The 
Alexandrean notions of the days of the 
Messiah are faintly shadowed out in the 
book “of the Wisdom of Solomon,”} in 
terms which occasionally remind us of 
some which occur in the New Testament. 
The righteous Jews, on account of their 
acknowledged moral and religious supe- 
riority, were to “judge the nations,” and 
have “dominion over all people.” But 
the more perfect development of these 
views is to be found in the works of Philo. 
This writer, who, however inclined to soar 
into the cloudy realms of mysticism, often 
rests in the middle region of the moral 
sublime, and abounds in passages which 
would searcely do discredit to his Athe- 
nian master, had arrayed a splendid vision 
of the perfectibility of human nature, in 
which his own nation was to take the most 
distinguished part. From them knowl- 
edge and virtue were to emanate through 
the universal race of man. The whole 
world, convinced at length of the moral 
superiority of the Mosaic institutes, inter- 
preted, it is true, upon the allegorical sys- 
tem, and so harmonized with the sublimest 
Platonism of the Greeks, was to submit in 
voluntary homage, and render their alle- 
giance to the great religious teachers and 
examples of mankind. ‘The Jews them- 
selves, thus suddenly regenerated to more 


sario quem Antichristum dicebant, de victoriis de- 
nigue earumqve fructibus mirabilia narrabant som. 
nia, quorum deinde pars ad Christianos transfere- 
~ batur.— Mosheim, ii., 8. 
_ This was the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom 
of God—of Christ, or, emphatically, ‘the king- 
don ee Kuinoel, vol. 1., p. 61. Schoetgen, 
lor. Heb., p. 1147. 
* Compare Bertholdt, ch. vi. 
+ Wisdom, iii., 8; v., 16; vili., 14. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. © a 


» & 
than the primitive purity and loftiness of 
their Law (in which the Divine Reason, 
the Logos, was, as it were, imbodied), were 
to gather together from all quarters, and 
under the guidance of a more than human 
being, unseen to all eyes but those of the 
iavoured a an was the only ves- 
tige of the Messiah), to reas- τὶ: 
semble in their native land. cg arb 
There the great era of virtue, ing to Alexan- 
and peace, and abundance, pro- τα τον, 
ductiveness of the soil, prolifieness in the 
people, in short, of all the blessings prom- 
ised in the book of Deuteronomy, was to 
commence and endure for ever. This 
people were to be invincible, since true 
valour is inseparable from true virtue. By 
a singular inference, not out of character 
with allegoric interpreters, who, while they 
refine the plainest facts and precepts to a 
more subtle and mystic meaning, are apt 
to take that which is evidently figurative 
in a literal sense, the very wild beasts in 
awe and wonder at this pure and passion- 
less, race, who shall have ceased to rage 
against each other with bestial ferocity, 
were to tame their savage hostility to man- 
kind.t Thus the prophecy of Isaiah, to 
which Philo seems to allude, though he 
does not adduce the words, was to be ac- 
complished to the letter; and that para- 
disaical state of amity between brute and 
man, so beautifully described by Milton, 
perhaps from this source, was finally to 
be renewed. And as the Jewish philoso- 
pher, contrary to most of his own coun- 
trymen, and to some of the Grecian sects, 
denied the future dissolution of the world 
by fire, and asserted its eternity, he prob- 
ably contemplated the everlasting duration 
of this peaceful and holy state. 

Such—for no doubt the Alexandrean 
opinions had penetrated into Pal- Belier difter- 
estine, particularly among the entaccording 
Hellenist Jews—such were the acter of the 
vast, incoherent, and dazzling believer. 
images with which the future teemed to 
the hopes of the Jewish people.) They — 


; 


* De Exerc., ii., 435, 436. 

t De Prem., ii., p. 422. 

t+ De Mundi Incorruptibilitate, passim. 

§ The following passages from the apocryphal 
books may be consulted ; 1 do not think it necessa- 
ry to refer to all the citations which might be made 
from the Prophets: the ‘faithful prophet” is men- 
tioned, 1 Macc., xiv., 41; the discomfiture of the 
enemies of Isracl, Judith, xvi., 17 ; universal peace, 
Ecclesiast., |., 23, 24; the reassembling of the 
tribes, ‘Tobit, xiii. 13-18; Baruch, il., 34, 35; the 
conversion of many nations, Tobit, xili., 11; xiv., 
6,7: see particularly the second apocryphal book of 
Esdras, which, although manifestly Judzo-Chris- 
tian, is of value as illustrating the opinions of the 
times: ‘‘ Thou madest the world for our sakes; as 
for the other people, which also come of Adam, thou 


ts 


a 


} 


> 


/ 


x. 


ὧν 


Ψ 


δι E 
ak of a later date, is curious, 


Α' 


; - 


« 


ᾳ. 
admitted either a part or the whole of the 


common belief, as accorded with their tone. 


of mind and feeiing. Each region, each 
rank, each sect; the Babylonian, the Egyp- 
tian, the Palestinian, the Samaritan; the 
Pharisee, the lawyer, the zealot, arrayed 
the Messiah in those attributes which suit- 
ed his own temperament. Of that which 
was more methodically taught in the syn- 
agogue or the adjacent school, the popu- 
lace caught up whatever made the deeper 
impression. The enthusiasm took an ac- 
tive or contemplative, an ambitious or a 
Teligious, an earthly or a heavenly tone, 
according to the education, habits, or sta- 
tion of the believer; and to different men 
the Messiah was man or angel, or more 
than angel; he was king,* conqueror, or 
moral reformer; a more victorious Josh- 
ua, a more magnificent Herod, a wider- 
ruling Cesar, a wiser Moses,f a holier 
Abraham ;{ an angel, the Angel of the Cov- 
enant, the Metatron, the Mediator between 
God and man;§ Michael, the great tutelar 
archangel of the nation, who appears by 
some to have been identified with the 
‘mysterious Being who Jed them forth from 
Egypt; he was the Word of God;|| an 
Emanation from the Deity ; himself par- 
taking of the Divine nature. While this 
was the religious belief, some others were, 
no doubt, of the Sadducaie party, or the 
half-Grecised adherents of the Herodian 
family, who treated the whole as a popu- 


hast said that they are nothing, but. be like unto 
spittle; and hast likened the abundance of them 
unto a drop that falleth from a vessel. * * If the 
world now be made for our sakes, why do we not 
possess an inheritance withthe world? How long 
shall this endure ?—2 Esdras, vi., 56-59. 

* The Gospels, passim; 2 Esdras, xii., 32. 

+ Thou wilt proclaim liberty to thy people, the 
house of Israel, by the hand of Messias, as thou 
didst by the hand of Moses and Aaron, on the day 
of the Passover.—Chald. Par. on Lament., ii., 22, 
quoted by Lightfoot, v., 161. 

Among others to the same purport, the following, 
i Moses came out of the 
_wilderess, and King Messias out of the midst of 
Rome ; the one spake in the head of a cloud, and 
the other spake in the head of a cloud, and the 
Word of the Lord speaking between these, and they 
walking together.—Targ. Jer. on Exod., xii. 

+ * Behold, glorious shall be my servant King 
Messiah, exalted, lofty, and very high: more exalt- 
ed than Abraham, for it is written of him, I have 

lifted up my hand to the Lord (Gen., xiv., 22); and 
~ more exalted than Moses, for it is written of him, 

He saith of me, take him unto thy bosom, for he is 

greater than the fathers.”—Jalkut Shamuni; see 

Bertholdt, 101. 

Some of the titles of the Messiah, recognised by 
general belief and usage, will be noticed as they oc- 
cur in the course of the history. 

ἣ Sohar, quoted by Bertholdt, p. 121, 133. 

|| Many of the quotations about the Memra, or 

Divine Word, may be found in Dr. Pye Smith’s 
work on the Messiah. 
GS 


a 5 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. — 


49 


lar delusion; or, as Josephus to Vespa- 
sian, would not scruple to employ it as 
a politic means for the advancement of 
their own fortunes. While the robber- 
chieftain looked out from his hill-tower to 
see the blood-red banner of him whom he 
literally expected to come “from Edom 
with dyed garments from Bozrah,” and 
“treading the wine-press in his wrath,” 
the Essene in his solitary hermitage, or 
monastic fraternity of husbandmen, look- 
ed to the reign of the Messiah, when the 
more peaceful images of the same prophet 
would be accomplished, and the Prince of 
Peace establish his quiet and uninterrupted 
reign. 

In the body of the people, the cireum- 
stances of the times powerfully poputar 
tended both to develop more fully, belief. 
and to stamp more deeply into their 
hearts, the expectation of a temporal de- 
liverer, a conqueror, a king. As misgov- 
ernment irritated, as exaction pressed, as 
national pride was wounded by foreign 
domination, so enthusiasm took a fiercer 
and more martial turn: as the desire of 
national independence became the pre- 
dominant sentiment, the Messiah was 
more immediately expected to accomplish 
that which lay nearest to their hearts. 
The higher views of his character, and 
the more unworldly hopes of a spiritual 
and moral revolution, receded farther and. 
farther from the view; and as the time 
approached in which the Messiah was to: 
be born, the people in general were in a 
less favourable state of mind to listen to. 
the doctrines of peace, humility, and love, 
or to recognise that Messiah in a being so. 
entirely divested of temporal power or 
splendour. In the ruling party, on the 
other hand, as will hereafter appear, the 
dread of this inflammable state of the pub- 
li¢ mind, and the dangerous position of 
affairs, would confirm that jealousy of in- 
novation inseparable from established gov- 
ernments. Every tendency to commotion 
would be repressed with a strong hand, or, 
at least, the rulers would be constantly on 
the watch, by their forward zeal in con- 
demning all disturbers of the public peace, 
to exculpate themselves, with their for- 
eign masters, from any participation in 
the tumult. Holding, no doubt, with de- 
vout, perhaps with conscientious earnest- 
ness, the promised coming of the Messiah 
as an abstract truth and as an article of 
their religious creed, their own interests, 
their rank and authority, were so connect- | 
ed with the existing order of things, po- 
litical prudence would appear so fully to 
justify more than ordinary caution, that, 
while they would have fiercely resented 


50 


any imputation on their want of faith in 
the Divine promises, it would have been 
difficult, even by the most public and im- 
posing “ signs,” to have satisfied their cool 
incredulity. 4 

With all these elements of political 
State or and religious excitement stirring 
political through the whole fabric of so- 
confusion. ejety, it would be difficult to con- 
ceive a nation in a more extraordinary 
state of suspense and agitation than the 
Jews about the period of the birth of 
Christ. ‘Their temporal and religious for- 
tunes seemed drawing to an immediate 
issue. ‘Their king lay slowly perishing 
of a lingering and loathsome disease ; and 
his temper, which had so often broken out 
into paroxysms little short of insanity, 
now seemed to be goaded by bodily and 
mental anguish to the fury of a wild beast. 
Every day might be anticipated the spec- 
tacle of the execution of his eldest son, 
now on his way from Rome, and known 
to have been detected in his unnatural 
treasons. It seemed that even yet the 
royal authority and the stern fanaticism 
of the religious party, which had for many 
years lowered upon each other with hos- 
tile front, might grapple in a deadly strug- 
gle. The more prudent of the religious 
leaders could scarcely restrain the indig- 
nant enthusiasm of their followers, which 
broke out at once on the accession of 
Archelaus; while, on the other hand, the 
almost incredible testamentary cruelty, 
by which Herod commanded the heads of 
the principal Jewish families to be assem- 
bled in the Hippodrome, at the signal of 
his death to be cut down in a promiscuous 
Massacre, may reasonably be ascribed to 
remorseless policy as well as to frantic 
vengeance. He might suppose that, by 
removing all opponents of weight and in- 
fluence, he could secure the peaceable 
succession of his descendants, if the em- 
peror, according to his promise, should 
ratify the will by which he had divided 
his dominions among his surviving sons.* 

In the midst of this civil confusion, that 
Birth of great event took place which was 
Christ. to produce so total a revolution in 
the state of all mankind. However stri- 
king the few incidents which are related 
of the birth of Christ, when contemplated 


distinct and separate from the stirring | 


transactions of the times, and through the 
atmosphere, as it were, of devotional feel- 


ings, which at once seem to magnify and | 


harmonize them; yet, for this very rea- 
son, we are, perhaps, scarcely capable of 
judging the effect which such events ac- 


* Compare Hist. of the Jews, vol. ii., p. 106. 


% 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tually produced, and the relative magni- 
tude in which they appeared to the con- 
temporary generation. For,if we endeav- 
our to cast ourselves back into the period 
to which these incidents belong, and place 
ourselves, as it were, in the midst of the 
awful political crisis, which seemed about 
to decide at once the independence or 
servitude of the nation, and might, more 
or less, affect the private and personal 
welfare of each family and individual, it 
will by no means move our wonder, that 
the commotion excited by the appearance 
of the Magians in Jerusalem, and the an- 
nouncement of the birth of the Christ, 
should not have made a more deep im- 
pression on the public mind, and should 
have passed away, it should seem, so 
speedily from the popular remembrance. 


In fact, even if generally credited, the in- 
telligence that the Messiah had appeared 
in the form of a newborn infant would 
rather, perhaps, have disappointed than 
gratified the high-wrought expectation, 
which looked for an instant, an immediate 
deliverance, and would be too impatient 
to await the slow development of his man- 
hood. Whether the more considerate 
expected the Deliverer suddenly to reveal 
himself in his maturity of strength and 
power may be uncertain: but the last 
thing that the more ardent and fiery look- 
ed for, particularly those who supposed 
that the Messiah would partake of the di- 
vine or superhuman nature, was his ap- 
pearance as a child; the last throne to 
which they would be summoned to render 
their homage would be the cradle of a 
helpless infant.* 

Nor is it less important, throughout the 
early history of Christianity, to peter in pre- 
seize the spirit of the times. ternatural in- 
Events which appear to us so positions. 
extraordinary, that we can scarcely con- 
ceive that they should either fail in ex- 
citing a powerful sensation, or ever be 
obliterated from the popular remembrance, 
in their own day might pass off as of little 
more than ordinary occurrence. During 
the whole life of Christ, and the early 
propagation of the religion, it must be 


age and among a people which supersti- 
tion had made so familiar with what were 
supposed to be preternatural events, that 
wonders awakened no emotion, or were 
speedily superseded by some new demand 
on the ever-ready belief. The Jews of 
that period not only believed that the Su- 
preme Being had the power of controlling 
the course of nature, but that the same 


| * When Christ cometh, no man knoweth 
| whence he is.”—John, vil., 27. 


borne in mind that they took place in an | 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


᾿ 


influence was possessed by multitudes of 
subordinate spirits, both good and evil. 
Where the pious Christian in the present 
day would behold the direct agency of the 
Almighty, the Jews would invariably have 
interposed an angel as the author or min- 
isterial agent in the wonderful transaction. 
Where the Christian moralist would con- 
demn the fierce passion, the ungovernable 
lust, or the inhuman temper, the Jew dis- 
cerned the workings of diabolical posses- 
sion. Scarcely a malady was endured, 
or crime committed, but it was traced to 
the operation of one of these myriad 
demons, who watched every opportunity 
of exercising their malice in the suffer- 
ings and the sins of men. 

Yet the first incident in Christian his- 
Conception tory, the annunciation of the 


and birth | conception and birth of John 
Baptist the Baptist,* as its wonderful 
(B.C 5). circumstances took place in a 


priestly family, and on so public a scene 
as the temple, might be expected to excite 
the public attention in no ordinary degree. 
The four Levitical families who returned 
from the Captivity had been distributed 
into twenty-four courses, one of which 
came into actual office in the temple every 


. week: they had assumed the old names, 


as if descended in direct lineage from the 
original heads of families; and thus the 
regular ministrations of the priesthood 
were reorganized on the ancient footing, 
coeval with the foundation of the temple. 
In the course of Abia, the eighth in order,t 
was an aged priest named Zachariah. 
The officiating course were accustomed 
to cast lots for the separate functions. 
Some of these were considered of higher 
dignity than others, which were either of 
amore menial character, or, at least, were 
not held in equal estimation. Almost the 
most important was the watching and 
supplying with incense the great brazen 
altar, which stood within the building of 
the temple, in the first or holy place. 
Into this, at the sound of a small bell, 
which gave notice to the worshippers at 
a distance, the ministering priest entered 
alone; and in the sacred chamber, into 


_ which the light of day never penetrated, 
but where the dim fires of the altar, and 


the chandeliers, which were never extin- 
guished, gave a solemn and uncertain 
light, still more bedimmed by the clouds 


x Luke, i., 5-22. 

+ As each came into office twice in the year, 
and there is nothing to indicate whether this was 
the first or second period, it appears to me quite 
impossible to calculate the time of the yearin which 
this event took place. Of this ordering of the 
courses, observes Lightfoot, both Talmuds speak 
largely, iii., 21. 

. 


aa 


51 


of smoke arising from the newly-fed altar 
of incense, no doubt, in the pious mind, 
the sense of the more immediate presence 
of the Deity, only separated by the veil, 
which divided the Holy place from the 
Holy of Holies, would constantly have 
awakened the most profound emotions. 
While the priest was employed within 
the gates, the multitude of worshippers 
in the adjacent court awaited his return; 
for it should seem that the offering of in- 
cense was considered emblematic of the 
prayers of the whole nation; and though 
it took place twice every day, at morning 
and evening, the entrance and return of 
the priest from the mysterious precincts 
was watched by the devout with some- 
thing of awful anxiety. 

This day, to the general astonishment, 
Zachariah, to whom the function had 
fallen, lingered far beyond the customary 
time. For it is said of the high-priest’s 
annual entrance into the Holy of Holies, 
that he usually stayed within as short a 
time as possible, lest the anxious people 
should fear that, on account of some ° 
omission in the offering, or guilt in the 
minister, or perhaps in the nation, of which 
he was the federal religious head, he might 
have been stricken with death. It may 
be supposed, therefore, that even in the 
subordinate ceremonies there was a cer- 
tain ordinary time, after which the de- 
vouter people would begin to tremble, 
lest their representative, who, in their be- 
half, was making the national offering, 
might have met with some sinister or 
fatal sign of the Divine disfavour. When 
at length Zachariah appeared, he could not 
speak; and it was evident that in some 
mysterious manner he had been struck 
dumb, and to the anxious inquiries he 
could only make known by signs that 
something awful and unusual had taken 
place within the sanctuary. At what 
period he made his full relation of the 
wonderful fact which had occurred does 
not appear; but it was a relation of ab- 
sorbing interest both to the aged man him- 
self, who, although his wife was far ad- 
vanced in years, was to be blessed with 
offspring, and to the whole people, as in- 
dicating the fulfilment of one of the pre- 
liminary signs which were universally 
accredited as precursive of the Messiah. 

In the vision of Zachariah he had be- 
held an angel standing on the vision of 
right side of the altar, who an- Zachariah. 
nounced that his prayer was heard,* and 


* Grotius and many other writers are of opin- 
ion that by this is meant, not the prayer of Zacha- 
riah for offspring, but the general national prayer, 


52 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


that his barren house was to be blessed ; 
that his aged wife should bear a son, and 
that son be consecrated from his birth to 
the service of God, and observe the strict- 
est austerity ; that he was to revive the 
decaying spirit of religion, unite the dis- 
organized nation, and, above all, should 
appear as the expected harbinger, who 
was to precede and prepare the way for 
the approaching Redeemer. The angel 
proclaimed himself to be the messenger 
of God (Gabriel), and both as a punish- 
ment for his incredulity, and a sign of the 
certainty of the promise, Zachariah was 
struck dumb, but with an assurance that 
the affliction should remain only till the 
accomplishment of the Divine prediction 
‘in the birth of his son.*- If, as has been 
said, the vision of Zachariah was in any 
manner communicated to the assembled 
people (though the silence of the evan- 
gelist makes strongly against any such 
supposition), or even to his kindred the 
Officiating priesthood, it would no doubt 
have caused a great sensation, falling in, 
as it would, with the prevailing tone of 
the public mind. For it was the general 
belief that some messenger would, in the 
language of Isaiah, ‘‘ prepare the way of 
the Lord ;” and the last words which had, 
as it were, sealed the book of prophecy, 
intimated, as many supposed, the personal 
reappearance of Elijah, the greatest, and, 
in popular opinion, a sort of representa- 
tive of the whole prophetic community. 
The ascetic life to which the infant proph- 
et was to be dedicated, according to the 
Nazaritish vow of abstinence from all 
wine or strong drink, was likewise a 
characteristic of the prophetic order, 
which, although many, more particularly 
among the Kssenes, asserted their in- 
spired knowledge of futurity, was gener- 
ally considered to have ceased in the per- 
son of Malachi, the last whose oracles 
were enrolled in the sacred canon.t 
It does not appear that dumbness was a 
Return of legal disqualification for the sa- 
Zachariah cerdotal function, for Zachariah 
to Hebron. remained among his brethren, the 


offered by him in his ministerial function, for the ap- 
pearance of the Messiah. 

* According to Josephus, Ant., xiii., 18, Hyr- 
canus, the high-priest, heard a voice from heaven 
while he was offering on the altar of incense. 

t The mythic interpreters (see Strauss, p. 138) 
assert that this ‘‘ short poem,” as they call it, was 
invented out of the passages in the Old Testament 
relating to the births of Isaac, Samson, and Sam- 
uel, by a Judaizing Christian, while there were still 
genuine followers of John the Baptist, in order to 
conciliate them to Christianity. This is admitting 
very high antiquity of the passage; and, unless it 
coincided with their own traditions, was it likely to 
have any influence upon that sect ? ᾿ 


priests, till their week of ministration ena 
ed. He then returned to his usual resi 
dence in the southern part of Judea, most 
probably in the ancient and well-known 
city of Hebron,* which was originally a 
Levitical city ; and although the sacerdo- 
tal order do not seem to have resumed the 
exclusive possession of their cities at the 
return from the Captivity, it might lead 
the priestly families to settle more gener- 
ally in those towns; and Hebron, though 
of no great size, was considered remark- 
ably populous in proportion to its extent. 
The Divine promise began to be accom- 
plished; and, during the five first months 
of her pregnancy, Elizabeth, the wife of 
Zachariah, concealed herself, either avoid- 
ing the curious inquiries of her neighbours 
in these jealous and perilous times, or“in 
devotional retirement, rendering thanks to 
the “pans τη for the unexpected bless- 
ing. 

It was on a far less public scene that 
the birth of Christ, of whom the annunci- 
child of Zachariah was to be the ation. 
harbinger, was announced to the Virgin 
Mother. The families which traced their 
descent from the house of David had fallen 
into poverty and neglect. When, after the 


return from the Babylonian Captivity, the - 


sovereignty had been assumed, first by 
the high-priests of Levitical descent, sub- 
sequently by the Asmonean family, who 
were likewise of the priestly line, and 
finally by the house of Herod, of Idu- 
Mean origin, but ingrafted into the Mac- 
cabean line by the marriage of Herod with 
Mariamne, it was the most obvious policy 


to leave in the obscurity into which they ἢ 


had sunk that race which, if it should pro- 
duce any pretendant of the least distine- 
tion, he might advance an_ hereditary 
claim, as dear to the people as it would 
be dangerous to the reigning dynasty. 
The whole descendants of the royal race 
seem to have sunk so low, that even the 
popular belief, which looked to the line of 
David as that from which the Messiah 
was to spring,{ did not invest them with 


* Yet, as there seems no reason why the city of 
Hebron should not be named, many of the most 
learned writers, Valesius, Reland, Haremberg, 
Kuinoel, have supposed that Jutta (the name of a 
small city) is the right reading, which, being little 
known, was altered into a city (of ) Judah. 

+ Luke, i., 23=25. 

+ This opinion revived so strongly in the time of 
Domitian, as, according to the Christian historian, 
to awaken the apprehension of the Roman emperor, 
who commanded diligent search to be made for all 
who claimed descent from the line of David. It 
does not appear how many were discovered, as Eu- 
sebius relates the story merely for the purpose of 
showing that the descendants of our Lord’s breth- 
ren were brought before the emperor, and dismissed 


bo PP 4: 
i aoa, * 


«ε- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 53 


sufficient importance to awaken the jeal-| troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind 
ousy or suspicion of the rulers. Joseph,| what manner of salutation this should be. 
a man descended from this royal race, had| And the angel said unto her, Fear not, 
migrated, for some unknown reason, to a| Mary; for thou hast found favour with 
distance from the part of the land inhabit-| God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in 
ed by the tribe of Benjamin, to which,| thy womb, and bring forth a Son, and shalt 
however, they were still considered to be-| call his name Jesus. He shall be great, 
long. He settled in Nazareth, an obscure | and shall be called the Son of the High- 
town in Lower Galilee, which, independ-| est: and the Lord God shall give unto him 
ent of the general disrepute in which the] the throne of his father David: and he 
whole of the Galilean provinces were held| shall reign over the house of Jacob for 
by the inhabitants of the more holy dis-} ever; and of his kingdom there shall be 
trict of Judea, seems to have been mark-| no end. Then said Mary unto the angel, 
ed by a kind of peculiar proverbial con-| How shall this be, seeing I know not a 
tempt. Joseph had been betrothed to a|man?t And the angel answered and said 
virgin of his own race named Mary, but,| unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come 
according to Jewish usage, some time was| upon thee, and the power of the Highest 


to elapse between the betrothment and the 
espousals. In this interval took place the 
annunciation of the Divine conception to 
the Virgin.* In no part is the singular 
simplicity of the Gospel narrative more 
striking than in the relation of this inci- 
dent ; and I should be inclined, for this 
reason alone, to reject the notion that 
these chapters were of a later date.t So 
early does that remarkable characteristic 
of the evangelic writings develop itself ; 
the manner in which they relate, in the 


‘same calm and equable tone, the most 


extraordinary and most trivial events; the 


shall overshadow thee: therefore also 
that holy thing which shall be born of 
thee shall be called the Son of God. And, 
behold, thy cousin Elizabeth, she hath also 
conceived a son in her old age ; and this 
is the sixth month with her, who was call- 
ed barren. For with God nothing shall 
be impossible. And Mary said, Behold 
the handmaid of the Lord ; be it unto me 
according to thy word. And the angel 
departed from her.” 

The incarnation of the Deity, or the 
union of some part of the Divine Incarnation _ 
Essence with a material or hu- of the Deity. 


apparent absence either of wonder in the? man body, is by no means an uncommon 


writer, or the desire of producing a strong 
effect on the mind of the reader.t To il- 
lustrate this, no passage can be more stri- 
king than the account of her vision: “And 
the angel came in unto her, and said, 
Hail, thou that art highky favoured, the 
Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among 
women. And when she saw him, she was 


as simple labourers, too humble to be regarded with 
suspicion. Many families of this lineage may have 
perished in the exterminating war of Titus, between 
the birth of Christ and this inquiry of Domitian. In 
later times the Prince of the Captivity, with what 
right it would be impossible to decide, traced his 


religious notion, more particularly in the 
East. Yet, in the doctrine as subsequently 
developed by Christianity, there seems 
the same important difference which char- 
acterizes the whole system of the ancient 
and modern religions. It is in the former 
a mythological impersonation of the pow- 
er, in Christ it is the goodness of the De- 
ity, which, associating itself with a human 
form, assumes the character of a repre- 
sentative of the human race; in whose 
person is exhibited a pure model of moral 
perfection, and whose triumph over evil is 
by the slow and gradual progress of en- 


descent from the line of the ancient kings.—Conf. lightening the mind, and softening and pu- 


Casaubon, Exercit. anti-Baron., ii., p. 17. 
* Luke, 1, 26, 38. ᾽ 
+ I cannot discover any great force in the critical 


rifying the heart. The moral purpose of 
the descent of the Deity is by no means 


arguments adduced to disjoin these preliminary | excluded in the religions, in which a sim- 
chapters from the rest of the narrative. There is| jlar notion has prevailed, as neither is that 


a very remarkable evidence of their authenticity in 
the curious apocryphal book (the Ascensio Isaiz, 
published from the Ethiopic by Archbishop Law- 
rence).—Compare Gesenius, Jesaias, Einleitung, 


of Divine power, though confining itself to 
acts of pure beneficence, from the Chris- 
tianscheme. This seems more particular- 


p. 50. This writing marks its own date, the end of | ly the case, if we may state anything with 


the reign of Nero, with unusual certainty, and con- 
tains distinct allusions to these facts, as forming in- 
tegral parts of the life of Christ. The events were 


certainty concerning those half-mythologi- 
cal, half-real personages, the Buddh, Gau- 


no doubt treasured in the memory of Mary, and| tama, or Somana Codom of the remoter 


might by her be communicated to the apostles. 
+ I may be in error, but this appears to me the 
marked and perceptible internal difference between 


East.* 


* The characteristic of the Budhist religion, 


In these systems likewise the 


the genuine and apocryphal Gospels. The latter| which in one respect may be considered (1 depre 


are mythic, not merely in the matter, but also in 
their style. Ms 


cate misconstruction) the Christianity of the re- 
moter East, seems a union of political with reli- 


54 


overbearing excess of human wickedness 
demands the interference, and the restora- 
tion of a better order of things is the ob- 
ject, which vindicates the presence of the 
imbodied Deity; yet there is invariably a 
greater or less connexion with the Orien- 
tal cosmogonical systems; it is the tri- 
umph of mind over matter, the termination 
of the long strife between the two adverse 
principles. The Christian scheme, how- 
ever it may occasionally admit the current 
language of the time, as where Christ is 
called the ‘ Light of the World,” yet in its 
scope and purport stands clear and inde- 
pendent of all these physical notions : it is 
original, inasmuch as it is purely, essen- 
tially, and exclusively a moral revelation ; 
its sole design to work a moral change ; 
to establish a new relation between man 
and the Almighty Creator, and to bring to 
light the great secret of the immortality 
of man. 

Hence the only deviation from the 
Birth from Course Of nature was the birth of 
a virgin. this Being from a pure virgin.* 


gious reformation; its end to substitute purer mo- 
rality for the wild and multifarious idolatry into 
which Brahminism had degenerated, and to break 
down the distinction of castes. But Budhism ap- 
pears to be essentially monastic ; and how different 
the superstitious regard for life in the Budhist from 
the enlightened humanity of Christianity !—See 
Mahony, in Asiat. Research., vii., p. 40. 

M. Klaproth has somewhere said that, ‘‘next to 
the Christian, no religion has contributed more to 
ennoble the human race than the Buddha religion.” 
Compare likewise the very judicious observations 
of Wm. Humboldt, tiber die Kawi Sprache, p. 95. 

* According to a tradition known in the West at 
an early period, and quoted by Jerom (Adv. Jovin., 
c. 26), Budh was born of a virgin. So were the 
Fohi of China and the Schaka of Thibet, no doubt 
the same, whether a mythic ora real personage. 
The Jesuits in China were appalled at finding in 
the mythology of that country the counterpart of 
the “ Virgo Deipara.” (Barrow’s Travels in China, 
i.) There is something extremely curious in the 
appearance of the same religious notions in remote 
and apparently quite disconnected countries, where 
it is impossible to trace the secret manner of their 
transmission. Certain incidents, for example, in 
the history of the Indian Crishna, are so similar to 
those of the life of Christ, that De Guigniaut is al- 
most inclined to believe that they are derived from 
_ some very early Christian tradition. In the present 
instance, however, the peculiar sanctity attributed 
_ to virginity in all countries, where the ascetic prin- 

ciple is held in high honour as approximating the 
pure and passionless human being to the Divinity, 
might suggest such an origin for a Deity in human 
form. But the birth of Budh seems purely mythic: 
he was born from Maia, the virgin goddess of the 
imaginative world—as it were the Phantasia of the 
Greeks, who was said by some to have given birth 
to Homer. The Schaka of Thibet was born from 
the nymph Lhamoghinpral.—Georgi. Alph. Tibet. 
Compare Rosenmiiller, das Alte und Neue Morgen- 
land, v. iv. ; on Budh and his birth, Bohlen, i., 312. 

_ 1am inclined to think that the Jews, though par- 
tially Orientalized in their opinions, were the peo- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Much has been written on this subject; 
but it is more consistent with our object to 
point out the influence of this doctrine 
upon the human mind, as hence its har- 
mony with the general design of Christi- 
anity becomes more manifest. 

We estimate very inadequately the in- 
fluence or the value of any religion, if we 
merely consider its dogmas, its precepts, 
orits opinions. The impression it makes, 
the emotions it awakens, the sentiments 
which it inspires, are perhaps its most 
vital and effective energies: from these 
men continually act; and the character of 
a particular age is more distinctly marked 
by the predominance of these silent but 
universal motives, than by the professed 
creed or prevalent philosophy, or, in gen- 
eral, by the opinions of the times. Thus 
none of the primary facts in the history of 
a widely-extended religion can be without 
effect on the character of its believers. 
The images perpetually presented to the 
mind, work, as it were, into its most inti- 
mate being, become incorporated with the 
feelings, and thus powerfully contribute to 
form the moral nature of the whole race. 
Nothing could be more appropriate than 
that the martial Romans should derive 
their origin from the nursling of the wolf 
or from the god of war; and whether those 
fables sprung from the national tempera- 
ment, or contributed to form it, however 
these fierce images were enshrined in the 
national traditions, they were at once the 
emblem and example of that bold and re- 
lentless spirit, which gradually developed 
itself until it had made the Romans the 
masters of the world. The circumstances 
of the birth of Christ were as strictly in 
unison with the design of the religion. 
This incident seemed to incorporate with 
the general feeling the deep sense of holi- 
ness and gentleness which was to char- 
acterize the followers of Jesus Christ. It 
was the consecration of sexual purity and 
maternal tenderness. No doubt by falling 
in, to a certain degree, with the ascetic 
spirit of Oriental enthusiasm, the former 
incidentally tended to confirm the sanctity 


ple among whom such a notion was least likely to 
originate of itself. Marriage by the mass of the 
people was considered in a holy light; and there 
are traces that the hopes of becoming the mother of 
the Messiah was one of the blessings which, in 
their opinion, belonged to marriage ; and, after ali, 
before we admit the originality of these notions in 
some of the systems to which they belong, we must 
ascertain (the most intricate problem in the history 
of the Eastern religious opinions) their relative an- 
tiquity, as compared with the Nestorian Christian- 
ity, so widely prevalent in the East, and the effects 
of this form of Christianity on the more remote 
Oriental creeds. Jerome’s testimony is the most 
remarkable. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of celibacy, which for so many ages reign- 
ed paramount in the Church; and in the 
days in which the Virgin Mother was as- 
sociated with her divine Son in the gen- 
eral adoration, the propensity to this wor- 
ship was strengthened by its coincidence 
with the better feelings of our nature, es- 
pecially among the female sex. Still the 
substitution of these images for such as 
formed the symbols of the older religions 
was a great advance towards that holier 
and more humane tone of thought and 
feeling with which it was the professed 
design of the new religion to imbue the 
mind of man.* 

In the marvellous incidents which fol- 
Visit to low, the visit of the Virgin Mother 
Elizabeth. to her cousin} Elizabeth,{ when 
the joy occasioned by the miraculous 
conception seemed to communicate itself 
to th> child of which the latter was preg- 
nant, and called forth her ardent expres- 
sions of homage; and in the Magnificat, 
or song of thanksgiving, into which, like 
Hannah in the older Scriptures, the Virgin 
broke forth, it is curious to observe how 
completely and exclusively consistent 
every expression appears with the state 
of belief at that period; all is purely Jew- 
ish, and accordant with the prevalent ex- 
pectation of the national Messiah :§ there 
is no word which seems to imply any ac- 
quaintance with the unworldly and purely 
moral nature of the redemption which 
was subsequently developed. It may per- 
haps appear too closely to press the terms 
of that which was the common, almost 
the proverbial, language of the devotional 


* The poetry of this sentiment is beautifully ex- 
pressed by Wordsworth : 


Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncross’d 
With the least shade or thought to sin allied ; 
Woman, above all women giorified, 

O’er-tainted Nature’s solitary boast : 

Purer than foam on central ocean toss’d, 

Brighter than Eastern skies at daybreak strewn 

With forced roses, than th’ unblemish’d moon 

Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast, 

Thy image falls to earth. Yet sure, I ween, 

Not unforgiven the suppliant here might bind, 

As to a visible power, in whom did blend 

All that was mixed and reconciled in thee 

Of mother’s love and maiden purity, 

Of high with low, celestial with terrene. 

+ Elizabeth must have been farther removed 
than a first cousin; for as it is clear that Mary, as 
well as her husband, were of the line of David, and 
Elizabeth of the priestly line, the connexion must 
have been formed in a preceding generation. 

Luke, i., 39, 56. 

ἶ Agreeing so far as the fact with Strauss, I 
should draw a directly opposite inference, the high 
improbability that this remarkable keeping, this pure 
Judaism, without the intervention of Christian no- 
tions, should have been maintained, if this passage 
had been invented or composed after the complete 
formation of the Christian scheme. 


- 


feelings: yet the expressions which in- 
timate the degradation of the mighty from 
their seat, the disregard of the wealthy, 
the elevation of the lowly and the meek, 
and respect to the low estate of the poor, 
sound not unlike an allusion to the rejec- 
tion of the proud and splendid royal race 
which had so long ruled the nation, and 
the assumption of the throne of David by 
one born in a more humble state.* 

After the return of Mary to Nazareth, 
the birth of John the Baptist ex- birth of John 
cited the attention of the whole the Baptist. 
of Southern Judea to the fulfilment of the 
rest of the prediction.t| When the child 
is about to be named, the dumb father in- 
terferes; he writes on a tablet the name 
by which he desires him to be called, and 
instantaneously recovers his speech. It 
is not unworthy of remark, that in this 
hymn of thanksgiving, the part which was 
to be assigned to John in the promulgation 
of the new faith, and his subordination to 
the unborn Messiah, are distinctly an- 
nounced. Already, while one is but a 
newborn infant, the other scarcely con- 
ceived in the womb of his mother, they 
have assumed their separate stations : the 
child of Elizabeth is announced as the 
prophet of the Highest, who shall go “ be- 
fore the face of the Lord, to prepare his 
ways.” Yet even here the Jewish notion 
predominates: the first object of the Mes- 
siah’s coming is that the children of Israel 
“ should be saved from their enemies and 
from the hand of all that hate them; that 
they, being delivered from the hand of their 
ememies, might serve him without fear.” 

As the period approaches at which the 
child of Mary is to be born, an ap- Journey to 
parently fortuitous circumstance Bethlehem. 
summons both Joseph and the Virgin 
Mother from their residence in the un- 
popular town of Nazareth, in the province 
of Galilee, to Bethlehem, a small village 
to the south of Jerusalem.}$ Joseph, on 
the discovery of the pregnancy of his be- 


* Neander, in his recently-published work, has 
made similar observations on the Jewish notions 
in the Song of Simeon.—Leben Jesu, p. 26. 

+, Luke, i, 57, 80. . 

1 Even the expression the “ remission of sins,” 
which to a Christian ear may bear a different sense, 
to the Jew would convey a much narrower mean- 
ing. All calamity, being a mark of the Divine dis- 
pleasure, was an evidence of sin: every mark of 
Divine favour, therefore, an evidence of Divine for- 
giveness. The expression is frequently used in its 
Jewish sense in the book of Maccabees. 1 Macc., 
iii., 8. 2 Macc., viii., 5,27, and 29; vii., 98. Le 
Clerc has made a similar observation (note in loc.), 
but is opposed by Whitby, who, however, does not 


“appear to have been very profoundly acquainted 


with Jewish phraseology. 
ὁ Matt., i., 18, 25. , 


$ 


56 ' . HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. © 


‘trothed, being a man of gentle* character, 
had been willing to spare her the rigorous 
punishment enacted by the law in such 


cases, and determined on a private dis- 


solution of the marriage.t A vision, how- 
ever, warned him of the real state of the 
case, and he no longer hesitated, though 
abstaining from all connexion, to take 
her to his home; and accordingly, being 
of the same descent, she accompanied 
him to Bethlehem. This town, as the 
birthplace of David, had always been con- 
secrated in the memory of the Jews with 
peculiar reverence ; and no prediction in 
the Old Testament appears more distinct 
than that which assigns for the nativity 
of the great Prince, who was to perpetuate 
the line of David, the same town which 
had given birth to his royal ancestor. 
The decree of the Emperor Augustus,§ 
Decree of in obedience to which the whole 
Augustus. population of Palestine was to be 
enrolled and registered, has been, and still 
remains, an endless subject of controver- 
sy.|| One point seems clear, that the en- 


ἃ Grotius, in loc. from Chrysostom. 
+ A bill of divorce was necessary, even when 
‘the parties were only betrothed, and where the 
marriage had not actually been solemnized. It is 
probable that the Mosaic law, which in such cases 
adjudged a female to death (Deut., xx., 23-25), was 
not at this time executed in its original rigour. It 
appears from Abarbanel (Buxtorf, de Divort.), that, 
in certain cases, a betrothed maiden might be di- 
vorced without stating the cause in the bill of di- 
vorce. This is the meaning of the word λάθρα, se- 
cretly. 1 Micah, v., 2. § Luke, ii., 1, 7. 
|| The great difficulty arises from the introduc- 
tion of the name of Cyrenius as the governor, under 
whose direction the enrolment, or, as it is no doubt 
mistranslated in our version, the taxation, took 
lace. But it is well known that Cyrenius did not 
become governor of Syria till several years later. 
The most usual way of accounting for this difficul- 
ty, adopted by Lardner and Paley, is the natural 
one of supposing that Cyrenius conducted the trans- 
action while holding a subordinate situation in the 
province, of which he afterward became governor, 
and superintended a more regular taxation. But 
Mr. Greswell has recently adduced strong reasons 
for questioning whether Cyrenius could have been 
at this time in Palestine; and I agree with him, 
that such a census must have been made by the 
native authorities under Herod. The alternative 
remains, either to suppose some error in the Gospel 
of St. Luke as it now stands, or to adopt another 
version. That followed by Mr. Greswell, notwith- 
standing his apparent authorities, sounds to me quite 
irreconcilable with the genius of the Greek Jan- 
guage. There cannot, perhaps, be found a more 
brief and satisfactory summary of the different opin- 
ions on this subject than in the common book, Els- 
ley’s Annotations on the Gospels. Tholuck, in his 
answer to Strauss, has examined the question at 
great length, p. 162-198. Neander fairly admits 
the “yp ing! of a mistake in a point of this kind 
on the part of the evangelists, Leben Jesu, p. 19. 
With him, I am at a loss to conceive how Dr. 
Strauss can imagine a myth in sucha plain, prosaic 
sentence. 


rolment must have been of the nature of a 
population census; for any property pos- 
sessed by Joseph or Mary must have beer 
at Nazareth; and the enrolment, which 
seems to have included both husband and 
wife, was made at the place where the 
genealogical registers of the tribes were 
kept. About this period Josephus gives 
an account of an oath of allegiance and of 
fidelity to Cesar and to the interests of 
the reigning sovereign, which was to be 
taken by the whole Jewish nation. The 
affair of this oath is strangely mingled up 
with’ predictions of a change of dynasty, 
and with the expected appearance of a 
great king, under whose All-powerful 
reign the most extraordinary events were 
to take place. Six thousand of the Phari- 
sees, the violent religious party, resolute- 
ly refused to take the oath. They were 
fined, and their fine discharged by the low- 
born wife of Pheroras, the brother of Her- 
od, into whose line certain impostors or 
enthusiasts, pretending to the gift of proph- 
ecy, had declared that the succession was 
to pass.* A eunuch, Bagoas, to whom 


* 


they had promised peculiar and miracu- * 


lous advantages during the reign of the 
great predicted king,t was implicated in 
this conspiracy, and suffered death, with 
many of the obstinate Pharisees and of 
Herod’s kindred. It is highly probable 
that the administration of the oath of alle- 
giance in Josephus, and the census in St. 
Luke, belong to the same transaction ; for, 
if the oath was to be taken by all the sub- 
jects of Herod, a general enrolment would 
be necessary throughout his dominions ; 
and it was likely, according to Jewish 
usage, that this enrolment would be con- 
ducted according to the established divis- 
ions of the tribes.{ If, however, the ex- 
pectation of the Messiah had penetrated 
even into the palace of Herod; if it had 
been made use of in the intrigues and dis- 


sensions among the separate branches of 


* Though inclined to agree with Lardner in sup- 
posing that the census or population-return men- 
tioned by St. Luke was connected with the oath of 
fidelity to Augustus and to Herod, I cannot enter 
into his notion, that the whole circumstantial and 
highly credible statement of Josephus is but a ma- 
liciously-disguised account of the incidents which 
took place at the birth of Christ.—Lardner’s Works, 
vol. i. (Ato edit.), p. 152. 

+ Independent of the nature of this promise, on 
which I am intentionally silent, the text of Jose- 
phus (Ant., xvii., 2, 6) is unintelligible as it stands; 
nor is the emendation proposed by Ward, a friend 
of Lardner’s, though ingenious, altogether satisfac- 
tory.—Ibid. 

t The chronological difficulties in this case do 
not appear to me of great importance, as the whole 
affair of the oath may have occupied some time, 
and the enrolment may have taken place somewhat 
later in the provinces than in the capital. 


ἧς 


a” 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


. 


nis family ; if the strong religious faction 
had. not scrupled to assume the character 

᾿ of divinely-inspired prophets, and to pro- 
claim an immediate change of dynasty, 
the whole conduct of Herod, as described 
by the evangelists, harmonizes in a most 
singular manner with the circumstances 
of the times. Though the birth of Jesus 
might appear to Herod but as an insignifi- 
cant episode in the more dangerous tragic 
plot which was unfolding itself in his own 
family, yet his jealous apprehension at 
the very name of a newborn native King 
would seize at once on the most trifling 
cause of suspicion; andthe judicial mas- 
sacre of many of the most influential of 
the Pharisees, and of his own kindred in 
Jerusalem, which took place on the dis- 
covery of this plot, was a fitting prelude 
for the slaughter of all the children under 
a certain age in Bethlehem. 

But whether the enrolment which sum- 
Birth op Moned Joseph and Mary to the town 
Christ. where the registers of their descent 
were kept was connected with this oath 
of fidelity to the emperor and the king, 
or whether it was only a population-re- 
turn, made by the command of the em- 
peror, in all the provinces where the Ro- 
man sovereignty or influence extended,* 
it singularly contributed to the completion 
of the prophecy to which we have allu- 
ded, which designated the City of David 
as the birthplace of the Messiah. Those 
who claimed descent from the families 
whose original possessions were in the 
neighbourhood of Bethlehem, crowded the 
whole of the small town; and in the sta- 
ble of the inn or caravansera was born 
THE CHILD, whose moral doctrines, if 
adopted throughout the world, would de- 
stroy more than half the misery by de- 
stroying all the vice and mutual hostility 
of men; and who has been for centuries 
considered the object of adoration, as the 
Divine Mediator between God and Man, 
by the most civilized and enlightened na- 
tions of the earth. Of this immediate 
epoch only one incident is recorded ; but, 
in all the early history of Christianity, no- 
thing is more beautiful, nor in more per- 


* This view is maintained by Tholuck, and seems 
to receive some support from the high authority of 
Savigny, writing on another subject ; it is support- 
ed by two passages of late writers, Isidore and Cas- 
siodorus. Augusti siquidem temporibus orbis Ro- 
manus agris divisus censuque descriptus est, ut 
possessio sua nulli haberetur incerta, quam pro trib- 
utorum susceperat quantitate solvenda. Of itself, 
the authority of Cassiodorus, though a sensible 
writer, would have no great weight; but he may 
have read many works unknown to us on this pe- 
riod of history, of which we possess singularly 1m- 
perfect information. 


to the lowly shepherds.* 


3 


fect unison with the future character of — 
the religion, than the first revelation of its 
benign principles by voices from Heaven 
The proclama- 
tion of ‘Glory to God, Peace on earth, 
and good-will towards men,” is not made 
by day, but in the quiet stillness of the 
night : not in the stately temple of the 
ancient worship, but among the peaceful 
pastures ; not to the religious Senate of 
the Jewish people, or to the priesthood 
arrayed in all the splendour of public 
ministration, but to peasants employed 
in their lowly occupation.f 

In eight days, according to the law, the 
child was initiated into the race of Abra- 
ham by the rite of circumcision: and 
when the forty days of purification, like- 
wise appointed by the statute, are over, 
the Virgin Mother hastens to make the 
customary presentation of the firstborn 
male in the temple. Her offering is that 
of the poorer Jewish females, who, while 
the more wealthy made an oblation of a 
lamb, were content with the least costly, 
a pair of turtle doves, or two young pi- 
geons.§ Only two persons are recorded 
as having any knowledge of the future 
destiny of the child, Anna, a woman en- 
dowed with a prophetical character, and 
the aged Simeon. That Simeon|| was not 


* Luke, ii., 8, 20. Fo too oe 

t Neander has well observed, that the modesty 
of this quiet scene is not in accordance with what 
might be expected from the fertility and boldness 
of mythic invention. 

1 The year in which Christ was born is still con- 
tested. There is still more uncertainty concerming 
the time of the year, which learned men are still 
labouring to determine. Where there is and can 
be no certainty, it is the wisest course to acknowl- 
edge our ignorance, and not to claim the authority 
of historic truth for that which is purely conjectu- 
ral. The two ablest modern writers who have in- 
vestigated the chronology of the life of Christ, Dr. 
Burton and Mr, Greswell, have come to opposite 
conclusions, one contending for the spring, the 
other for the autumn. Even if the argument of ei- 
ther had any solid ground to rest on, it would be 
difficult (would it be worth while 7) to extirpate the 
traditionary belief so beautifully pabecied in Mil- 
ton’s Hymn: 

It was the winter wild 
When the Heaven-born child, &c. 


Were the point of the least importance, we should, 
no doubt, have known more about it. Quid tan- 
dem refert annum et diem exorti luminis. ignorare, 
quum apparuisse illud, et cecis hominum mentibus 
illuxisse constet, neque sit, quod obsistat nobis, ne 
splendore ac calore ejus utamur.—Mosheim. There 
is a good essay in the Opuscula of Jablonski, iii., 
317, on the origin of the festivity of Christmas-day. 
Luke, ii., 21, 39. 

ἢ This was the notion of Lightfoot, who, though 
often invaluable as interpreting the New Testa- 
ment from Jewish usages, is sometimes misled by 
his Rabbinism into fanciful analogies and illustra- 
tions.—Hist. Jews, iii., 83, note. 


* 


57” 


58 ” ii HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ’ 


the celebrated master of the schools of 
Jewish learning, the son of Hillel, and the 
father of Gamaliel, is fairly inferred from 
the silence of St. Luke, who, though chief- 
ly writing for the Greek converts, would 
scarcely have omitted to state distinct- 
ly the testimony of so distinguished a 
man to the Messiahship of Jesus. ‘There 
are other insurmountable historical objec- 
tions.* Though occurrences among the 
more devout worshippers in the temple 
were perhaps less likely to reach 
the ear of Herod than those in any 
other part of the city, yet it was impossi- 
ble that the solemn act of recognising the 
Messiah in the infant son of Mary, on so 
public a scene, by a man whose language 
and conduct was watched by the whole 
people, could escape observation. Such 
an acknowledgment, by so high an author- 
ity, would immediately have been noised 
abroad ; no prudence could have suppress- 
ed the instantaneous excitement. Besides 
this, if alive at this time, Simeon, Ben 
Hillel, would have presided in the court 
of inquiry, summoned by Herod, after 
His bene- the appearance of the Magi. The 
diction. most remarkable point in the ben- 
ediction of Simeon is the prediction that 
the child, who, it would have been sup- 
posed, would have caused unmingled pride 
and joy, should also be the cause of the 
deepest sorrow to his mother, and of the 
most fearful calamities, as well as of glo- 
ry, to the nation.t+ 
The intereommunion of opinions be- 
tween. the Jewish and Zoroastrian reli- 
gions throws great light on the visit of 
The Magi, the Magi, or Wise Men, to Jeru- 
salem. The impregnation of the 
Jewish notions about the Messiah with 
the Magian doctrines of the final triumph 
of Ormusd, makes it by no means improb- 
able that, on the other side, the national 
doctrines of the Jews may have worked 
their way into the popular belief of the 


Simeon. 


* Our first and not least embarrassing difficulty 
in harmonizing the facts recorded in the several 
Gospels is the relative priority of the presentation 
in the temple and the visit of the Magians to Beth- 
lehem. On one side there appears no reason for 
the return of the parents and the child, after the 

resentation, to Bethlehem, where they appear to 

ave had no friends, and where the object of their 
visit was most probably effected : on the other hand, 
it is still more improbable that, after the visit of the 
Magians, they should rush, as it were, into the 
wery jaws of danger, by visiting Jerusalem after the 
jealousy of Herod was: awakened. Yet in both 
cases, it should be remembered, that Bethlehem 
was but six miles, or two hours’ journey, from Je- 
rusalem.—Reland, Palestine, p. 424. See, on one 
side, Schleiermacher’s Essay on St. Luke, p. 47, 
though I entirely dissent on this point from the ex- 
planation of this author; on the other, Hug’s In- 
troduction. A t Matt., ii., 1-12. 


East, or, at least, into the opinions of those 
among the Magian hierarchy who had 
come more immediately into contact with 
the Babylonian Jews.* From them they 
may have adopted the expectation of the 
Great Principle of Light in a human form, 
and descending, according to ancient proph- 
ecy, from the race of Israel; and thus have 
been prepared to set forth at the first ap- 
pearance of the luminous body by which 
they were led to Judza.t The universal 
usage of the East, never to approach the 
presence of a superior, particularly a sov- 
ereign, without some precious gift, is nat- 
urally exemplified in their costly but port- 
able offerings of gold, myrrh, and frank- 
incense.{ 

The appearance of these strangers in 
Jerusalem at this critical period, Magi in 
particularly if considered in con- Jerusalem, 
nexion with the conspiracy in the family 
of Herod and among the religious faction, 
as it excited an extraordinary sensation 
through the whole city, would reawaken 
all the watchfulness of the monarch. The 
assemblage of the religious authorities, in 
order that they might judicially declare the 
place from which the Messiah was expect- 
ed, might be intended not merely to direct 
the ministers of the royal vengeance to 
the quarter from whence danger was to 
be apprehended, but to force the acknowl- 


* The communication with Babylonia at this 
period was constant and regular; so much so, 
that Herod fortified and garrisoned a strong castle, 
placed under a Babylonian commander, to protect 
the caravans from this quarter from the untameable 
robbers of the Trachonitis, the district east of the 
Jordan and of the Sea of Tiberias. 

t What this luminous celestial appearance was 
has been debated with unwearied activity. I would 
refer more particularly to the work of Ideler, Hand- 
buch der Chronologie, ii., 399. There will be found, 
very clearly stated, the opinion of Kepler (adopted 
by Bishop, Minter), which explains it as a conjunc- 
tion between Jupiter and Saturn. 

For my own part, I cannot understand why the 
words of St. Matthew, relating to such a subject, 
are to be so rigidly interpreted ; the same latitude | 
of expression may be allowed on astronomical sub- 
jects as necessarily must be in the Old Testament, 
The vagueness and uncertainty, possibly the sci- 
entific inaccuracy, seem to me the inevitable con- 
sequences of the manner in which such circum- 
stances must have been preserved, as handed down, 
and subsequently reduced to writing, by simple per- 
sons, awe-struck under such extraordinary events. 

t It is the general opinion that the Magi came 
from Arabia. Pliny and Ptolemy (Grotius, in loc.) 
name Arabian Magi; and the gifts were considered 
the produce of that country. But, in fact, gold, 
myrrh, and frankincense are too common in the 
East, and too generally used as presents to a supe- 
rior, to indicate, with any certainty, the place from 
whence they came. If, indeed, by Arabia be meant 
not the peninsula, but the whole district reaching 
to the Euphrates, this notion may be true; but it is 
more probable that they came from beyond the Eu- 
phrates. 


᾿ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ᾿ 


edged interpreters of the sacred writings 
to an authoritative declaration as to the 
circumstances of the Messiah’s birth; so, 
if any at should occur contrary to 
their version of the prophecies, either to 
commit them on the side of the ruling 
powers, or altogether to invalidate the ex- 
pectation that was dangerously brooding 
in the popular mind. The subtlety of 
Herod’s character is as strikingly exhib- 
ited in his pretended resolution to join the 
Magians in their worship of the newborn 
king, as his relentless decision, when the 
Magians did not return to Jerusalem, in 
commanding the general massacre of all 
the infants under the age of two years in 
Bethlehem and its district.* 

Egypt, where, by Divine command, the 
Flight into parents of Jesus took refuge, was 
‘Egypt. but a few days’ journey, on a line 
perpetually frequented by regular cara- 
vans ; and in this country, those who fled 
from Palestine could scarcely fail to meet 
with hospitable reception among some 


59 


of that second nation of Jews who inhab- 
ited Alexandrea and its neighbourhood.* 
On their return from Egypt after the 
death of Herod (which took place Return to 
in the ensuing year, though the Galilee. 
parents of Jesus did not leave Egypt till 
the accession of Archelaus), Joseph, justly 
apprehensive that the son might inherit 
the jealousy and relentless disposition of 
the father, of which he had already given 
fearful indications, retired to his former 
residence in Galilee, under the less sus- 
picious dominion of Herod Antipas.t 
There the general prejudice against Gali- 
lee might be their best security; and the 
universal belief that it was in Judea that 
that great king was to assume his sov- 
ereignty, would render their situation less 
perilous; for it was the throne of the 
monareh of Judah, the dominion of the 
ruler in Jerusalem, rather than the gov- 
ernment of the Galilean tetrarch, which 
would have been considered in danger 
from the appearance of the Messiah. 


APPENDIX TO CHAPTER II. 


I. RECENT LIVES OF CHRIST. 


Ar the time when this part of the pres- 
ent work was written, the ultra-rationalist 
work of Professor Paulus, the Leben Jesu 
(Heidelberg, 1828), was the most recent 
publication. Since that time have ap- 
peared the Life of Jesus, Das Leben Jesu, 
by Dr. D. F. Strauss (2d edition, Tubingen, 
1837), and the counter publication of Ne- 
ander, Das Leben Jesu (Berlin, 1837); to 
say nothing of a great number of contro- 
versial pamphlets and reviews arising 
out of the work of Dr. Strauss. 

This work (consisting of two thick and 
closely-printed volumes of nearly 800 
pages each) is a grave and elaborate ex- 


~ 


ἃ The murder of the innocents is a curious in- 


τς stance of the reaction of legendary extravagance 


on the plain -truth of the evangelic history. The 
Greek Church canonized the 14,000 innocents; and 
another notion, founded on a misrepresentation of 
Revelations (xiv., 3), swelled the number to 144,000. 
The former, at least, was the common belief of the 
church, though even in our liturgy the latter has in 
some degree been sanctioned, by retaining the chap- 
ter of Revelations as the epistle for the day. Even 
later, Jeremy Taylor, in his Life of Christ, admits 


the 14,000 without scruple, or, rather, without 


thought. The error did not escape the notice of 
the acute adversaries of Christianity, who, im- 
peaching this extravagant tale, attempted to bring 
the evangelic narrative into discredit. Vossius, I 
believe, was the first divine who pointed out the 
monstrous absurdity of supposing such a number of 
ep children in so small a village.—Matth., ἢ.» 
8, 


position of an extraordinary hypothesis, 
which Dr. Strauss offers in order to rec- 
oncile Christianity with the advancing 
intelligence of mankind, which is weary 
and dissatisfied with all previous philo- 
sophical and rationalist theories. Dr. 


* Some of the rabbinical stories accuse Jesus of 
having brought “his enchantments” out of Egypt 
(Lightfoot, xi., 45). There is no satisfactory evi- 
dence to the antiquity of these notions, or, absurd 
as they are, they might be some testimony to the 
authenticity of this part of the Christian history. 
See also Eisenmenger, 1., p. 150. 

The Jewish fiction of the birth of Jesus is at 
least as old as the time of Celsus (Origen contra 
Cels., 1), but bears the impress of hostile malice, 
in assigning as his parent a Roman soldier. This 
is the fable which was perpetuated from that time 
by Jewish animosity, till it assumed its most ob- 
noxious form in the Toldoth Jesu. How much 
more natural and credible than the minute detail 
which so obviously betrays later and hostile inven- 
tion, the vague inquiry of his own compatriots: 
“ Is not this the carpenter’s son ?”—Matt., xiii., 55. 

The answer of Origen to this Jewish invention 
is sensible and judicious, The Christians, if such 
a story had been true, would have invented some- 
thing more directly opposed to the real truth; and 


they would not have agreed so far with the relation, 


but rather carefully suppressed every allusion to 
the extraordinary birth of Jesus. ᾿Εἰδύναντο yap 
ἀλλῶς ψευδοποιεῖσθαι διὰ τὸ σφοδρὰ παράδοξον 
τῆν ἱστορίαν, καὶ μὴ ὡσπερεὶ ἀκουσίως συγκατα- 
θέσθαι ὅτι οὐκ ἀπο συνηθῶν ἀνθρώποις γάμων ὁ 
Ἰήσους ἐγενήθη .--- Οοηΐτα Cels., i., 32. 

¢ Matth., xi., 19, 23. Luke, xi., 40. 


60 


Strauss solemnly declares that the es- 
sence of Christianity is entirely independ- 
ent of his critical remarks. ‘The super- 
natural birth of Christ, his miracles, his 
resurrection and ascension, remain eternal 
truths, however their reality as historical 
facts may be called in question.”* He re- 
fers to a dissertation at the close of his 
work, “to show that the doctrinal con- 
tents of the Life of Jesus are uninjured ; 
and that the calmness and cold-blooded- 
ness with which his criticism proceeds in 
its dangerous operations can only be ex- 
plained by his conviction that it is not in 
the least prejudicial to Christian faith.” 
That dissertation, which opens (t. ii., p. 
691) with a singularly eloquent description 
of the total destruction which this re- 
morseless criticism has made in the or- 
dinary grounds of Christian faith and prac- 
tice, I have read with much attention. 
But what resting-place it proposes to sub- 
stitute for Christian faith I have been un- 
able to discover ; and must acknowledge 
my unwillingness to abandon the firm 
ground of historical evidence, to place 
myself on any sublime but unsubstantial 
cloud which may be offered by a mystic 
and unintelligible philosophy ; especially 
as I find Dr. Strauss himself coolly con- 
templating, at the close of his work, the 
desolating effects of his own arguments, 
looking about in vain for the unsubstantial 
tenets which he has extirpated by his un- 
compromising logic, and plainly admit- 
ting that, if he has shattered to pieces the 
edifice of Christianity, it is not his fault. 

But Christianity will survive the criti- 
cism of Dr. Strauss. 

1 would, however, calmly consider the 
first principles of this work, which appear 
to me, in many respects, singularly narrow 
and unphilosophical ; by no means formed 
on an extensive and complete view of the 
whole case, and resting on grounds which, 
in my judgment, would be subversive of 
all history. 

The hypothesis of Dr. Strauss is, that 
the whole history of our Lord, as related 
in the Gospels, is mythic; that is to Say, 
a kind of imaginative amplification of cer. 
tain vague and slender traditions, the germ 
of which it is now impossible to trace, 
These myths are partly what he calls his- 
torical, partly philosophic, formed with 
the design of developing an ideal charac- 
ter of Jesus, and to harmonize that char- 
acter with the Jewish notions of the Mes- 


* Christi tibernatirliche Geburt, seine Wunder, 
seine Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt bleiben ewige 
Wahrheiten, so sehr ihre Wirklichkeit als histor- 
ische Facta angezweifelt werden mag.—Vorrede, 
xil. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


siah. In order to prove this, the whole 
intermediate part of the work is a most 
elaborate, and, it would be uncandid not 
to say, a singularly skilful examination of 
the difficulties: and discrepances in the 
Gospels; and a perpetual endeavour to 
show in what manner and with what de- 
sign each separate myth assumed its 
present form. 

Arguing on the ground of Dr. Strauss, 
I would urge the following objections, 
which appear to me fatal to his whole 
system: 

First, The hypothesis of Strauss is un- 
philosophical, because it assumes dog- 
matically the principal point in dispute. 
His first canon of criticism is (t. i., p. 103), 
that wherever there is anything super- 
natural, angelic appearance, miracle, or 
interposition of the Deity, there we may 
presume a myth. Thus he concludes, 
both against the supernaturalists, as they 
are called in Germany, and the general 
mass of Christian believers of all sects in 
this country, that any recorded interfe- 
rence with the ordinary and experienced 
order of causation must be unhistorical 
and untrue; and even against the rational- 
ists, that those wonders did not even ap- 
parently take place, having been supposed 
to be miraculous from the superstition or 
ignorance of physical causes among the 
spectators : they cannot be even the hon- 
est, though mistaken, reports of eyewit- 
nesses. Ἶ 

But, secondly, The δεοϊϊε in some of 
those supernatural events, e. g., the resur- 
rection, is indispensable to the existence 
of the religion ; to suppose that this belief 
grew up, after the religion was formed, to 
assume these primary facts as after- 
thoughts, seems to me an absolute impos- 
sibility. But if they, or any one of them, 
were integral parts of the religion from its 
earliest origin, though they may possibly 
have been subsequently embellished or 
unfaithfully recorded in the Gospels, their 
supernatural character is no evidence that 
they are so. 

Thirdly, Besides this inevitable infer- 
ence that the religion could not have sub- 
sequently invented that which, was the 
foundation of the religion—that these 
things must have been the belief of the first 
Christian communities—there is distinct 
evidence in the Acts of the Apostles 
(though Dr. Strauss, it seems, would in- 
volve that book in the fate of the Gospels), 
in the apostolic Epistles, and in every writ- 
ten document and tradition, that they were 
so. The general harmony of these three 
distinct classes of records as to the main 
preternatural facts in the Gospels, proves 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 


incontestably that they were not the slow 
growth of a subsequent period, imbodied 
in narratives composed in the second cen- 
tury. 

Poi fourthly, Dr. Strauss has by no 
means examined the evidence for the early 
existence of the Gospels with the rigid dil- 
igence which characterizes the rest of his 
work. I think he does not fairly. state 
that the early notices of the Gospels, in 
the works of the primitive fathers, show 
not only their existence, but their general 
reception among the Christian communi- 
ties, which imply both a much earlier com- 
position and some strong grounds for their 
authenticity. As to the time when the 
Gospels were composed, his argument 
seems to me self-destructive. The later 
he supposes them to have been written, 
the more impossible (considering that the 
Christians were then so widely dissemi- 
nated in Europe and Asia) is their accord- 
ance with each other in the same design 
or the same motives for fiction : if he takes 
an earlier date, he has no room for his long 
process of mythic development. In one 
place he appears to admit that the first 
three, at least, must have been completed 
between the death of our Lord and the de- 
struction of Jerusalem, less than forty 
years. (I myself consider their silence, 
or, rather, their obscure and confused pro- 
phetic allusions to that event, as absolute- 
ly decisive on this point with regard to 
all the four.) But is it conceivable that in 
this narrow period this mythic spirit 
should have been so prolific, and the prim- 
itive simplicity of the Christian history 
have been so embellished, and then uni- 
versally received by the first generation of 
believers ? 

The place, as well as the period of their 
composition, is encumbered with difficul- 
ties according to this system. Where 
were they written? If all, or, rather, the 
first three, in Palestine, whence their gen- 
eral acceptance without direct and ac- 
knowledged authority? If in different 
parts of the world, their general accept- 
ance is equally improbable ; their similar- 
ity of design and object altogether unac- 
countable. 

Were they written with this mythic lat- 
itude by Judaizing or Hellenizing Chris- 
tians? If by Judaizing, 1 should expect 
to find far more of Judaism, of Jewish tra- 
dition, usage, and language, as appears to 
have been the case in the Ebionitish Gos- 
pel; if by Hellenizing, the attempt to 
frame the myths in accordance with Jew- 
ish traditions is inconceivable.* They Ju- 


τι Dr. Strauss, for instance asserts all the pas- 


a 


61 


daize too little for the Petrine Christians 
(that is, those who consider the Gospel in 
some sort a re-enactment of the Mosaic 
law), too much for the followers of St. 
Paul, who rejected the law. 

The other canons of Dr. Strauss seem 
to me subversive of all history. Every- 
thing extraordinary or improbable, the pro- 
phetic anticipations of youthful ambition, 
complete revolution in individual charac- 
ter (he appears to allude to the change in 
the character of the apostles after the res 
urrection, usually, and, in my opinion, just- 
ly considered as one of the strongest ar- 
guments of the truth of the narrative), 
though he admits that this canon is to be 
applied with caution, are presumptive of a 
mythic character. 

If discrepances in the circumstances 
between narratives of the same events, or 
differences of arrangement in point of 
time, particularly among rude and inarti- 
ficial writers, are to be admitted as proof 
of this kind of fiction, all history is myth- 
ic; even the accounts of every transaction 
in the daily papers, which are never found 
to agree precisely in the minute details, 
are likewise mythic. 

To these, which appear to me conclu- 
sive arguments against the hypothesis of 
Dr. Strauss, 1 would add some observa- 
tions, which to my mind are general max- 
ims, which must be applied to all such dis- 
cussions. 

No religion is in its origin mythic. My- 
thologists embellish, adapt, modify, ideal- 
ize, clothe in allegory or symbol, received 
and acknowledged truths. ‘his is a later 
process, and addressed to the imagination, 
already excited and prepared to receive 
established doctrines or opinions in this 
new form. But in Christianity (according 
to Dr. Strauss’s hypothesis), what was the 
first impulse, the germe of all this high- 
wrought and successful idealization? No- 
thing more than the existence of a man 
named Jesus, who obtained a few follow- 
ers, and was put to death as a malefactor, 
without any pretensions on his part to a 
superior character, either as a divine ora ᾿ 
divinely-commissioned being, or as the ex- 
pected Messiah of the Jews. Whatever 


sages relating to the miraculous birth of Christ (the 


first chapters of St. Matthew and St. Luke), and 
those which relate his baptism by St. John, to have 
proceeded from two distinct classes of Christians, 
differing materially, or, rather, directly opposed to 
each other in their notions of the Messiah, a Juda- 
izing and an anti-docetic sect.—See vol. i. p. 
446-448. We must find time not merely for the 
growth and development of both notions, but for 
their blending into one system, and the general 
adoption of that system by the Christian commu- 
nities, 


4! 


"4 


62 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


extorted by the necessity of the case, is 
added to this primary conception of the 
character of Jesus, in order sufficiently to 
awaken the human mind to a new religion 
connected with his name, belief of his mi- 
raculous powers, of his resurrection, of his 
Messiahship, even of his more than human 
virtue and wisdom, tends to verify the de- 
lineation of his character in his Gospels, 
as the original object of admiration and 
belief to his followers; and to anticipate 
and preclude, as it were, its being a sub- 
sequent mythic invention. ᾿ 
Can the period in which Jesus appeared 
be justly considered a mythic age? If by 
mythic age (and Ido not think Dr. Strauss 
very rigid and philosophical in the use of 
the term) be meant an age, in which there 
was a general and even superstitious be- 
lief in wonders and prodigies, mingled up 
with much cool incredulity, this cannot be 
denied. ‘The prodigies which are related 
by grave historians as taking place at the 
death of Cesar; those which Josephus, 
who is disposed to rationalize many of 
the miracles of the early history of his 
people, describes during the capture of 
Jerusalem, are enough, out of the count- 
less instances which could be adduced, to 
determine the question. But if the term 
mythic be more properly applied to that 
idealization, that investing religious doc- 
trines in allegory or symbol; above all, 
that elevating into a deity a man only dis- 
tinguished for moral excellence (the deifi- 
cation of the Roman emperors was a po- 
litical act), this appears to me to be repug- 
nant to the genius of the time and of the 


- country. Among the Jewish traditions in 
_ the Talmud, there is much fable, much par- 


able, much apologue ; as far as I can dis- 
cern, nothing, strictly speaking, mythic. 
Philo’s is a kind of poetico-philosophie ra- 
tionalism. The later legends of Simon 
Magus, Alexander in Lucian, and Apollo- 
nius of Tana, are subsequent inventions, 
after the imaginative impulse given by 
Christianity, possibly imitative of the Gos- 
pels.* 

I would be understood, however, as lay- 
ing the least stress upon this argument, as 
this tendency to imitative excitement and 
creation does not depend so much on the 
age as on the state of civilization, which 
perhaps in the East has never become 
completely exempt from this tendency. 

But I cannot admit the spurious Gos- 
pels, which seem to me the manifest off- 
spring of Gnostic and heretic sects, and to 


* The nearest approach to the mythic would 
erhaps be the kind of divine character assumed 
by Simon Magus among the Samaritans, and al- 
luded to in the Acts. 


have been composed at periods which his- 
torical criticism might designate from in- 
ternal evidence, though clearly mythical, to 
involve the genuine Gospels in the same 
proscription. To a discriminating and un- 
prejudiced mind, I would rest the distinc- 
tion between mythical and non-mythical 
on the comparison between the apocry- 
phal and canonical Gospels. 

Neander, in my opinion, has exercised 
a very sound judgment in declining direct 
controversy with Dr. Strauss ; for contro- 
versy, even conducted in the calm and 
Christian spirit of Neander, rarely works 
conviction, except in those who are al- 
ready convinced. He has chosen the bet- 
ter course of giving a fair and candid view 
of the opposite side of the question, and of 
exhibiting the accordance of the ordinary 
view of the origin and authority of the 
Gospels with sound reason and advanced 
philosophy. He has dissembled no diffi- 
culties and appealed to no passions. It 
affords me much satisfaction to find that, 
although my plan did not require or admit | 
of such minute investigation, I have anti- 
cipated many of the conclusions of Nean- 
der. In many respects, the point of view 
from which I have looked at the subject 
is altogether different ; and, as I have pre- 
ferred to leave my own work in its original 
form, though some of the difficulties and 
discrepances on which Dr. Strauss dwells 
may, I trust, be reasonably accounted for 
in the following chapters of my work, this 
will be only incidentally ; the full counter- 
statement, prepared with constant refer- 
ence to Dr. Strauss’s book, must be sought 
in the work of Neander. 

It accords even less with the design of 
my work, which is rather to trace the in- 
fluence and effect of Christian opinions 
than rigidly to investigate their origin or 
to establish their truth, to notice the va- 
rious particular animadversions on Dr, 
Strauss which might suggest themselves ; 
yet I have added some few observations 
on certain points when they have crossed 
the course of my narrative. 

The best answer to Strauss is to show 
that a clear, consistent, and probable nar- 
rative can be formed out of that of the 
four Gospels, without more violence, I 
will venture to say, than any historian 
ever found necessary to harmonize four 
contemporary chronicles of the same 
events; and with a general accordance 
with the history, customs, habits, and 
opinions of the times altogether irrecon- 
cilable with the poetic character of mythic 
history. 

The inexhaustible fertility of German 
speculation has now displayed itself in 


φ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
β a | 


another original and elaborate work, Die 
Evangelische Geschichte, Kritisch und 
Philosophisch bearbeitet, Von. Ch. Her- 
mann Weisse, 2 bande, Leipsic, 1838. Dr. 
Weisse repudiates the theory of Strauss. 
If he does not bring us to the cold and 
dreary conclusion of Strauss, or land us 
on the Nova Zembla of that writer, he 
leaves us enveloped in a vague and indis- 
tinct mist, in which we discern nothing 
clear, distinct, or satisfactory. 

The critical system of Weisse rests on 
two leading points: The assumption of 
the Gospel of St. Mark as the primitive 
gospel—a theory which has been advan- 
ced before, but which no writerhas wrought 
out with so much elaborate diligence as 
Weisse—and a hostility which leads to 
the virtual rejection of the Gospel of St. 
John as almost entirely spurious. With 
regard to St. Mark’s Gospel he receives 
the tradition of Papias, that it was written 
from the dictation, or, at least, from. in- 
formation obtained from St. Peter. St. 
Matthew’s was formed from the incorpo- 
ration of the Gospel of the Hebrews with 
the Aowa, a collection of speeches attribu- 
ted to our Lord. As to St. John’s, he sub- 
mits it to the test of his own arbitrary, 
and it appears to me, however they may 
be called critical, very narrow and unphil- 
osophical laws of probability. 

The theory by which Weisse would rec- 
oncile and harmonize what he retains of 
the evangelic history with what he consid- 
ers the highest philosophy, I must con- 
fess my inability to comprehend, and must 
plead as my excuse that he admits it to 
be unintelligible to those who are not ac- 
quainted with some of his sformer philo- 
sophical works, which I have not at my 
command. What I do comprehend it 
would be impossible to explain, as the 
philosophical language of Germany would, 
if retained, be entirely without meaning to 
most readers, and is untranslatable into a 
foreign tongue. 

Weisse retains a much larger and more 
solid substratum of historic fact than 
Strauss; and, though he may be called a 
mythic interpreter, his mythic system 
seems to me entirely different from that 
of Strauss. With the latter the historic 
facts are, in general, pure fictions, wrought 
out of preconceived Jewish notions ; with 
Weisse they are symbolic rather than 
mythic. In some cases they arise from 
the mistake of symbolic action for real 
fact; as, for instance, the notion of the 
feeding the multitudes in the desert arose 
out of the mystic language of the Saviour 
relating to spiritual nourishment by the 


“- 


63 


Bread of Life. In other parts he adopts 
the language of Vico, which has found so 
much favour in Germany, but which, I 
confess, when gravely applied to history, 
and followed out to an extent, I conceive, 
scarcely anticipated by its author, appears 
to me to be one of the most monstrous 
improbabilities which has ever passed cur- 
rent under the garb of philosophy. Indi- 
vidual historical characters are merely 
symbols of the age in which they live; 
ideal personifications, as it were, of the 
imagination,. without any actual or per- 
sonal existence. Thus the elder Herod 
(Weisse is speaking of the massacre of 
the innocents) is the symbol, the repre- 
sentation of worldly power. And so the 
tyrant of the Jews is sublimated into an 
allegory. 

Weisse, however, in his own sense, dis- 
tinctly asserts the divinity of the religion 
and of our Lord himself. 

I mention this book for several] reasons: 
first, because, although it is written in a 
tone of bold, and, with us it would seem, 
presumptuous speculation, and ends, in 
my opinion, in a kind of unsatisfactory 
mysticism, it contains much profound and 
extremely beautiful thought. 

Secondly, because in its system of in- 
terpretation it seems to me to bear a re- 
markable resemblance to that of Philo and 
the better part of the Alexandrean school : 
it is to the New Testament what they 
were to the Old. 

Lastly, to show that the German mind 
itself has been startled by the conclusions 
to which the stern and remorseless logic 
of Strauss has pushed on the historical 
criticism of rationalism; and that, even 


where there is no tendency to return to © 


the old system of religious interpretation, 
there is not merely strong discontent with 
the new, but a manifest yearning for a 
loftier and more consistent harmony be- 
tween the religion of the Gospels and true 
philosophy than has yet been effected by 
any of the remarkable writers who have 
attempted this reconciliation. 


II. oriGIN OF THE GOSPELS. 


Tue question concerning the origiy of 
the first three Gospels, both before aud 
subsequent to the publication of Bishop 
Marsh’s Michaelis, has assumed every 
possible form; and it may be safely as- 
serted that no one victorious theory has 


‘gained anything like a general assent 


among the learned. Every conceivable 
hypothesis has found its advocates; tne 


sy 


ΜΞ 


64 


priority of each of the Evangelists has 
been maintained with erudition and inge- 
nuity ; each has been considered the pri- 
mary authority, which has been copied by 
the others. But the hypothesis of one or 
more common sources, from which all 
three derived their materials (the view 
supported with so much ingenuity and 
erudition by the Bishop of Peterborough), 
has in its turn shared the common fate. 
This inexhaustible question, though less 
actively agitated, still continues to occupy 
the attention of biblical critics in Germa- 
ny. I cannot help suspecting that the 
best solution of this intricate problem lies 
near the surface.* The incidents of the 
Saviour’s life and death, the contents of 


the Gospels, necessarily formed a consid- 


erable part of the oral teaching, or, if not 


~ of the oral teaching, of oral communica- 


tion, among the first propagators of Chris- 
tianitv.t These incidents would be re- 
peated, and dwelt upon with different de- 
grees of frequency and perhaps distinct- 
ness, according to their relative impor- 
tance. While, on the one hand, from the 
number of teachers scattered at least 
through Palestine, and probably in many 
other parts of the Roman empire, many 
varieties of expression, much of that un- 
intentional difference of colouring which 
every narrative receives by frequent rep- 
etition, would unavoidably arise; on the 
other, there would be a kind of sanctity 
attributed to the precise expressions of 
the apostles, if recollected, which would 
ensure on many points a similarity, a per- 


* Jt would be difficult to point ont a clearer and 
more satisfactory exposition of any controversy than 
that of this great question in biblical criticism, by 
Mr. Thirlwall, in his preface to Schleiermacher’s 
Essay on St. Luke. 

' + | have considered the objections urged by Hug, 
and more recently, with great force, by Weisse (p. 
20, et seq.), to this theory, the more important of 
which resolve themselves into the undoubted fact, 
that it was a ereed, and not a history, which, in all 
the accounts we have in the Acts of the Apostles 
and elsewhere, formed the subject of oral teaching. 
This is doubtless true ; but resting, as the creed did, 
upon the history, containing, no doubt, in its prim- 
itive form a very few simple articles, would it not 
necessarily awaken curiosity as to the historic facts, 
and would not that curiosity demand, as it were, to 
be satished? The more belief warmed into piety, 
the more insatiably would it require, and the more 
would the teacher be disposed, to gratify this awa 
kened interest and eagerness for information on ev- 
ery point that related to the Redeemer. he for- 
mal public teaching no doubt confined itself to the 
enforcement of the creed, and to combating Jewish 
or heathen objections, and confuting Judaism or 
idojatry. But in private intercourse, when the 
minds of both instructer and hearer were exclusive- 
ly full of these subjects, would not the development 
of the history, in more or less detail, be a necessary 
and unavoidable consequence ? 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


fect identity of language. We cannot sup- 
pose but that these incidents and events 
in the life of Christ, these parables and , 
doctrines delivered by himself, thus oral- 
ly communicated in the course of public 
teaching and in private, received with such 
zealous avidity, treasured as of such ines- 
timable importance, would be perpetually 
written down, if not as yet in continuous 
narratives, in numerous and accumulating 
fragments, by the Christian community, 
or some one or, more distinguished mem- 
bers of it. They would record, as far as 
possible, the ipsessima verba of the primi- 
tive teacher, especially if an apostle or a 
personal follower of Jesus. But these 
records would still be liable to some inac- 
curacy, from misapprehension or infirmi- 
ty of memory ; and to some discrepance, 
from the inevitable variations of language 
in oral instruction, or communication fre- 


quently repeated, and that often by differ- 


ent teachers, Each community or Church, 
each intelligent Christian, would thus pos- 
sess a more or less imperfect Gospel, 
which he would preserve with jealous | 
care, and increase with zealous activity, 
till it should be superseded by some more 
regular and complete narrative, the au- 
thenticity and authority of which he might 
be disposed to admit.. The evangelists, 
who, like St. Luke, might determine to 
write in order, either to an individual like 
Theophilus, to some single church, or to 
the whole body of Christians, “ those 
things which were most surely believed 
among them,” would naturally have ac- 
cess to, would consult, and avail them- 
selves of many of those private or more 
public collections. 
two, might find many coincidences of 


pression (if, indeed, some expressions had 


not already become conventional and es- 
tablished, or even consecrated form iy 
language with regard to certain incidents) 


which they would transfer into theirown 


narrative; on the other hand, incidents 
would be more or less fully developed, or 
be entirely omitted in some, while retain- 
ed in others. 

Of all points on which discrepances 
would be likely to arise, there would be 
none so variable as the chronological or- 
der and consecutive series of events. The 
primitive teacher or communicator of 
the history of the life and death of Jesus, 
would often follow a doctrinal rather than 
an historical connexion; and this would, 
in many instances, be perpetuated by 
those who should endeavour to preserve in 
writing that precious information commu- 
nicated to them by the preacher. Hence 


. 


All the three, or any fad 
exe | 


oodhe 


the discrepances and variations in order 

and arrangement, more especially, as it 

may be said without irreverence, these 

rude and simple historians, looking more 

to religious impression than to historic 
precision, may have undervalued the im- 
portance of rigid chronological narrative. 
‘Thus, instead of one or two primary, either 
received or unauthoritative, sources of the 
Gospels, I should conceive 'that there 
would be many, almost as many as there 

were Christian communities, all in them- 
selves imperfect, but contributing more or 

less to the more regular and complete nar- 
ratives extant in our Gospels. ‘The gen- 

eral necessity, particularly as the apostles 

and first followers were gradually with- 
drawn from the scene, would demand a 

more full and accurate narrative; and 

these confessedly imperfect collections 
would fall into disuse, directly as the want 

was. supplied by regular Gospels, compo- 

sed by persons either considered as divine- 

ly commissioned, or, at least, as authorita- 

tive and trustworthy writers. The almost 

_ universal acceptance of these Gospels is 
the guarantee for their general conformity 

with these oral, traditional, and written 
records of the different communities, from 
which if they had greatly differed, they 
would probably have been rejected; while 

the same conformity sufficiently accounts 

for the greater or less fulness, the varia- 

tion in the selection of incidents, the si- 
lence on some points, or the introduction 

of others, in one Gospel alone. Whether 

or not either of the evangelists saw the 

work of the other, they made constant use 

of the same or similar sources of informa- 

εἶ τ tion, not merely from the personal knowl- 
edge of the evangelists, but likewise from 
_ the general oral teaching and oral commu- 
ο΄ nieations of the apostles and first preach- 
ers of Christianity, thus irregularly and in- 
- completely, but honestly and faithfully, 
registered by the hearers. Under this 
view, for my own part, I seem rationally 
to avoid all embarrassment with the diffi- 
culties of the subject. I am not surprised 
at exact coincidences of thought or lan- 
guage, though followed by, or accompa- 
"nied with, equally remarkable deviations 
and discrepances. I perceive why one is 
brief and the other full; why one omits, 
while the other details, minute circum- 
stances. Ican account for much apparent 
and some real discrepance. I think that I 
discern, to my own satisfaction, sufficient 
cause for diversity in the collocation of 
different incidents: in short, admitting 
these simple principles, there flows a 
natural harmony from the whole, which 
blends and reunites all the apparent dis- 


= 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 65 


hi ' : 
cords which appear to disturb the minds 
of others. 

There is one point which strikes me for- 
cibly in all these minute and elaborate ar- 
guments, raised from every word and let- 
ter of the Gospels, which prevails through- 
out the whole of the modern German crit- 
icism. It is, that, following out their rigid 
juridical examination, the most extreme 
rationalists are (unknowingly) influenced 
by the theory of the strict inspiration of 
the evangelists. Weisse himself has 
drawn very ably a distinction between ju- 
ridical and historical truth, that is, the sort 
of legal truth which we should require in 
a court of justice, and that which we may 


expect from ordinary history. But in his. 


own investigations he appears to me con- 
stantly to lose sight of this important dis- 
tinction ; no cross-examination in an Eng- 
lish court of law was ever 50 severe as 
that to which every word and shade of ex- 
pression in the evangelists is submitted. 
Now this may be just in those who admit 
a rigid verbal inspiration; but those who 


reject it, and consider the evangelists — 


merely as ordinary historians, have no 
right to require more than ordinary his- 
toric accuracy. The evangelists were, 
either, 

I. Divinely inspired in their language 
and expressions, as well asin the facts and 
doctrines which they relate. On this the- 
ory the inquirer may reasonably endeay- 
our to harmonize discrepances ; but if he 
fails, he must submit in devout reverence, 
and suppose that there is some secret way 
of reconciling such contradictions, which 
he wants acuteness or knowledge to com- 
prehend. sh 

II. We may adopt a lower view of in- 


spiration, whether of suggestion or super- 


intendence, or even that which seems to 
have been generally received in the early 
ages, the inflexible love of truth, which, 
being inseparable from the spirit of Chris- 
tianity, would of itself be a sufficient guar- 
antee for fidelity and honesty. Under any 
of these notions of inspiration (the defini- 
tion of which word is, in fact, the real dif- 
ficulty), there would be much latitude for 
variety of expression, of detail, of chrono- 
logical arrangement. Each narrative (as 
the form and language would be uninspi- 
red) would bear marks of the individual 
position, the local circumstances, the edu- 
cation, the character of the writer. 

Ill. We may consider the evangelists 
as ordinary historians, credible merely in 
proportion to their means of obtaining ac- 
curate knowledge, their freedom from prej- 
udice, and the abstract credibility of their 
statements. If, however, so considered 


.- 


-- 
᾿. 


ὦ 


66 


(as is invariably the case in the German 
school of criticism), they should undoubt- 
edly have all the privileges of ordinary his- 
torians, and, indeed, of historians of a sin- 
-gularly rude and inartificial class. They 
would be liable to all the mistakes into 
which such writers might fall; nor would 
trifling inaccuracies impeach the truth of 
their general narrative. Take, for in- 
stance, the introduction of Cyrenius, in re- 
lation to the census in the beginning of St. 
Luke’s Gospel ; in common historical in- 
quiry, it would be concluded that the au- 
thor had made a mistake* as to the name, 
yet his general truth would remain un- 
shaken, nor would any one think of build- 
ing up ia hypothesis on so trivial and nat- 
ural aninaccuracy. But there is scarcely 
a work of this school without some such 
hypothesis. I confess that I am constant- 
ly astonished at the elaborate conclusions 
which are drawn from trifling discrepan- 
ces or inaccuracies in those writers, from 
whom is exacted a precision of language, 
a minute and unerring knowledge of facts 
incident to, but by no means forming con- 
stituent parts of, their narrative, which is 
altegether inconsistent with the want of 
respect in other cases shown to their au- 
thority. The evangelists must have been 
either entirely inspired, or inspired as to 
the material parts of their history, or alto- 
gether uninspired. In the latter, and, in- 
deed, in the more moderate view of the 
second case, they would, we may safely 
say, be read, as other historians of their 
inartificial and popular character always 
are; and so read, it would be impossible, 
I conceive, not to be surprised and con- 
vinced of their authenticity, by their gen- 
eral accordance with all the circumstances 
of their age, country, and personal char- 
acter. 

* Non nos debere arbitrari mentiri quemquam, si 
pluribus rem quam audierunt vel viderunt reminis- 
centibus, non eodem modo atque eisdem verbis, 
eadem tamen res fuerit indicata: aut sive mutetur 
ordo verborum, sive alia pro aliis, que tamen idem 
valeant, verba proferantur, sive aliquid vel quod re- 
cordanti non occurrit, vel quod ex aliis que dicun- 
tur possit intelligi minus dicatur, sive aliorum que 
magis dicere statuit narrandorum gratiA, ut con- 
gruus temporis modus sufliciat, aliquid sibi non to- 
tum explicandum, sed ex parte tangendum quisque 
suscipiat; sive ad illuminandam declarandamque 
sententiam, nihil quidem rerum, verborum tamen 
aliquid addat, cui auctoritas narrandi concessa est, 
‘sive rem bene tenens, non assequatur guamvis id co- 
netur, memoriter etiam verba que audivit ad integrum 
enuntiare —Augustin., De Consens. Evangelist. ii., 
28. Compare the whole passage, which coincides 
with the general view of the fathers as to this ques- 
tion, inc. 50. St. Augustine seems to admit an in- 
spiration of guidance or superintendence. In one 
passage he seems to go farther, but to plunge (with 
respect be it spoken) into inextricable nonsense, iii., 
20; see also 48. 


“ 
᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY * 


III. INFLUENCE OF THE MORE IMAGINATIVE 
INCIDENTS OF THE EARLY EVANGELIC HIS- 
TORY ON THE PROPAGATION AND MAINTE- 
NANCE OF THE RELIGION. ; 

δ, 

A curtous fact occurs to those who trace 
the ptogress of religious opinion, not mere- 
ly in the popular theology, but in the works 
of those, chiefly foreign writers, who in- 
dulge in bolder speculations’on these sub- 
jects. Many of these are men of the pro- 


foundest learning, and, it Would be the 7 
worst imsolence of uncharitableness to _ 


* 
* 


doubt, with the most sincere and-ardent 


aspirations after truth. The fact is this: Ὁ. 


Certain parts of the evangelic history, 
the angelic appearances, the revelations 
of the Deity addressed to the senses of 
man (the Angelo-phaniai and Theophaniai, 
as they have been called), with some, 
though not with all this class of writers, 
everything miraculous appears totally in- 
consistent with historic truth. These in- 
cidents, being irreconcilable with our ac- 
tual experience, and rendered suspicious 
by a multitude of later fictions, which are 
rejected in the mass by most Protestant 
Christians, cannot accord with the more 
subtle and fastidious intelligence of the 
present times. Some writers go so far 
as to assert that it is impossible that an 
inquiring and reasoning age should receive 
these supernatural facts as historical veri- 
ties. But if we look back we find that 
precisely these same parts of the sacred 
narrative were dearest to the believers of 
amore imaginative age; and they are still 
dwelt upon by the general mass of Chris- 
tians with that kind of ardent faith which 
refuses to break its old alliance with the 
imagination. It was by this very super- 
natural agency, if I may so speak, that 
the doctrines, the sentiments, the moral 
and religious influence of Christianity 
were implanted in the mind on the 
first promulgation of the Gospel, and the 
reverential feeling thus excited, most 
powerfully contributed to maintain the 
efficacy of the religion for at least seven- 
teen centuries. That which is now to 
many incredible, not merely commanded 
the belief, but made the purely moral and 
spiritual part of Christianity, to which few 
of these writers now refuse their assent, 
credible. Fie 

An argument which appears to me of 
considerable weight arises out of these 


considerations. Admit, as even the ra 


a? 


tionalist and mythic interpreters seem to 


do, though in vague and metaphysical 
terms, the Divine interposition, or, at 
least, the pre-arrangement, and effective 
though remote agency of the Deity, in the 


» 
a 


na 


᾿ 


: HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 67 


introduction of Christianity into the world. 
These passages, in general, are not the 
vital and essential truths of Christianity, 
but the vehicle by which these truths were 
communicated; a kind of language by 
which opinions were conveyed, and senti- 
ments infused, and the general belief in 
Christianity implanted, confirmed, and 


_ strengthened. As we cannot but suppose 


that the state of the world, as well during 
as subsequent to the introduction of Chris- 


οὐ tianity, the comparative rebarbarization 
<> 


of the human race, the long centuries in 
which mankind was governed by imagina- 
tion rather than by severe reason, were 
within the design, or, at least, the fore- 
knowledge of all-seeing Providence; so, 
from the fact that this mode of communi- 
cation with mankind was for so long a 
period so effective, we may not unreason- 
ably infer its original adoption by Divine 
Wisdom. This language of poetic inci- 
dent, and, if 1 may so speak, of imagery, 
interwoven, as it was, with the popular 
belief, infused into the hymns, the ser- 
vices, the ceremonial of the Church, im- 
bodied in material representation by paint- 
ing or sculpture, was the vernacular tongue 
of Christianity, universally intelligible, and 
responded to by the human heart, through- 
out these many centuries. Revelation 
thus spoke the language, not merely of 
its own, but of succeeding times ; because 
its design was the perpetuation as well as 
the first propagation of the Christian re- 
ligion. 

Whether, then, these were actual ap- 
pearances, or impressions produced on the 
mind of those who witnessed them, is of 
slight importance. In either case they 
are real historical facts; they partake of 
poetry in their form, and, in a certain 
sense, in their groundwork, but they are 
imaginative, not fictitious; true, as rela- 
ting that which appeared to the minds of 
the relators exactly as ‘it did appear.* 
Poetry, meaning by poetry such an ima- 

- ginative form, and not merely the form, but 
the subject-matter of the narrative, as, 
for instance, in the first chapters of St. 
Matthew and St. Luke, was the appropri- 
ate and perhaps necessary intelligible dia- 
lect; the vehicle for the more important 
truths of the Gospel to later generations. 
The incidents, therefore, were so ordered, 


__ * This, of course, does not apply to facts which 
nust have been either historical events or direct 
ons, such as the resurrection of Jesus. The 
appearance of an actual and well-known bodily 
rm cannot be refined into one of those airy and 
ubstantial appearances which may be presented 
to, or may exist solely through, the imaginative 
faculty. I would strictly maintain this important 
distinction. Wat 


β 


aes 


ΝΣ 
at no m, : Γ 
δος ὟΝ δ᾿. 


that they should thus live in the thoughts 
of men; the revelation itself was so ad- 
justed and arranged, in order that it might 
ensure its continued existence throughout 
this period.* Could, it may be inquired, 
a purely rational or metaphysical creed 
have survived for any length of time du- 
ring such stages of human civilization? 

1 am aware that this may be considered 
as carrying out what is called accommoda- 
tion to an unprecedented extent, and that 
the whole system of what is called ac- 
commodation is looked upon with great 
jealousy. It is supposed to compromise, 
as it were, the truth of the Deity, or, at 
least, of the revelation; a deception, it is 
said, or, at least, an illusion, is practised 
upon the belief of man. 

I cannot assent to this view. 

From the necessity of the case, there 
must be some departure from the pure 
and essential spirituality of the Deity, in 
order to communicate with the human 
race;-some kind of condescension from 
the infinite and inconceivable state of 
Godhead, to become cognizable, or to 
enter into any kind of relation with ma- 
terial and dimly-mental man. All this is, 
in fact, accommodation; and the adaptation 
of any appropriate means of addressing, 
for his benefit, man in any peculiar state 
of intelligence, is but the wise contrivance, 
the indispensable condition, which renders 
that communication either possible, or, at 
least, effective to its manifest end. Re- 
ligion is one great system of accommoda- 
tion to the wants, to the moral and spirit- 
ual advancement of mankind; and I can- 
not but think that, as it has so efficaciously 
adapted itself to one state of the human 
mind, so it will to that mind during all its 
progress ; and it is of all things the most 
remarkable in Christianity, that it has, as 
it were, its proper mode of addressing 
with effect every age and every conceiv- 
able state of man, Even if (though I con- 
ceive it impossible) the imagination should 

* 


. 
5 


* By all those who consider the knowledge of 
these circumstances to have reached the evange- 
lists (by whatever notion of inspiration they may 
be guarantied) through the ordinary sources of in- 
formation, from the reminiscences of Mary herself, 
or from those of other contemporaries, it would be 
expected that these remote incidents would be 
related with the greatest indistinctness, without 
mutual connexion or chronological arrangement, 
and different incidents be preserved by different 
evangelists. This is precisely the case: the very 
marvellousness of the few circumstances thus pre- 
served accounts in some degree for their preserva- 
tion, and, at the same time, for the kind of dimness 
and poetic character with which they are clothed. 
They are too slight and wanting in particularity to 
give the idea of invention: they seem like a few 
scattered fragments preserved from oral tradition. 


Vv 


= 


&8 


entirely wither from the human soul, and 
a severer faith enter into an exclusive 
alliance with pure reason, Christianity 
would still have its moral perfection, its 
rational promise of immortality, its ap- 
proximation to the one pure, spiritual, in- 
comprehensible Deity, to satisfy that rea- 


CHAPTER IIL. Paty Pera τὸ 


COMMENCEMENT OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. 


Neary thirty years had passed away 
Period tothe Since the birth in Bethlehem, 
assumption during which period there is but 
ores one incident recorded, which 

“could direct the public attention 
to the Son of Mary.* All religious Jews 
made their periodical visits to the capital at 
the three great festivals, especially at the 
Passover. The more pious women, though 
exempt by the law from regular attendance, 
usually accompanied their husbands or 
kindred. It is probable that, at the age of 
twelve, the children, who were then said 
to have assumed the rank of “ Sons of the 
Law,” and were considered responsible for 
their obedience to the civil and religious 
institutes of the nation, were first permit- 
ted to appear with their parents in the 
metropolis, to be present, and, as it were, 
to be initiated in the religious ceremonies.+ 
Accordingly, at this age, Jesus went up 
Visit to Je- With his parents at the festival to 
rusalem, Jerusalem :} but on their-return, 
after the customary residence of seven 
days, they had advanced a whole day’s 
journey without discovering’ that the 
youth was not to be found in the whole 
caravan, or long train of pilgrims, which 
probably comprised almost all the religious 
inhabitants of the populous northern prov- 
----- ὺὖὃὁὺὁΡὁῬ'ΡϑΘι!᾿͵. 

* There is no likelihood that the extant apocry- 

phal Gospel of the Infancy contains any traditional 
truth. This work, in my Opinion, was evidently 
composed with a controversial design, to refute the 
sects which asserted that Jesus was no more than 
an ordinary child, and that the Divine nature de- 
scended upon him athis baptism. Hence his child- 
hood is represented as fertile in miracles as his 
manhood ; miracles which are certainly puerile 
enough for that age. But it isa curious proof of 
‘the vitality of popular legends, that many of these 
stories are still current, even in England, in our 
Christmas carols, and in this form are disseminated 
among our cottages. 
_ + Lightfoot. Wetstein, in loc. “A child was 
free from presenting himself in the temple at the 
three feasts, until (according to the school of Hil- 
lel) he was able, his father taking him by the hand, 
to go up with him into the mount of the temple.”— 
hightfoot, x., 71. ΟΖ Luke, ii, 41, 52, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. %, 
»" : 


- 


ΕΝ " 

son, and to infuse those sentiments of 
dependance, of gratitude, of love to G 
without which human society must fall to 


ruin, and the human mind, in humiliating ~ 


desperation, suspend all its noble activity, 


and care not to put forth its sublime and » 


eternal energies. — 


e+ See 
Pa ΣΡ 
᾿ 


inces. In the utmost anxiety they re- 
turned to Jerusalem, and, after three days,* 
found him in one of the chambers, within 
the precincts of the temple, set apart for 
public instruction. : 


In these schools, the | 


wisest and most respected of the rabbis . ~~ 


or teachers, were accustomed to hold their 


sittings, which were open to all who were. 
desirous of knowledge. Jesus was seat- 
ed, as the scholars usually were; and at 
his familiarity with the law, an ‘the depth 
and subtlety of his questions, the learned 
men were in the utmost astonishment : 
the phrase may, perhaps, bear the stronger 
sense, they were “in an ecstasy of ad- 
miration.” This incident is strictly in ac- 
cordance with Jewish usage. The more 
promising youths were encouraged to the 
early development and display of their ac- 
quaintance with the Sacred Writings and 
the institutes of the country.» Josephus 
the historian relates, that in his early 
youth he was an object of wonder, for his 
precocious knowledge, with the Wise Men, 
who took delight in examining and devel- 
oping his proficiency in the subtler ques- 
tions of the law. Whether the impres- 
sion of the transcendent promise of Jesus 
was-as deep and lasting as it was vivid, 
we have no information; for, without re- 
luctance, with no more than a brief and 
mysterious intimation that public instruc- 
tion was the business imposed upon un by 
his Father, he returned with his parents to 
his remote and undistinguished home. 
The Law, in this, as in all such cases, har- 
monizing with the eternal instincts of na- 
ture, had placed the relation of child and 
parent on the simplest and soundest prin- 
ciples. The authority of the parent was 
unlimited, while his power of inflicting 
punishment on the person, or injuring the 
fortunes of the child by disinheritance, was 
controlled; and while the child, on the 


* According to Grotius, they had advanced one 
day’s journey towards Galilee, returned the second, 
and found him the third: in loc. 


é 


." 


wo 


rod 
- Political rev- . 


ws 


ἡ 


4 


» 


_of maintaining 


. § 
y 
Ρ 


) 


ξ 


hs Ἢ 


one nana was bound to obedience by the 
strongest a on the other the duty 

and instructing his offspring 
was as rigidly enforced upon the father. 
The youth then returned to the usual sub- 
jection to his parents; and for nearly 
eighteen years longer we have no know!l- 


» edge that Jesus was distinguished among 


* 


e inhabitants of Nazareth, except by his 
exemplary piety, and by his engaging de- 
_Meanour and conduct, which acquired him 
eneral good-will. The law, as some 
mupse, presrie the period of thirty 
rs for the assumption of the most im- 
Phchchonotons: and it was not till he 
had arrived at this age that Jesus again 
emerged from his obscurity ;* nor does it 
appear improbable that John had previous- 
ly commenced his public career at the 
same period in his life. 
ring these thirty years, most impor- 
tant revolutions had taken place 
olutions du-. in the public administration of 
ring the pre- affairs in Judea, and a deep 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
uJ 


+ 


69 


tor) of the equestrian order, who was sub- 
ordinate to the President of Syria. But 
the first Roman governors, having taken 
up their residence in Herod’s magnificent 
city on the coast, Casarea, the municipal 
government of Jerusalem had apparently 
fallen into the hands of the native author- 
ities. The Sanhedrin of seventy- 
one, composed of the chief priests 
and men learned in the law, from a court 
of judicature, to which their functions 
were chiefly confined, while the executive 


Sanhedrin. 


was administered by the kings, had be- | 
come a kind of senate. Pontius Pilate, 
the first of the Roman governors, who, if 


he did not afflict the capital with the spec- 
tacle of a resident foreign ruler, seems to 
have visited it more frequently, was the 
first who introduced into the city the 
“ idolatrous” standards of Rome, and had 
attempted to suspend certain bucklers, 
bearing an image of the emperor, in the 


ὃ 


palace of Herod.* In his time the San- 


hedrin seems to have been recognised as 


ceding periods and sullen change had been ἃ sort of representative council of the na- 


slowly working in 
stirring events which had rapidly succeed- 
ed each other were such as no doubt 
* might entirely obliterate any transient im- 
pressions made by the marvellous circum- 
stances which attended the birth of Jesus, 
if indeed they had obtained greater pub- 
licity than we are inclined to suppose. 
As the period approached in which the 
new Teacher was to publish his mild and 
benignant faith, the nation, wounded in 
their pride, galled by oppression, infuri- 
ated by the promulgation of fierce and tur- 
bulent doctrines more congenial to their 
temper, became less and less fit to receive 
any but a warlike and conquering Messiah. 
Reign of The reign of Archelaus, or, rath- 
Archelaus. er, the interregnum, while he 
awaited the ratification of his kingly pow- 
ers from Rome, had commenced with a 
bloody tumult, in which the royal soldiery 
had attempted to repress the insurrection- 
ary spirit of the populace. The passover 
had been interrupted: an unprecedented 
and ill-omened event! and the nation, as- 
sembled from all quarters, had been con- 
strained to disperse without the comple- 
_ tion of the sacred ceremony.} After the 
tyrannical reign of Archelaus as ethnarch 
for more than nine years, he had been 
Reduction banished into Gaul, and Judea 
toaRoman was reduced to a Roman prov- 
Province. ince, under a governor (procura- 


* Or entering on his thirtieth year. According 
to the Jewish mode of computaticn, the year, the 
week, or the day which had commenced was in- 
cluded in the calculation.—Lightfoot. 

+ Hist. of the Jews, ii., 112 


ἀν 


the popular mind. The| tion. But the proud and unruly people 


could not disguise from itself the humili- 
ating consciousness that it was reduced 
to a state of foreign servitude. 'Through- 
out the country the publicans, the The pub- 
farmers or collectors of the tribute licans. 

to Rome, a burden not less vexatious in its 
amount} and mode of eattechornakcin of- 
fensive to their feelings, were openly ex- 
ercising their office. ‘The chief priest was 
perpetually displaced at the order of the 
Roman prefect, by what might be jealous 
or systematic policy, but which had all the 
appearance of capricious and insulting vi- 
olence.{ They looked abroad, but with- 
out hope. The country had, without any 
advantage, suffered all the evils of Insurrec- 
insurrectionary anarchy. At the tons. 

period between the death of Herod and 
the accession of his sons, adventurers of 
all classes had taken up arms, and some of 
the lowest, shepherds and slaves, whether 
hoping to strike in with the popular feel- 
ing, and; if successful at first, to throw the 
whole nation on their side, had not scru- 
pled to assume the title and ensigns of 
royalty. These commotions had been 
suppressed ; but the external appearance 
of peace was but a fallacious evidence of 
the real state of public feeling. The reli- 
gious sects which had long divided the na- 


* Hist. of the Jews, ii., 132. 5 

+ About this period Syria and Judea petitioned 
for a remission of tribute, which was described as 
intolerably oppressive.—Tac., Ann, il:, 42. 

+ There were twenty-eight, says Josephus, from 
the time of Herod to the burning of the temple b 
Titus.—Ant., xx,, 8. 


᾿ 


70 


tion, those of the Pharisees and Saddu- 
cees, no longer restrained by the strong 
hand of power, renewed their conflicts : 
sometimes one party, sometimes the oth- 
er, obtained the high-priesthood, and pre- 
dominated in the Sanhedrin; while from 
the former had sprung up a new faction, in 
whose tenets the stern sense of national 
degradation, which rankled in the hearts of 
so many, found vent and expression. 

The sect of Judas the Gaulonite, or, as 
Judas the he was called, the Galilean, may 
Galilean. be considered the lineal inheritors 
of that mingled spirit of national independ- 
ence and of religious enthusiasm which 
had in early days won the glorious tri- 
umph of freedom from the Syro-Grecian 
kings, and had maintained a stern though 
secret resistance to the later Asmoneans 
and to the Idumean dynasty. Just before 
the death of Herod, it had induced the six 
thousand Pharisees to refuse the oath of 
allegiance to the king and to his imperial 
protector, and had probably been the se- 
cret incitement in the other acts of resist- 
ance to the royal authority. Judas the 
Galilean openly proclaimed the unlawful- 
ness, the impiety of God’s people submit- 
ting to a foreign yoke, and thus acknowl- 
edging the subordination of the Jewish 
theocracy to the empire of Rome. The 
payment of tribute, which began to be en- 
forced on the deposition of Archelaus, ac- 
cording to his tenets, was not merely a 
base renunciation of their liberties, but a 
sin against their God. To the doctrines 
of this bold and eloquent man, which had 
been propagated with dangerous rapidity 
and success, frequent allusions are found 
in the Gospels. Though the Galileans 
slain by Pilate may not have been of this 
sect, yet probably the Roman authorities 
would look with more than usual jealousy 
on any appearance of tumult arising in the 
province which was the reputed birth- 
place of Judas; and the constant attempts 
to implicate Jesus with this party appear 
in their insidious questions about the law- 
fiilness of paying tribute to Cesar. The 
subsequent excesses of the Zealots, who 
were the doctrinal descendants of Judas, 
and among whom his own sons assumed 
a dangerous and fatal pre-eminence, may 
show that the jealousy of the rulers was 
not groundless; and indicate, as will here- 
after appear, under what unfavourable im- 
pressions with the existing authorities, on 
account of his coming from Galilee, Jesus 
was about to enter on his public career. 
~ Towards the close of this period of 
John the thirty years, though we have no 
Baptist. evidence to fix a precise date, while 
Jesus was growing up in the ordinary 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


4 


course Of nature in the obscurity of the 
Galilean town of Nazareth, which lay to 
the north of Jerusalem, at much the same 
distance to the south John had arrived at 
maturity, and suddenly appeared as a pub- 
lic teacher, at first in the desert country in 
the neighbourhood of Hebron, but speed- 
ily removed, no doubt for the facility of 
administering the characteristic rite, from 
which he was called the Baptist, at all 
seasons, and with the utmost publicity and 
effect.* In the southern desert of Judea 
the streams are few and scanty, probably 
in the summer entirely dried up. The 
nearest large body of water was the Dead 
Sea. Besides that the western banks of 
this great lake are mostly rugged and pre- 
cipitous, natural feeling, and, still more, the . 


religious awe of the people, would have. 


shrunk from performing sacred ablutions 
in those fetid, unwholesome, and accursed 
waters.t But the banks of the great na- 
tional stream, the scene of so many mir- 
acles, offered many situations in every. 
respect admirably calculated for this pur- 
pose. ‘The Baptist’s usual station was 
near the place Bethabara, the ford of the 
Jordan, which tradition pointed out as that 
where the waters divided before the ark, 
that the chosen people might enter into 
the promised land. Here, though the ad- 
jacent region towards Jerusalem is wild 
and desert, the immediate shores of the 
river Offer spots of great picturesque beau- 
ty. The Jordan has a kind of double 
channel, In its summer course, the shelv- 
ing banks, to the top of which the waters 
reach at its period of flood, are covered 
with acacias and other trees of great lux- 
uriance ; and amid the rich vegetation and 
grateful shade afforded by these scenes, 
the Italian painters, with no less truth than 
effect, have delighted to represent the Bap- 
tist surrounded by listening multitudes, or 
performing the solemn rite of initiation. 
The teacher himself partook of the ascetic 
character of the more solitary of the Es- 
senes, all of whom retired from the tumult 
and license of the city, some dwelt alone 
in remote hermitages, and not rarely pre- 
tended to a prophetic character. His rai- 
ment was of the coarsest texture, of 
camel’s hair; his girdle (an ornament often | 
of the greatest richness in Oriental cos- 
tume, of the finest linen or cotton, and em- 
broidered with silver or gold) was of un- 
tanned leather; his food the locustst and 


* Matt.,iii., 1-12. Mark, i., 2-8. Luke, iii., 1-18. 

+ The Aulon, or Valley of the Jordan, is mostly 
desert. Διατέμνει τὴν Τεννήσαρ μέσην, ἔπειτα 
πολλὴν ἀναμετρούμενος ἐρημίαν εἰς τὴν ᾿Ασφαλ- 
τῖτιν ἔξεισι Aiuvnv.—Joseph., Β. T. iii., 10, 7. 

+ That locusts are no uncommon food is so well 


* 


ae 


» 


aad 


f- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 1 


΄ " 


14 honey, of which there is a copious 


» supply both in the open and the wooded 


regions in which he had taken up his 
abode. . — 
9 question has been more strenuously 
Baptist debated than the origin of the rite 
~~ Of baptism, The practice of the 
external washing of the body, as emble- 
matic of the inward purification of the soul, 
is almost universal. The sacred Ganges 
cleanses all moral pollution from the In- 
dian; among the Greeks and Romans 
ven the murderer might, it was supposed, 
Wash the blood “ clean from his hands ;’’* 
and in many of their religious rites, lus- 
trations or ablutions, either in the running 
stream or in the sea, purified the candidate 
for divine favour, and made him fit to ap- 


. proach the shrines of the gods. The per- 


petual similitude and connexion between 
the uncleanness of the body and of the 


_ soul, which ran through the Mosaic. law, 


and had become completely interwoven 
* ith the common language and sentiment, 
e formal enactment of ablutions in many 
cases, which either required the cleansing 
of some unhealthy taint, or more than 
‘usual purity, must have familiarized the 
mind with the mysterious effects attributed 
to such a rite; and of all the Jewish sects, 
that of the Essenes, to which, no doubt, 
popular opinion associated the Baptist, 
were most frequent and scrupulous in 
their ceremonial ablutions. It is strongly 
asserted on the one hand, and denied with 
equal confidence on the other, that bap- 
tism was in general use among the Jews 
as a distinct and formal rite; and that it 
was by this ceremony that the Gentile 
proselytes, who were not yet thought 
worthy of circumcision, or, perhaps, re- 
fused to submit to it, were imperfectly in- 
itiated into the family of Israel.t Though 
there does not seem very conclusive evi- 
dence in the earlier rabbinical writings to 
the antiquity, yet there are perpetual al- 
lusions to the existence of this rite, at least 
at a later period; and the argument that, 
after irreconcilable hostility had been de- 


clared between the two religions, the Jews | 


would be little likely to borrow their dis- 
tinctive ceremony from the Christians, 
applies with more than ordinary force. 

or, if we may fairly judge from the very 


known from all travellers in the East, that it is un- 
necessary to quote any single authority. There is 
a kind of bean, called in that country the locust- 
bean, which some have endeavoured to make out 
to have been the food of John. 

* Ah nimium faciles, qui tristia crimina cedis 

Tolli fluminea posse putatis aqua.—Ovip. 

+ Lightfoot, Harmony of Evang., iii., 38; iv., 
407, &c. Danzius, in Meuschen, Talmudica, &c. 
Schoetgen and Wetstein, in loc. 


rapid and concise narrative of the evan- 
gelists, does the public administration of 
baptism by John appear to have excited 
astonishment as a new and unprecedented 
rite. Ἤ 

For, from every quarter, all ranks and 
sects crowded to the teaching pfuttituaes 
and to partake in the mystic who attend 
ablutions performed by the Ms Preaching. 
Baptist. The stream of the Jordan re- 
flected the wondering multitudes of every 
class and character, which thronged 
around him with that deep interest and 
high-wrought curiosity, which could not 
fail to be excited, especially at such a 
crisis, by one who assumed the tone and 
authority of a divine commission, and 
seemed, even if he were not hereafter to 
break forth in a higher character, to renew 
in his person the long silent and inter- 
rupted race of the ancient prophets. Of 
all those prophets Elijah was held in the 
most profound reverence by the descend- 
ants of Israel.t He was the representa- 
tive of their great race of moral instruct- 
ors and interpreters of the Divine Will, 
whose writings (though of Elijah nothing 
remained) had been admitted to almost 
equal authority with the law itself, were 
read in the public synagogues, and, with 
the other sacred books, formed the canon 
of their Scripture. A mysterious intima- 
tion had closed this hallowed volume of 
the prophetic writings, announcing, as 
from the lips of Malachi, on which the 
fire of prophecy expired, a second coming 
of Elijah, which it should seem popular 
belief had construed into the personal re- 
appearance of him who had ascended into 
heaven in a car of fire. And where, and 
at what time, and in what form was he 
so likely to appear, as in the desert, by 
the shore of the Jordan, at so fearful a 


* Some of the strange notions about Elias may 
be found in Lightfoot, Harm. of Evang., iv , 399. 
Compare Ecclesiast., xlviii., 10,11. ‘ Elias, whois 
written of for reproofs in these times, to appease the 
anger of him that is ready for wrath (or before 
wrath προθύμου, or πρὸ ϑύμου), to turn the heart of 
the father to the son, and to restore the tribes of 
Jacob. Blessed are they that see thee, and are 
adorned with love; for we too shall live the life.’ 
In the English translation the traditionary allusion 
is obscured. ‘In that day, when the Lord shall 
deliver Israel, three days before the coming of the 
Messiah, Elias shall come, and shall stand on the 
mountains of Israel mourning and wailing concern- 
ing them, and saying, How long will ye stay in the 
dry and wasted land? And his voice shall be heard 
from one end of the world to the other; and after 
that he shall say unto them, ‘ Peace cometh to the 
world, as it is written (Isaiah, lii., 7), How beauti- 
ful upon the mountains are the feet of him that 
bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace.’”— 
Jalkut Schamuni, fol. 53, c.6. Quoted in Bertholdt. 
See other quotations. Schoetgen, Hor. Heb., it, 
533, 534. “Justin. Dial., cum Tryph. 


ss 


Perey 


72 


crisis in the national destinies, and in the 
wild garb and with the mortified demean- 
our so frequent among the ancient seers? 
The language of the Baptist took the bold, 
severe, and uncompromising tone of those 
delegates of the Most High. On both the 
great religious factions he denounced the 
same maledictions, from both demanded 
the same complete and immediate reform- 
ation. On the people he inculcated mutual 
charity ; on the publicans, whom he did 
not exclude from his followers, justice; on 
the soldiery,* humanity, and abstinence 
from all unnecessary violence and pillage. 
These general denunciations against the 
vices of the age, and the indiscriminate 
enforcement of a higher moral and re- 
ligious standard, though they might gall 
the consciences of individuals or wound 
the pride of the different, sects, yet, as 
clashing with no national prejudice, would 
excite no hostility which could be openly 
avowed; while the fearless and impartial 
language of condemnation was certain to 
secure the wonder, the respect, the venera- 
tion of the populace. 

But that which no doubt drew the whole 
Expectation population in such crowds to the 
of the Mes- desert shores of the Jordan, was 
eit the mysterious yet distinct as- 
sertion that the “ kingdom of Heaven was 
at hand ;’’} that kingdom of which the be- 
lief was as universal as of the personal 
coming of the Messiah; and as variously 
coloured by the disposition and tempera- 
ment of every class and individual, as the 
character of the sovereign who was thus 
to assume dominion. All anticipated the 
establishment of an earthly sovereignty, 
but its approach thrilled the popular bosom 
with mingled emotions. ‘The very proph- 
ecy which announced the previous appear- 
ance of Elijah, spoke of the “great and 
dreadful day of the Lord,” and, as has been 
said, according to the current belief, fear- 
ful calamities were to precede the glorious 


—.;.*.. .. πο τοΞ 

* Michaelis has very ingeniously observed, that 
these men are described not merely as soldiers 
(στρατίωται), but as on actual service (στρατευομένοι); 
anata conjectured that they were part of the forces 
of Herod Antipas, who was at this time at war, or 
preparing for war, with Aretas, king of Arabia. 
Their line of march would Jead them to the ford of 
the Jordan. 

+ This phrase is discussed by Kuinoel, vol. i, p. 
73. According to its Jewish meaning, it was equiv- 
alent to the kingdom of the Messiah (the kingdom of 
«zod or of Heaven), Schoetgen, Hor. Hebr., p. 1147, 
which was to commence and endure for ever, when 
the law was to be fully restored, and the immutable 
theocracy of God’s chosen people re-established for 
eternity. In its higher Christian sense it assumed 
the sense of the moral dominion to be exercised by 
Christ over his subjects in this life; that dominion 
which is to be continued over his faithful in the 
stat? of immortal existence beyond the grave. 
wt 


4 
* HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | 


» 4 s 
a 4. 
days of the Messiah: nor was it till after 
a dark period of trial that the children of 
Abraham, as the prerogative of their birth, 
the sons of God,* the inheritors of his 
kingdom, were to emerge from their ob- 
security ; their theocracy to be re-estab- 
lished in its new and more enduring form ; 
the dead, at least those who were to share 
in the first resurrection, their own ances- 
tors, were to rise; the solemn judgment 
was to be held; the hostile nations were 
to be thrust down to hell; and those only 
of the Gentiles, who should become pros- 
elytes to Judaism, were to be admitted to 
this earthly paradisiacal state.t 

The language of the Baptist at once fell 
in with and opposed the popular feeling ; 
at one instant it raised, at the next it cross- 


* Compare Justin Martyr, Dial. 433, ed. Thirlby. 
Grotius on Matt., x., 28; xiv., 2. James, ii, 14. 
Whitby on Acts, i., 23. Jortin’s Discourses, p. 26. 

+ See Wetstein, in loc. The following passage 
closely resembles the language of John: ‘* Whose 
fan is in his hand, and he will thoroughly purge his 
floor, and gather his wheat into the garner; but he 
will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”— 
Matt., i1.,12. The Jer. Talmud adduces Isaiah, 


-xvi.,12. “The morming cometh and also the night ; 


it shall be morning to Israel, but night to the na- 
tions of the world.” (Taanith, fol. 64,1.) ‘The 
threshing is come: the straw they cast into the fire, 
the chaff unto the wind, but preserve the wheat in 
the floor, and every one that sees it, takes it and 
kisses it. So the nations of the world say, The 
world ‘was made for our sakes: but Israel say to 
them, Is it not written, But the people shall be as 
the burning of the lime-kiln, but Israel in the time 
to come (2. e., the time of the Messiah) shall be left 
only ; asitis said, The Lord shall be with him alone, 
and there shall be no strange God.”—Mid. Tell, on 
Psalm ii. Lightfoot, ili., 47. 

Some of these and similar expressions may be- 
long to the period of the obstinate, we may surely 
add, the patriotic struggle of the Jews against the 
tyranny of Rome, after what Tacitus terms their 
‘hatred of the human race” had been imbittered 
by years of contempt and persecution; and while, 
in Gibbon’s language, “their dreams of prophecy 
and conquest” were kept alive by the bold resist- 
ance to ‘litus, and the successes of Bar-cochab un- 
der Hadrian. But there can be little doubt that pride 
had already drawn these distinctions between them- 
selves and the rest of mankind, which were deep- 
ened by the sense of persecution, and cherishedgas 
the only consolation of degradation and despair. 

Le Judaisme est un systéme de misanthropie, qui 
en veut.a tous les peuples de la terre sans aucune | 
exception. * * * Il n’étend l'amour du prochain 
qu’aux seuls Juifs, tandis que la Mosaisme |’étend 
ἃ tous Jes hommes, sans aucune distinction (vide 
note). Il commande en outre qu’on envisage tous 
les autres peuples de la terre, comme dignes de 
haine et de mépris, pour la seule raison qu’ils n’ont 
pas été, ou qu’ils ne sont pas Juifs.—Chuarini, Pref- 
ace to Translation of Talmud, p.55. 

Passages of the Talmud will certainly bear out 
this harsh conclusion ; but I think better of human 
nature than to suppose that this sentiment was not 
constantly counteracted by the humane feelings to 
which affliction would subdue hearts of better 
mould, or which would be infused by the gentler 
spirit of the genuine religion of Moses. 


_ siah has filled the mind of the enthusiast. 


- 


_ whether he limited himself to those of a 


4 


᾿ “a 
Mysterious ed their hopes. He announced 
language of the necessity of a complete moral 
the Bapust. Change, while he repudiated the 


claims of those who rested their sole title 


to the favours of God on their descent 
from the chosen race, for “God even of 
the stones could raise up children to Abra- 
ham.” But, on the other hand, he pro- 
claimed the immediate, the instant coming 
of the Messiah; and on the nature of the 
kingdom, though he might deviate from 
the ordinary language in expressly inti- 
mating that the final separation would be 
made, not on national, but moral grounds— 
that the bad and good, even of the race of 
Israel, were to be doomed according to 
their wickedness or virtue—yet there was 
nothing which interfered with the prevail- 
ing belief in the personal temporal reign 
of the Son of David. 

The course of our history will show 
how slowly Christianity attained the pure- 
ly moral and spiritual notion of the change 
to be wrought by the coming of Christ, and 
how perpetually this inveterate Judaism 
has revived in the Christian Church, 
where, in days of excitement, the old Jew- 
ish tenet of the personal reign of the Mes- 


Nor were the Jews likely to be more em- 
barrassed than mankind in general by the 
demand of high moral qualifications ; for, 
while one part would look on their own 
state with perfect complacency and satis- 
faction, another would expect to obtain 
from Heaven, without much effort or ex- 
ertion on their own part, that which Heav- 
en required. God, who intended to make 
them happy, would first make them virtu- 
ous. 

Such was the general excitement at the 
Deputation appearance, the teaching, and 
of the priest- the baptizing of John. So great 
he the a was the influence which he had 
tensions of Obtained throughout the coun- 
Jesus. try, that, as we shall speedily 
see, a formal deputation from the national 
authorities was commissioned to inquire 
mto” his pretensions, and to ascertain 


prophet, or laid claim to the higher title of 
“the Christ.” And the deep hold which 
he had taken upon the popular feeling is 
strongly indicated by the fact, that the ru- 
lers did not dare, on the occasion of a 
question proposed to them at a much later 
period by Jesus, openly to deny the pro- 
phetic mission of John, which was not 
merely generally acknowledged, but even 
zealously asserted by the people. 

How long the preaching of John had 
lasted before the descent of the Son of 
Mary to the shores of the Jordan, rests 

K : 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


73 


on somewhat uncertain evidence.* We 


‘can decide with as little confidence on 
some other more interesting questions. 
There is no precise information whether 


any or what degree of intercourse had 


been kept up between the family of Zech- 
ariah and that of Joseph, who resided at 


a considerable distance from each other, 
and were not likely to meet unless at the 
periodical feast ; nor how far John might 
be previously acquainted with the person 
of Jesus.t But it is undoubtedly a re- 
markable fact in the history of Christian- 
ity, that from the very first appearance of 
Jesus on the shores of the Jordan, un- 
questionably before he had displayed his 
powers, or openly asserted his title to the 
higher place, John should invariably retain 
his humbler relative position. 4 yoweg inte- 
Such was his uniform language riority of John 
from the commencement of '° Jesus. 

his career; such it continued to the end. 
Yet at this period the power and influence 
of John over the public mind were at 
their height; Jesus, humanly speaking, 
was but an unknown and undistinguished 
youth, whose qualifications to maintain 
the higher character were as yet untried. 
John, however, cedes at once the first 
place: in the strongest language} he de- 
clares himself immeasurably inferior to 
him who stood among the crowd, un- 
marked and unregarded; whatever his 
own Claims, whatever the effect of his in- — 
itiatory rite, Jesus was at once to assume 
a higher function, to administer ἃ more 
powerful and influential baptism.§ This 


* Matt., ili., 13-17. Mark, 1., 9, 11. 
21, 23. John, i, 15, 18. , 
+ The discrepances between the different evan- 
gelists as to the language of John on several oc- 
casions with regard to Jesus, appear to me charac- 
teristic of the dim and awestruck state of the gen- 
eral mind, which would extend to the remembrance — 
and the faitful record of such incidents. It is as- 
sumed, 1 think without warrant, that John himself 
must have had a distinct or definite notion of the 
Messiahship of Jesus: he may have applied some 
of the prophetic or popular sayings supposed to 
have reference to the Messiah, without any precise 
notion of their meaning ; and his conception of the 
Messiah’s character, and of Jesus himself, may 
have varied during different passages of his own 
life. Ifthe whole had been more distinct and sys- 
tematic, it would be more liable, according to my 
judgment, to suspicion. The account of John in 
Josephus is just as his character would be likely to 

appear to a writer in his character and situation. 

1 The remarkable expression, ‘‘ whose shoes’ 
latchet I am not able to unloose,” is illustrated by 
a passage in the Talmud. (Tract. Kidduschin, 
xxli., 2.) ‘ Every office a servant will do for his 


Luke, iii., 


| master, a scholar should perform for his teacher, — 


excepting loosing his sandal thong.” 
§ Strauss (i., 396) argues that this concession of 
the higher place by the ascetic John (and asceticism, 


he justly observes, is the most stern and unyielding 


principle in the human character) is so contrary to 
r 


oe 


74 


has always appeared to me one of the 
most striking incidental arguments for the 
truth of the evangelic narrative, and con- 
sequently of the Christian faith. The 
recognition appears to have been instant 
and immediate. Hitherto the Baptist had 
insisted on the purification of all who had 
assembled around him; and, with the 
commanding dignity of a Heaven-com- 
missioned teacher, had rebuked, without 
distinction, the sins of all classes and all 
sects. In Jesus alone, by his refusal to 
baptize him, he acknowledges the im- 
maculate purity, while his deference as- 
sumes the tone of homage, almost of 
adoration.* 

Jesus, however, perhaps to do honour 
Baptism of to a rite which was hereafter to 
Jesus. be that of initiation into the new 
religion, insists on submitting to the usual 
ablution. As he went up out of the water, 
which wound below in its deep channel, 
and was ascending the shelving shore, a 
light shone around with the rapid and un- 
dulating motion of a dove, typifying the 
descent of the Holy Spirit on the Son of 
Man; and avoice was heard from Heaven, 
which recognised him as the Son of God, 
well pleasing to the Almighty Father of 
the universe. This light could scarcely 
have been seen, or the voice heard, by 
more than the Baptist and the Son of 
Mary himself,t as no immediate sensation 
appears to have been excited among the 
multitudes, such as must have followed 
this public and miraculous proclamation 
of his sacred character; and at a subse- 
quent period, Jesus seems to have appear- 


the principles of human nature and to all historical 
precedent, that the whole must be fictitious; a 
singular canon, that everything extraordinary and 
unprecedented in history must be untrue. I suspect 
the common phrase, “ truth is strange—stranger 
than fiction,” to be founded on deeper knowledge 
of human nature and of the events of the world. 

* The more distinct declarations of inferiority 
contained in several passages are supposed bymost 
harmonists of the Gospels to have been made after 
the baptism of Jesus. 

+ This appears from John, i.,32. Neander (Leben 
Jesu, p. 69) represents it as a symbolic vision. 

It may be well to observe, that this explanation 
of voices from heaven, as a mental perception, not 
as real articulate sounds, but as inward impressions, 
is by no means modern, or what passes under the 
unpopular name of rationalism. There is a very 
full and remarkable passage in Origen cont. Cel- 
sum, 1., 48, on this poimt. He is speaking of the 
offence which may be given to the simple, who, 
from their great simplicity, are ready on every oc- 
casion to shake the world, and cleave the compact 
firmament of heaven. Κἂν mpookorry τὸ τοιοῦ- 
Tov τοῖς ἀπλουστέροις, οἵ διὰ πολλὴν ἀπλότητα 
κινοῦσι τὸν κόσμον, σχίζοντες τὸ τηλικοῦτον 
σῶμα ἡνῶμενον τοῦ πώντος οὐρανοῦ. See like- 
wise, in Suicer’s Thesaur., voc. Φώνη, the passages 
from St. Basil and Gregory of Nyssa. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. i ¢ 


ed among the followers of John unrecog- 
nised, or at least unhonoured, until he 
was pointed out by the Baptist, and an- 
nounced as having been proclaimed from 
Heaven at his baptism. The calmness 
and comparatively unimposing peaceful- 
ness of this scene, which may be de- 
scribed as the inauguration of this “ greater 
than Moses” in his office as founder of a 
new religion, is strikingly contrasted with 
the terrific tempests and convulsions of 
nature at the delivery of the law on Sinai, 
and harmonizes with the general tone and 
character of the new faith. The image 
of the Dove, the universal symbol of in- 
nocence and peace,* even if purely illus- 
trative, is beautifully in keeping with the 
gentler character of the whole. transac- 
tion. f 

The Temptation of Jesus_is the next 
event in the history of his life ;+ Temptation 
and here, at the opening, as it οἵ Jesus. 
were, Οὗ his career, appears shadowed out 
the sort of complex character under which 
Christianity represents its Divine Author, 
as a kind of federal representative of man- 
kind. On the interpretation of no incident 
in the Gospels do those who insist on the 
literal acceptation of the evangelists’ lan- 
guage, and those who consider that, even 
in the New Testament, much allowance is 
to be made for the essentially allegoric 
character of Oriental narrative, depart so 
far asunder.{ While the former receive 
the whole as a real scene, the latter sup- 
pose that the truth lies deeper; and that 
some not less real, though less preter- 
natural transaction is related, either from 
some secret motive, or, according to the 
genius of Eastern narrative, in this figu- 
rative style. As pretending to discover 
historical facts of much importance in the 
life of Christ, the latter exposition de- 
mands our examination. The Tempta- 
tion, according to one view, is a parabolic 
description of an actual event :§ according 


* Ennius ap. Cic., de Div.,i., 48. Tibull.,i, 8, 9. 

+ Matt., iv., 1,11. Mark, iv., 12,13. Luke, iv., 
1-13. ὶ ν 

+ Some of the old writers, as Theodore of Mop- 


suestia, explained it as a vision: to this notion Le 


Clerc inclines. Schleiermacher treats it as a para- 
ble, p. 58. Those who are most scrupulous in de- 
parting from the literal sense, cannot but be embar- 
rassed with this kind of personal conflict with a 
Being whom the devil must have known, accord- 
ing to their own view, to have been divine. ‘This 
is one of those points which will be differently un- 
derstood, according to the turn and cast of mind of 
different individuals. I would therefore deprecate 
the making either interpretation an article of faith, 
or deciding with dogmatic certainty on so perplex- 
ing a passage. 

§ This theory, differently modified, is embraced 
by Herman Von der Hardt, by the elder Rosenmiil- 
ler (schol., in loc.), and by Kuinoel. 


-Ό 


» HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


to another, of a kind of inward 
trial, which continued during the — 
career of Jesus. In the first theory, the 
tempter was nothing less than the high- 
priest, or one of the Sanhedrin, delegated 
by their authority to discover the real pre- 
tensions of Jesus. Having received intel- 
ligence of the testimony borne to Jesus by 
John, this person was. directed to follow 
him into the wilderness, where he first 
demanded, as the price of his acknowledg- 
ment by the public authorities, some dis- 
play of miraculous power, such as should 
enable him, like Moses, to support the life 
of man by a preternatural supply of food 
in the wilderness. He then held out to 
him the splendid prospects of aggrandize- 
ment, if he should boldly place himself, as 
a divinely-commissioned leader, at the 
head of the nation; and even led him in 
person to the pinnacle of the temple, and 
commanded him to cast himself down, as 
the condition, if he should be miraculously 
preserved, of his formal recognition by 
the Sanhedrin. To this view, ingenious 
. 85 it is, some obvious objections occur: 
the precise date apparently assigned to the 
transaction by the evangelists, and the 
improbability that, at so early a period, he 
would be thought of so much importance 
by the ruling powers ; the difficulty of 
supposing that, even if there might be pru- 
dential motives to induce St. Matthew, 
writing in Judea, to disguise, under this 


~~ allegoric veil, so remarkable an event in 


δ 


the history of Christ, St. Luke, influenced 
by no such motives, would adopt the same 
course. ‘Though, indeed, it may be repli- 
ed that, if the transaction had once as- 
sumed, it would be likely to retain its par- 
abolic dress, still it must seem extraor- 
dinary that no clearer notice of so extra- 
ordinary a circumstance should transpire 
in any of the Christian records. Nor does 
it appear easily reconcilable with the cau- 
tious distance at which the authorities ap- 
pear to have watched the conduct of Je- 
sus, thus, as it were, at once to have com- 
mitted themselves, and almost placed 
- themselves within his power. 
-. The second theory is embarrassed with 
ΟΠ fewer of these difficulties, though it is lia- 
ble to the same objection as to the pre- 
cise date apparently assigned to the inci- 
dent. According to this view, at one par- 
ticular period of his life, or at several 
times, the earthly and temporal thoughts, 
thus parabolically described as a personal 
contest with the Principle of Evil, passed 
through the mind of Jesus, and arrayed 
before him the image constantly present 
to the minds of his countrymen, that of 
the author of a new temporal theocracy. 


“ 


75 


For so completely were the suggestions in 


ambition, if it had taken a human or a 
| worldly turn, might have urged precisely 
‘such displays of supernatural power as 
are represented in the temptations of Je- 
sus. On no two points, probably, would 
the Jews have so entirely coincided, as in 
expecting the Messiah to assume his title 
and dignity before the view of the whole 
people, and in the most public and impo- 
sing manner ; such, for instance, as spring- 
ing from the highest point of the temple, 
to have appeared floating in the air, or 
preternaturally poised upon the unyielding 
element ; any miraculous act, in short, of 
a totally opposite character to those more 
private, more humane, and, if we may so 
speak, more unassuming signs, to which 
he himself appealed as the evidences of 
his mission. To be the lord of all the 
kingdoms, at least of Palestine, if not of 
the whole world, was, according to the 
same popular belief, the admitted right of 
the Messiah. If, then, as the history im- 
plies, the Saviour was tried by the intru- 
sion of worldly thoughts, whether, accord- 
ing to the common literal interpretation, 
actually urged by the Principle of Evil in 
his: proper person, or, according to this 
more modified interpretation of the pas- 
sage, suggested to his mind, such was 
the natural turn which they might have 
taken. 

But, however interpreted, the moral pur- 
port of the scene remains the same: the 
intimation that the strongest and most 


lively impressions were made upon the | 


mind of Jesus, to withdraw him from the 
purely religious end of his. being upon 
earth; to transform him from the author of 
a moral revolution, to be slowly wrought 
by the introduction of new principles of 
virtue, and new rules of individual and so- 
cial happiness, to the vulgar’station of one 
of the great monarchs or conquerors of 
mankind; to degrade him from ἃ being 
who was to offer to man the gift of eter- 
nal life, and elevate his nature to a pre- 
vious fitness for that exalted destiny, to 
one whose influence over his own genera- 
tion might have been more instantaneous- 
ly manifest, but which could have been as 
little permanently beneficial as that of any 
other of those remarkable names which, 
especially in the East, have blazed for a 
time and expired. 

From the desert, not improbably sup- 
posed to be that of Quarantania, lying be- 
tween Jericho and Jerusalem, where tra- 
dition, in Palestine unfortunately of no 
great. authority, still points out the scene 
of this great spiritual conflict, and where a 


mental 
ΕΣ unison with the popular expectation, that _ 


*, 
Ae 


16 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


mountain,* commanding an almost bound- 
less prospect of the valleys and hills of 
Judea, is shown as that from whence Je- 
sus looked down unmoved on the king- 
doms of the earth, the Son of Man return- 
ed to the scene.of John’s baptism. 
In the mean time, the success of the a 
rophet, the Baptist, had excitec 
rely ss tlie aieniiaet πρὶ the jealousy, 
salem to of the ruling authorities of the 
omy Jews. ‘The solemn deputation 
appeared to inquire into his pretensions. 
The Pharisees probably at this time pre- 
dominated in the great council, and the 
delegates, as of this sect, framed their 
᾿ questions in accordance with the popular 


traditions, as well as with the prophetic 


writings :+ they inquire whether he is the 
Christ, or Elias, or the prophet.{ John at 
once disclaims his title to the appellation 
of the Christ; nor is he Elijah, personally 
returned, according to the vulgar expecta- 
tion ;} nor Jeremiah, to whom tradition 
assigned the name of “ the prophet,” who 
was to rise from the dead at the coming 
of the Messiah, in order, it was supposed, 
to restore the tabernacle, the ark, and the 
altar of incense, which he was said to have 
concealed in a cave on the destruction 


' of the Temple by Nebuchadnezzar, and 


which were to be brought again to light at 
the Messiah’s coming.|| 
The next day John renewed his decla- 
ration that he was the harbinger] descri- 
bed in the prophet Isaiah, who, according 
to the custom in the progresses of Oriental 
monarchs, was to go before, and, cutting 
through mountains and bridging valleys, to 
make a wide and level way for the ad- 
vancement of the Great King. So John 
was to remove some of the moral imped- 
iments for the reception of Christ. At the 
same time, as Jesus mingled undistin- 
guished among the crowd, without directly 
designating him, he declared the actual 
presence of the mightier teacher who was 
about to appear. The next day, in the 
Jesus desi. MOre private circle of his be- 
nated by lievers, John did not scruple to 
John as the point out more distinctly the per- 
Messiah. - τς B 
son of the Messiah.** The οο- 
casion of his remarkable speech (it has 
been suggested with much probability) 
was the passing of large flocks of sheep 


πε ὁ Ὅσο {Ὁ 
* The hest description of this mountain is in the 
Travels of the Abbé Mariti. ᾿ 
+ The Sanhedrin alone could judge a tribe, the 
high-priest, or a prophet (Sanhedrin Paroch., i.). 
Hence “ἃ prophet could not perish out of Jerusa- 
lem.”—Luke, xiii., 33. Lightfoot, Harm, Ev. 
» £ John, i., 19-28. 
ὁ Wetstein. Nov. Test., in loc. δ. 
2 Macc., ii., 4-8; χν,, 14, 47 John,i., 29-34, 
John, i., 35, 36. 


Νὶ 


ἂν ᾿ 

and lambs, which, from the rich pastoral | 
districts beyond the river, crossed the Jor- 
dan at the ford, and were driven on to the 
metropolis, to furnish either the usual daily 
sacrifice or those for the approaching Pass- 
over. The Baptist, as they were passing, 
glanced from them to Jesus, declared him 
to be that superior Being, of whom he was 
but the humble harbinger, and described 
him as “ the Lamb of God,* which taketh 
away the sins of the world.” Unblemish- 
ed and innocent as the meek animals that 
passed, like them he was to go up as a 
sacrifice to Jerusalem, and in some mys- 
terious manner to “ take away” the sins 
of mankind. Another title, by which he 
designated Jesus yet more distinctly as 
the Messiah, was that of the “Son of 
God,” one of the appellations of the Deliv- 
erer most universally admitted, though no 
doubt it might bear a different sense to 
different hearers. 

Among the more immediate disciples of 
John, this declaration of their master could 
not but excite the strongest emotions; nor 
can anything be more characteristic of the 
feelings of that class among the Jews than 
the anxious rapidity with which the won- 
derful intelligence is propagated, and the 
distant and awestruck reverence with 
which the disciples slowly present them- 
selves to their new master. The first of 


icici 2 ial, Sk), Rae a ir a ECR ce, 

* Supposing (as is the general opinion) that this 
term refers to the extraordinary sacrifice of Christ, 
according to the analogy between the death of Je- 
sus and the sacrificial victims, subsequently devel- 
oped by the apostles (and certainly the narrower 
sense maintained by Grotius and the modern learn- 
ed writers (see Rosenmiuiller and Kuinoel, in loc.) 
are by no means satisfactory), to the hearers of John 
at this time such an allusion must have been as un- 
intelligible as the intimations of Jesus about his fu- 
ture sufferings to his disciples. Indeed, if under- 
stood by John himself in its full sense, it is difficult 
to reconcile it with the more imperfect views of the 
Messiah evinced by his doubt during his imprison- 
ment. To the Jews in general it can have convey- 
ed no distinct meaning. That the Messiah was to 
be blameless was strictly accordant with their no- 
tions, and ‘his taking away sins” bore an intelli- 
gible Jewish sense; but taking them away by his 
own sacrifice was a purely Christian tenet, and but 
obscurely and prophetically alluded to before the 
death of Christ. How far the Jews had any notion 
of a suffering Messiah (afterward their great stum- 
bling-block) is a most obscure question. The Chal- 
daic paraphrast certainly refers, but in very vague 
and contradictory language (Isaiah, 111., 13, et seq.), 
to the Messiah. See on one side Schoetgen, Hor. 
Heb., ii., 181, and Danzius, de Λύτρῳ, in Meuschen ; 
on the other, Rosenmuller and Gesenius on Isaiah. 
The notion of the double Messiah, the suffering 
Messiah, the son of Joseph, and the triumphant, the 
son of David (as in Pearson on the Creed, vol. ii.), 
is of most uncertain date and origin ; but nothing, 
in my opinion, can be more incredible than that it 
should have been derived, as Bertholdt would im- 
agine, from the Samaritan belief — Bertholdt, ο, 
29. 


* 
a 


¥ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. — 77 


¥ Ἢ 
Firet dis. these were Andrew, the brother of 
ciples of Simon (Peter), and probably the 
Jesus. author of the narrative, St. John.* 
Simon, to whom his brother communi- 
cates the extraordinary tidings, immediate- 
ly follows, and on him Jesus bestows a 
new name, expressive of the firmness of 
his character. All these belonged to the 
same village, Bethsaida, on the shore of 
the Lake of Gennesareth. On the depar- 
ture of Jesus, when he is returning to Gal- 
ilee, he summons another, named Philip. 
Philip, like Andrew, hastened away to im- 
part the tidings to Nathanael, not improb- 
ably conjectured to be the apostle Barthol- 
omew (the son of Tolmai or Ptolemy), a 
man of blameless character, whose only 
doubt is that the Messiah should come 
from a town of such proverbial disrepute 
as Nazareth.t But the doubts of Nathan- 
ael are removed by the preternatural 
knowledge displayed by Jesus of an inci- 
dent which he could not have witnessed ; 
and this fifth disciple, in like manner, does 
homage to the Messiah, under his titles 
“the Son of God, the King of Israel.” 
‘Yet this proof of more than human knowl- 
edge Jesus declares to be as nothing in 
comparison with the more striking signs 
of the Divine protection and favour, which 
he asserts, under the popular and signifi- 
cant image of the perpetual intervention of 
angels, that his chosen followers are here- 
after to witness. 

Jesus had now commenced his career : 
Jesus com- disciples had attached themselves 
mences his to this new master, and his claim 
career a8 ἃ {0 g Divine mission must neces- 
teacher. 5 ὶ 

sarily be accompanied by the 
signs and wonders which were to ratify 
the appearance of the Messiah. Yet even 
his miraculous powers had nothing of the 
imposing, the appalling, or public charac- 
ter looked for, no doubt, by those who ex- 
pected that the appeal would be made to 
their senses and their passions, to their 
terror and their hope, not to the more 
tranquil emotions of gratitude and love. 
But of this more hereafter. 

The first miracle of Jesus was the 
First miracle. changing the water into wine 
Anti-Essenian. at the marriage feast at Cana 
in Galilee.t This event, however, was 
not merely remarkable as being the first 
occasion for the display of supernatural 
power, but as developing in some degree 
the primary principles of the new religious 
revelation. ‘lhe attendance of Jesus at a 
marriage festival, his contributing to the 
festive hilarity, more particularly his 
sanctioning the use of wines on such 0c- 


» Johny iq 37-42. +1d., i, 43-51. Id, ii, 1-11. 


casions, at once separated and set him 
apart from that sect with which he was 
most likely to be confounded. John no 
doubt passed with the vulgar for a stricter 
Essene, many of whom, it has been before 
said, observed the severest morality, and 
in one great point differed most widely 
from all their brethren. ‘They disregarded 
the ceremonies of the law, even the solemn 
national festivals, and depreciated sacri- 
fices. Shut up, in short, in their own 
monastic establishments, they had sub- 
stituted observances of their own for those 
of the Mosaic institutes. In all these 
points, John, who nowhere appears to 
have visited Jerusalem, at least after his 
assumption of the prophetic office (for his | 
presence there would doubtless have ex-_ 
cited much commotion), followed the Es- 
senianpractice. Like them, he was severe, 
secluded, monastic, or, rather, eremitical 
in his habits and language. But among 
the most marked peculiarities of ‘the Es- 
senian fraternity. was their aversion to 
marriage. Though some of the less rigid 
of their communities submitted to this in- 
evitable evil, yet those who were of higher 
pretensions, and doubtless of higher esti- 
mation, maintained inviolable celibacy, 
and had fully imbibed that Oriental prin- 
ciple of asceticism which proscribed all 
indulgence of the gross and material body 
as interfering with the purity of the im- 
maculate spirit. The perfect religious 
being was he who had receded to the ut- 
most from all human passion; who had 
withdrawn his senses from all intercourse 


with the material world, or, rather, had 


estranged his mind from all objects of 
sense, and had become absorbed in the 
silent and ecstatic contemplation of the 
Deity.* This mysticism was the vital 
principle of the Essenian observances in 
Judea, and of those of the Therapeute, 
or Contemplatists, in Egypt, the lineal 
ancestors of the Christian monks and her- 
mits. ΒΥ giving public countenance to a 
marriage ceremony, still more by sanc- 
tioning the use of wine on such occasions 
(for wine was likewise proscribed by Ks- 
senian usage), Jesus thus, at the outset 


of his career, as he afterward placed him- 


* It may be worth observing (for the connexion 
of Jesus with the Essenes has been rather a favour- 
ite theory), that his illustrations, so perpetually 
drawn from the marriage rite and from the vine- 
yard, would be in direct opposition to the Fssenian 
phraseology. All these passages were peculiarly 
embarrassing to the Gnostic ascetics. Noluit 
Marcion sub imagine Domini a nuptiis redeuntis 
Christum cogitari ‘‘detestatoram nuptiarum,” he 
rejected from his Gospel, Luke, xiv., 7-1]. See the 


Gospel of Marcion by Hahn, in Thilo. Cod. Apoc. ἃ 
δ 


Nov. Testam., p. 444 and 449. ¢ 


¥ 


» 


ea 


4 


78 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


self in direct opposition to the other pre- 
vailing sects, so he had already receded 


from the practice of these recluse mystics, 


who formed the third, and, though not in 
numbers, yet in character and influence, 
by no means unimportant religious party. 
After this event in Cana,* Jesus, with 
his mother, his brethren, and some of his 
disciples, took up their abode, not in their 
native town of Nazareth, but in the village 
of Capernaum,t which was situ- 

Capernaum. sted not far from the rising city 
of Tiberias, on the shore of the beautiful 
lake, the Sea of Gennesareth. It was 
called the Village of Comfort, or the Love- 


ly Village, from a spring of delicious water, 


and became afterward the chief residence 
of Jesus, and the great scene of his won- 
derful works. 

The Passover approached,§ the great 
First passo- festival|] which assembled, not 
ver, A.D. 27. only from all parts of Pales- 
tine, but even from remoter regions, the 
more devout Jews, who at this period of 
the year constantly made their pilgrimage 
to the Holy City: regular caravans came 
from Babylonia and Egypt ; and no doubt, 
as we shall explain hereafter, considerable 
numbers from Syria, Asia Minor, and the 
other provinces of the Roman empire. 
There can be no doubt that at least vague 
rumours of the extraordinary transactions 
which had already excited public attention 
towards Jesus of Nazareth must have 
preceded his arrival at Jerusalem. The 
declaration of the Baptist, however neither 
himself nor many of his immediate dis- 
ciples might attend the feast, could not 
but have transpired. Though the single 
miracle wrought at Cana might not have 
been distinctly reported at Jerusalem— 


* Maundrell places Cana northwest of Nazareth ; 
it was about a day’s journey from Capernaum. 
Josephus (De Vit&é Sua) marched all night from 
Cana, and arrived at Tiberias in the morning. 

+ Jolin, il, 12. 

t Among the remarkable and distinctive pecu- 
liarities of the Gospel of St. John, is the much 
greater length at which he relates the events which 
occurred during the earlier visits of Jesus to Jeru- 
salem, about which the other evangelists are either 
entirely silent or extremely brief. I cannot help 
suspecting a very natural reason for this fact, that 
John was then the constant companion of his Mas- 
ter during these journeys, and that the other apos- 
tles were much less regular in their attendance 
upon him during these more distant excursions, 
especially at the earlier period. ‘he Gospel of St. 
John (some few passages omitted) might be de- 
scribed as the acts of Jesus in Jerusalem and its 
neighbourhood. § John, ii., 13. 

|| Many writers suppose that about half a year 
passed between the baptism of Jesus and this pass- 
over. This is possible ; but it appears to me that 
there is no evidence whatever as to the length of 


the period. 


though the few disciples who may have 
followed him from Galilee, having there 
disseminated the intelligence of his con- 
duct and actions, might have been lost in 
the multitude and confusion of the crowd- 
ed city—though, on the other hand, the 
impressions thus made would be stiil 
farther counterbalanced by the general 
prejudice against Galilee, more especially 
against a Galilean from Nazareth, still the 
son of Mary, even at his first ap- Jesus at 
pearance in Jerusalem, seems to Jefusalem. 
have been looked on with a kind of rev- 
erential awe. His actions were watched; 
and though both the ruling powers, and 
as yet, apparently, the leading Pharisees 
kept aloof—though he is neither molested 
by the jealousy of the latter, nor excites 
the alarm of the former, yet the mass of 
the people already observed his words 
and his demeanour with anxious interest. 
The conduct of Jesus tended to keep up 
this mysterious uncertainty, so likely to 
work on the imagination of a people thus 
ripe for religious excitement. He is said 
to have performed “ many miracles,” but 
these, no doubt, were still of a private, 
secret, and unimposing character; and on 
all other points he maintains the utmost 
reserve, and avoids with the most jealous 
precaution any action or language which 
might directly commit him with the rulers 
or the people. 

One act alone was public, commanding, 
and authoritative. The outer The Tem- 
court of the Temple had become, Plea mart. 
particularly at the period of the greatest 
solemnity, a scene of profane disorder and 
confusiun. As the Jews assembled from 
all quarters of the country, almost of the 
world, they were under the necessity of 
purchasing the victims for their offerings 
on the spot; and the rich man who could 
afford a sheep or an ox, or the poor who 
was content with the humbler oblation of 
a pair of doves, found the dealer at hand 
to supply his wants. The traders in sheep, 
cattle, and pigeons had therefore been 
permitted to establish themselves within 
the precincts of the Temple, in the court of 
the Gentiles ;* and a line of shops (taber- 
ne) ran along the outer wall of the inner 
court. Every Jew made an annual pay- 
ment of a half-shekel to the Temple ; and 
as the treasury, according to ancient usage, 
only received the coin of Palestine,} those 


* John, ii., 14, 25. _ 

+ According to Hug, “ the ancient imposts which 
were introduced before the Roman dominion were 
valued according to the Greek coinage, e. g., the 
taxes of the temple, Matt., xvil., 24. Joseph., Β J., 
vii., 6, 6. ‘The offerings were paid in these, Mark, 
xii., 42. Luke, xxi, 2. A payment which pro- 


ll 


- 


-- 


awful stillness which ought to have pre- 


a ; 

ὡ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 79 
that this assertion of the sanctity of the 
Temple must have been a popular act 
with the majority of the worshippers.* 
Though Jesus is said personally to have 
exerted himself, assisting with a light 
scourge, probably, in driving out the cattle, 
it is not likely that if he had stood alone, 
either the calm and commanding dignity 
of his manner, or even his appeal to the 
authority of the Sacred Writings, which 
forbade the profanation of the ‘Temple as 
a place of merchandise, would have over- 
powered the sullen obstinacy of men en- 
gaged in a gainful traffic, sanctioned by 
ancient usage. ‘The same profound ven- 
eration for the Temple, which took such 
implacable offence at the subsequent lan- 
guage of Jesus, would look with unallayed 
admiration on the zeal for “the Father’s 
House,” which would not brook the intru- 
sion of worldly pursuits or profane noises 
within its hallowed gates. 

Of itself, then, this act of Jesus might 
not amount to the assumption Of Expectations 
authority over the Temple of raised by this 
God: it was, perhaps, no more ον 
than a courageous zealot for the law might 
have done ;+ but, combined with the for- 
mer mysterious rumours about his char- 
acter and his miraculous powers, it in- 
vested him at once in the awful character 
of one in whose person might appear the 
long-desired, the long-expected Messiah. 
The multitude eagerly throng around him, 
and demand some supernatural sign of his 
Divine mission. The establishment of the 
Law had been accompanied, according to 
the universal belief, with the most terrific 
demonstrations of Almighty power: the 
rocking of the earth, the blazing of the 
mountain. Would the restoration of the 
Theocracy in more ample power and more 
enduring majesty be unattended with the 
same appalling wonders? The splendid 
images in the highly figurative writings of 
the prophets, the traditions, among the 
mass of the people equally authoritative, 
had prepared them to expect the coming 
of the Messiah to be announced by the 
obedient elements. It would have been 
RO ET a RS οἰ ὡς 


τ 

who came from distant provinces were 
obliged to change their foreign money, the 
relative value of which was probably lia- 
ble to considerable fluctuation. It is evi- 
dent, from the strong language of Jesus, 
that not only a fair and honest, but evena 
questionable and extortionate traffic was 
conducted within the holy precincts. Nor 
is it impossible that even in the Temple 
courts trade might be carried on less con- 
nected with the religious character of the 
place. Throughout the East, the periodi- 
cal assemblages of the different tribes of 
the same descent at some central temple, 
is intimately connected with commercial 
views.* The neighbourhood of the Holy 
Place is the great fair or exchange of the 
tribe or nation.. Even to the present day, 
Mecca, at the time of the great concourse 
of worshippers at the tomb of the Prophet, 
isa mart for the most active traffic among 
the merchant pilgrims, who form the car- 
avans from all quarters of the Mohamme- 
dan world.t+ 

We may conceive how the deep and 


vailed within the inner courts, dedicated to 
the adoration of the wople—how the quiet 
prayer of the solitary worshipper, and the 
breathless silence of the multitude, while 
the priests were performing the more im- 
portant ceremonies, either offering the na- 
tional sacrifice or entering the Holy Place, 
must have been interrupted by the close 
neighbourhood of this disorderly market. 
How dissonant must have been the noises 
of the bleating sheep, the lowing cattle, 
the clamours and disputes, and all the tu- 
mult and confusion thus crowded into a 
space of no great extent. No doubt the 
feelings of the more devout must long be- 
fore have been shocked by this desecra- 
tion of the holy precincts ; and when Je- 
Expulsion of 5115. commanded the’ expulsion 
these traders. of these traders out of the court 
of the Temple, from the almost unresist- 
ing submission with which they abandon- 
ed their lucrative posts at the command 
of one invested in no public authority, and 
who could have appeared to them no more 


than a simple Galilean peasant, it is clear i ; 3 2 
Ρ ὦ * [think these considerations make it less im- 


probable that this event should have taken place on 
two separate occasions, and under similar cireum- 
‘stances. The account of St. John places this incl- 
‘dent at this period of our Lord’s life; the other 
evangelists during his last visit to Jerusalem. I 
confess. indeed, for my own part, that even if it be 
an error of chronological arrangement in one ΟΥ̓ 
other of the evangelists, my faith in the historical 
reality of the event would not be in the least 
shaken. ‘ 

+ Legally only the magistrate (i. e, the Sanhe- 
drin) or a prophet could rectify abuses in the Tem- 
ple of God. A prophet must show his commission by 
sore miracle or prediction.—Grotius and Whitby. 


ceeded from the Temple treasury was made ac- 
cording to the ancient national payinent, by weight, 
Matt., xxvi., 15. [This is very doubtful.}| But in 
common business, trade, wages, sale, &c., the assis, 
and denarius, and Roman coin were usual, Matt., 
x., 29. Luke, xil., 6. Matt., xx., 2. Moree 
5. John, xii,53 vi, 7. The more modern state 
taxes are likewise paid in the coin of the nation 
which exercises at the time the greatest authority, 
Matt., xxii, 19. Mark, xii, 15. Luke, xx . 24."".-- 
Vol. i. p. M4. After all, however, some of these 
words may be translations. 
* Heeren, Ideen, passim. 
+ Burckhardt, Travels in Arabia. 


80 


difficult, by the most signal convulsions of 
nature, to have come up to their high- 
wrought expectations. Private acts of 
benevolence to individuals, preternatural 
cures of diseases, or the restoration of dis- 
ordered faculties, fell far beneath the no- 
tions of men, blind, perhaps, to the moral 
beauty of such actions. They required 
public, if we may so speak, national mira- 
cles, and those of the most stupendous na- 
ture. ‘To their demand, Jesus calmly an- 
swered by an obscure and somewhat orac- 
ular allusion to the remote event of his 
own resurrection, the one great “sign” of 
Christianity, to which it is remarkable that 
Christ constantly refers when required to 
ratify his mission by some public miracle.* 
The gesture, by which he probably eon- 
fined his meaning to the temple of his 
body, which, though destroyed, was to be 
raised up again in three days, was seen, 
indeed, by his disciples, yet even by them 
but imperfectly understood; by the peo- 
ple in general his language seemed plainly 
to imply the possible destruction of the 
Temple. An appalling thought, and feebly 
counterbalanced by the assertion of his 
power to rebuild it in three days! 

This misapprehended speech struck on 
Reverence of the most sensitive chord in the 

Jews = 
ee ταν νὴ high-strung religious tempera- 
Their national pride, their national exist- 
ence, were identified with the inviolability 
of the Temple. Their passionate and 
zealous fanaticism on this point can scarce- 
ly be understood but after the profound 
study of their history. In older times, the 
sad and loathsome death of Antiochus 
Epiphanes ; in more recent, the fate of 
Crassus, perishing amid the thirsty sands 
of the desert, and of Pompey, with his head- 
less trunk exposed to the outrages of the 
basest of mankind on the strand of Egypt, 
had been construed into manifest visita- 
tions of the Almighty, in revenge for the 
plunder and profanation of his Temple. 
Their later history is full of the same spir- 
it; and even in the horrible scenes of the 
fatal siege of Titus, this indelible passion 
survived all feelings of nature or of hu- 
manity: the fall of the 'Temple was like 
the bursting of the heart of the nation. 

From the period at which Herod the 
Great had begun to restore the dilapidated 
work of Zorobabel, forty-six years had 
elapsed, and still the magnificence of the 
king, or the wealth and devotion of the 
principal among the people, had found 
some new work on which to expend those 
incalculable riches, which, from these 


* Compare Matt., xii., 40. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ment of the Jewish people.. 


2 
is, 


sources, the τὰς οἵ RS nation 
and the donations the pious continued 
to pour into the Temple treasury. And 
this was the building of which Jesus, as he 
was understood, could calmly contemplate 
the fall, and daringly promise the immedi- 
ate restoration. “ΤῸ their indig- Their expec- 
nant murmurs, Jesus, it should tations disap- 
seem, made no reply. The ex- Pted- 

planation would perhaps have necessarily 
led to a more distinct prediction of his 
own death and resurrection than it was 


yet expedient to make, especially on so “ 


public ascene. But how deeply this mis- 
taken speech sunk into the popular mind 
may be estimated from its being adduced 
as the most serious charge against Jesus 
at his trial; and the bitterest scorn with 
which he was followed to his crucifixion 
exhausted itself in a fierce and sareastic 
allusion to this supposed assertion of 
power. fe 

Still, although with the exasperated 
multitude the growing veneration of Jesus 
might be checked by this misapprehended 
speech, a more profound impression had 
been made among some of the more think- 
ing part of the commpinity. Already one 
member, if not more, of the Sanhedrin 
began to look upon him with interest, per- 
haps with a secret inclination to espouse 
his doctrines. That one, named 
Nicodemus, determined to satis- 
fy himself by a personal interview as to 
the character and pretensions of the new 
Teacher.* Nicodemus had hitherto been 
connected with the Pharisaic party, and 
he dreaded the jealousy of t lat powerful 
sect, who, though not yet in declared hos- 
tility against Jesus, watched, no doubt, 
his motions with secret aversion; for 
they could not but perceive that he made 
no advances towards them, and treated 


Nicodemus. 


with open disregard their minute and 


austere observance of the literal and tra- 
ditionary law, their principles of separa- 
tion from the “unclean” part of the com- 
munity, and their distinctive dress and 
deportment. The popular and accessible 
demeanour of Jesus showed at once that 
he had nothing in common with the spirit 
of this predominant religious faction. Nic- 
odemus therefore chooses the dead of 
the night to obtain his secret interview 
with Jesus; he salutes him with a title, 
that of rabbi, assumed by none but those 
who were at once qualified and authorized 
to teach in public; and he recognises at 
once his Divine mission, as avouched by 
his wonderful works. But, with astonish- 
ment almost overpowering, the Jewish 


* John, iii, 1, 21. 


εἶ 
& 


: 
εἴ, 
Be 


\ 


δὲ 


‘ 


ruler hears the explanation of the first 
principles of the new religion. When the 
heathen proselyte was admitted into Juda- 
ism, he was γι ὧν to. be endowed 
with new life: he separated from all 
his former connexions ; he was born again 
to higher hopes, to more extended knowl- 
edge, to a more splendid destiny.* But 
now, even the Jew of the most unim- 
peachable descent from Abraham, the Jew 
of the highest estimation, so as to have 
been chosen into the court of Sanhe- 
drin, and who had maintained the strict- 
est obedience to the law, in order to be- 
come a member of the new community, 
required a change no less complete. He 
was to pass through the ceremony em- 
blematiec of moral purification. To him 
as to the most unclean of strangers, bap- 
tism was to be the mark of his initiation 
into the new faith; and a secret internal 
transmutation was to take place by Divine 
agency in his heart, which was to com- 
municate a new principle of moral life. 
Without this, he could not attain to that 
which he had hitherto supposed either the 
certain privilege of his Israelitish descent, 
or, at least, of his conscientious adherence 
to the law. Eternal life, Jesus declared, 
was to depend solely on the reception of 
the Son of God, who, he not obscurely in- 
timated, had descended from heaven, was 
present in his person, and was not univer- 
sally received only from the want of 
moral fitness to appreciate his character. 
This light was too pure to be admitted 


ing over the public mind, and rendered it 
impenetrable by the soft and quiet rays of 
the new doctrine. Jesus, in short, almost 
without disguise or reservation, announced 
himself to the wondering ruler as the Mes- 
siah, while, at the same time, he enigmat- 
ically foretold his rejection by the people. 
- The age was not ripe for the exhibition 
of the Divine Goodness in his person; it 
still yearned for a revelation of the terri- 


» into the ‘he ple which was brood- 


* A Gentile proselyted, and a slave set free, is as 
a child new born: he must know no more of his 
kindred.—Maimonides,- Lightfoot. Harm. Ev. 

This notion of a second moral birth is by no 
means uncommon in the East. The Sanscrit name 
of a Brahmin is dwija, the twice born—Bopp., 
Gloss, Sanscr. 


ay 


_ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ble, destructive, revengeful Power of the 
Almighty: a national deity which should 
imbody, as it were, the prevailing senti- 
ments of the nation. ΝΟΥ͂ came he to ful- 
fil that impious expectation of Jewish 
pride, the condemnation of the world, of 
all Gentile races, to the worst calamities, 
while on Israel alone his blessings were 
to be showered with exclusive bounty.* 
He came as a common benefactor, as a 
universal Saviour, to the whole human 
race. Nicodemus, it should seem, left the 
presence of Jesus, if not a decided convert, 
yet impressed with still deeper reverence. 
Though never an avowed disciple, yet, 
with other members of the Sanhedrin, he 
was only restrained by his dread of the 
predominant party: more than once we 
find him seizing opportunities of showing 
his respect and attachment to the teacher 
whose cause he had not courage openly 
to espouse; and perhaps his secret in- 
fluence, with that of others similarly dis- 
posed, may for a time have mitigated or 
obstructed the more violent designs of the 
hostile party. 

Thus ended the first visit of Jesus to 
Jerusalem since his assumption of a pub- 
lic character. His influence had in one 
class, probably, made considerable, though 
secret progress ; with others, a dark feel- 
ing of hostility had been more deeply 
rooted; while this very difference of sen- 
timent was likely to increase the general 
suspense and interest as to the future 
development of his character. As yet, it 
should seem, unless in that most private 
interview with Nicodemus, he had not 
openly avowed his claim to the title of 
the Messiah: an expression of St. John,t 
“he did not trust himself to them,” seems 
to imply the extreme caution and reserve 
which he maintained towards all the con- 
verts which he made during his present 
visit to Jerusalem. 

* Que sequuntur inde a versiculo decimo septimo 
proprie ad Judzos spectant, et haud dubie dicta 
sunt a Domino contra opinionem illam impiam et 
in genus humanum iniquam, cum existimarent Mes- 
siam non nisi Judaicum populum liberaturnm, re- 
liquas vero gentes omnes suppliciis atrocissimis 
affecturum, penitusque perditurum esse.— Titman, 
Mel. in Joan., p. 128. 

+ John, ii., 24, οὐκ ἐπίστευεν ἑαυτόν; he did not 
trust himself to them, he did not commit, himself. 


82 HISTORY OF CHRI STIANITY. ‘ 


CHAPTER IV. 


PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS FROM THE 


On the dispersion of the strangers from 
Departure the metropolis at the close of the 
from Jeru- Passover, Jesus, with his more 
salem. immediate followers, passed a 
short time in Judea, where such multi- 
tudes crowded to the baptism administer- 
ed by his disciples, that the adherents of 
Jchn began to find the concourse to their 
master somewhat diminished. The Bap- 
tist had removed his station to the other 
side of the Jordan, and fixed himself by a 
stream, which afforded a plentiful supply 
of water, near the town of Salim, in Perea. 
The partisans of John, not, it should seem, 
without jealousy, began to dispute con- 
cerning the relative “importance of the 
baptism of their master, and that of him 
whom they were disposed to consider his 
rival. But these unworthy feelings were 
strongly repressed by John. In terms still 
more emphatic, he reasserted his own sec- 
ondary station: he was but the para- 
nymph, the humble attendant on the bride- 
groom, Christ the bridegroom himself: his 
doctrine was that of earth, that of Christ 
was from Heaven; in short, he openly an- 
nounces Jesus as the Son of the Almighty 
Father, and as the author of everlasting 
life.* 

The career of John was drawing to a 


Joon the Close. His new station in Perea 
Baptist, _ was within the dominions of Her- 
and Herod. 


od Antipas. On the division of 
the Jewish kingdom at the death of Herod 
the Great, Galilee and Perea had formed 
the tetrarchate of Antipas. Herod was 
engaged in a dangerous war with Aretas, 
king of Arabia Petreea, whose daughter he 
had married. ᾿ But, having formed an in- 
cestuous connexion with the wife of his 
brother, Herod Philip, his Arabian queen 
indignantly fled to her father, who took 
up arms to revenge her wrongs against 
her guilty husband.t| How far Herod 
could depend in this contest on the loyalty 
of his subjects was extremely doubtful. 
It is possible he might entertain hopes 
that the repudiation of a foreign alliance, 
ever hateful to the Jews, and the union 
with a branch,of the Asmonean line (for 
Herodias was the daughter of Herod the 
Great, by Mariamne), might counterbal- 


ance in the popular estimation the injus- 


* John, iii., 22, 36. 
+ Luke, iii, 19. 
17, 20. 


Matt., xiv., 3, 5. Mark, vi., 


FIRST TO THE SECOND PASSOVER. 


tice and criminality of his marriage with 
his brother's wife.* The influence of 
John (according to Josephus) was almost 
unlimited. The subjects, and even the 
soldiery, of the tetrarch crowded with de- 
vout submission around the prophet. On 
his decision might depend the wavering 
loyalty of the whole province. But John 
denounced with open indignation the royal 
incest, and declared the marriage with a 
brother’s wife to be a flagrant violation of 
the law. Herod, before long, ordered him 
to be seized and imprisoned in the strong 
fortress of Macherus, on the remote bor- 
ders of his transjordanic territory. — 
Jesus, in the mean time, apprehensive 
of the awakening jealousy of the Phari- 
sees, whom his increasing success infla- 
nied to more avowed animosity, left the 
borders of Judaa, and proceeded on his re- 
turn to Galilee.t The nearer jesus passes 
road lay through the province of through Sa- 
Samaria.{ The mutual hatred Ty" ocine 
between the Jews and Samari- Jews and 
tans, ever since the secession of Samaritans. 
Sanballat, had kept the two races not 
merely distinct, but opposed to each other 
with the most fanatical hostility. This 
animosity, instead of being allayed by 
time, had but grown the more inveterate, 
and had recently been imbittered by acts, 
according to Josephus, of wanton and un- 
provoked outrage on the Samaritans. 
During the administration of Coponius, 
certain of this hateful race, early in the 
morning on one of the days of the Pass- 
over, had stolen into the Temple at Jeru- 
salem, and defiled the porticoes and courts 
by strewing them with dead men’s bones : 
an abomination the most offensive to 
the Jewish principles of cleanliness and 
sanctity.§ Still later, they had frequently 
taken advantage of the position in which 
their district lay, directly between Judea 
and Galilee, to interrupt the concourse of 
the religious Galileans to the capital.|| 
Jealous that such multitudes should pass 


* This natural view of the subject appears to me 
to harmonize the accounts in the Gospels with that 
of Josephus. Josephus traces the persecution of 
the Baptist to Herod's dread of popular tumult and 
insurrection, without mentioning the real cause of 
that dread, which we find in the evangelic narra- 
tive. 

+ Matt., iv., 12. Mark,i. 14. Luke, iv., 14. 

1 John, iv., 1, 32 

ὁ Hist. of the Jews, ii., 130. | Tbid., 135, 


=? Δ 


+? 


‘ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 83 


ΕΣ 


-heir sacred mountain, Gerizim, to wor- 
ship in the Temple at Jerusalem, they often 
waylaid the incautious pilgrim, and thus 
the nearest road to Jerusalem had become 
extremely insecure. Our history will 
show how calmly Jesus ever pursued his 
course through these conflicting elements 
of society, gently endeavoured to allay the 
implacable schism, and set the example of 
that mild and tolerant spirit so beautifully 
imbodied in his precepts. He passed on 
in quiet security through the dangerous 
district, and it is remarkable that here, safe 
from the suspicious vigilance of the Phar- 
isaic party, among these proscribed aliens 
from the hopes of Israel, he, more distinct- 
ly and publicly than he had hitherto done, 
avowed his title as the Messiah, and de- 
veloped that leading characteristic of his 
religion, the abolition of all local and na- 
tional deities, and the promulgation of one 
comprehensive faith, m which the great 
Eternal Spirit was to be worshipped by all 
mankind in “ spirit and in truth.” 

There was a well* near the gates of 
Sichem, a name which by the Jews had 
been long perverted into the opprobrious 
term Sichar.t ‘This spot, according to im- 
memorial tradition, the patriarch Jacob 
had purchased, and here were laid the 
bones of Joseph, his elder son, to whose 
descendant, Ephraim, this district had been 
assigned. Sichem lay ina valley between 
the two famous mountains Ebal and Geri- 
zim, on which the law was read, and rati- 
fied by the acclamations of the assembled 
tribes ; and on the latter height stood the 
rival temple of the Samaritans, which had 
so long afflicted the more zealous Jews by 
its daring opposition to the one chosen 
sanctuary on Mount Moriah. The well 
bore the name of the patriarch ; and while 
his disciples entered the town to pur- 
chase provisions,{ a traffic from which 
probably few, except the disciples of 
Christ, would not have abstained, except 


* Tradition still points to this well, about a mile 
_ distant from the walls of Sichar, which Maundrell 
supposes to have extended farther. A church was 
built over it by the Empress Helena, but it is now 
entirely destroyed. ‘It is dug in a firm rock, and 
contains about three yards in diameter, and thirty- 
five in depth, five of which we found full of water.” 
—Maundrell, p. 62. 

+ From a Hebrew word meaning a “ lie” or an 
‘‘idol.” The name had no doubt grown into com- 
mon use, as it could not be meant by the evange- 
lists in an offensive sense. 

{ According to the traditions, they might buy of 
them, use their labour, or say amen to their bene- 
dictions (Beracoth, i., 8), lodge in their towns, but 
not receive any gift or kindness of them.—Buxtorf, 
Lex Talm., 1370. Lightfoot, in loc. 

§ Probably the more rigid would have refrained, 
even from this permitted intercourse, unless in 
cases of absolute necessity. 


in extreme necessity, Jesus reposed by its 
margin. It was the sultry hour of noon, 
about twelve o’clock,* when a woman, as 
is the general usage in the East, where the 
females commonly resort to the wells or 


tanks to obtain water for all domestie 


uses, approached the well. Jesus, whom 
she mew not to be her countryman, either 
from his dress, or perhaps his dialect or 
pronunciation, in which the inhabitants of 
the Ephraimitish district of Samaria dif- 
fered both from the Jews and Galileans, to 
her astonishment, asked her for water to 
quench his thirst. For, in general, the lip 
of a Jew, especially a Pharisaic Jew, 
would have shrunk in disgust from the 
purest element in a vessel defiled by the 
hand of a Samaritan. Drawing, as usual, 
his similitudes from the present circum- 
stances, Jesus excites the wonder of the 
woman by speaking of living waters at his 
command, waters which were to nourish 
the soul for everlasting life : he increases 
her awe by allusions which show more 
than mortal knowledge of her own private 
history (she was living in concubinage, 
having been married to five husbands), and 
at length clearly announces that the local 
worship, both on Gerizim and at Jerusa- 
lem, was to give place to a more sublime 
and comprehensive faith. The astonished 
woman confesses her belief that, on the 
coming of the Messiah, truths equally 
wonderful may be announced. Jesus, for 


the first time, distinctly and unequivocally | 


declares himself to be the Messiah.t On 
the return of the disciples from the town, 
their Jewish prejudices are immediately 
betrayed at beholding their master thus 
familiarly conversing with a woman of the 
hateful race: on the other hand, the intel- 
ligence of the woman runs rapidly through 
the town, and the Samaritans crowd forth 
in eager interest to behold and listen to 
the extraordinary teacher, 

The nature and origin of the Samaritan 
belief in the Messiah is even ἃ gamaritan 
more obscure question than that belief in the 
of the Jews.{ That belief was Messiah. 


= This is the usual opinion. Dr. Townson, in 
his ingenious argument to prove that the hours of 
John are not Roman or Jewish, but Asiatic, ad- 
duces this passage as in his favour, the evening be- 
ing the usual time at which the women resort to the 
wells. On the other hand it is observed that noon 
was the usual time of dinner among the Jews, and 
the disciples probably entered the town tor provis- 
ions for that meal. ' 

+ Leclerc observes that Jesus spoke with more 
freedom to the woman of Samaria, as he had no fear 
of sedition, or violent attempts to make him a king. 
—On John, iv., 26. 

t Bertholdt, ch. vii.. which contains extracts 
from the celebrated Samaritan letters, and refer- 
ences to the modern writers who have translated 


84 


evidently more clear and defined than 
the vague expectation which prevailed 
throughout the East, still it was probably, 
like that of the Jews, by no means dis- 
tinct or definite. It is generally supposed 
that the Samaritans, admitting only the 
law, must have rested their hope solely 
on some ambiguous or latent prediction 
in the books of Moses, who had foretold 
the coming of another and a mightier 
prophet than himself. But, though the 
Samaritans may not have admitted the 
authority of the prophets as equal to that 
of the law; though they had not installed 
them in the regular and canonized code of 
their sacred books, it does not follow that 
they were unacquainted with them, or 
that they did not listen with devout belief 
to the more general promises, which by 
no means limited the benefits of the Mes- 
siah’s coming to the local sanctuary of 
Jerusalem, or to the line of the Jewish 
kings. There appear some faint traces 
of a belief in the descent of the Messiah 
from the line of Joseph, of which, as be- 
longing to the tribe of Ephraim, the Sa- 
maritans seem to have considered them- 
selves the representatives.* Nor is it im- 
probable, from the subsequent rapid pros- 
ress of the doctrines of Simon Magus, 
which were deeply impregnated with 
Orientalism,t that the Samaritan notion 
of the Messiah had already a strong 
Magian or Babylonian tendency. On the 
other hand, if their expectations rested on 
less definite grounds, the Samaritans were 
unenslaved by many of those fatal preju- 


them and discussed their purport. Quz vero fuerit 
spei Messiane ratio neque ex hoc loco, neque ex 
ullo alio antiquiore monumento accuratius intelligi 
potest, et ex recentiorum demum Samaritanorum 
epistolis innotuit. Atque his testibus prophetam 
quemdam illustrem venturum esse sperant, cui ob- 
servaturi sint populi ac credituri in illum, et in 
legem et in montem Garizim, qui fidem Mosaicam 
evecturus sit, tabernaculum restituturus in monte 
Garizim, populum suum beaturus, postea moriturus 
et sepeliendus apud Josephum (i. 6., in tribu 
Ephraim). Quo tempore venturus sit, id nemini 
preter Deum cognitum esse. Gesenius, in his note 
to the curious Samaritan poems which he has pub- 
lished (p. 75), proceeds to say that his name is to 
be ‘‘ Hasch-hab or Hat-hab,” which he translates 
conversor (converter), as converting the people to 
a higher state of religion. The Messiah Ben Joseph 
of the Rabbins, he observes, is of a much later date. 
Quotations concerning the latter may be found in 
Hisenmenger, ii., 720. 

* We still want a complete and critical edition 
of the Samaritan chronicle (the Liber Josuz), which 
may throw light on the character and tenets of this 
remarkable branch of the Jewish nation. Though 
in its present form a comparatively modern com- 
pilation, it appears to me, from the fragments 
nitherto edited, to contain manifest vestiges of very 
ancient tradition. See an abstract at the end of 
Hottinger’s Dissertationes anti Moriniane. 

t Mosheim, ii., 19. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


dices of the Jews, which so completely 

temporalized their notions of the Messiah, 

and were free from that rigid and exclusive 

pride which so jealously appropriated the 
Divine promises. Ifthe Samaritans could” 
not pretend to an equal share in the splen- 

did anticipations of the ancient prophets, | 
they were safer from their misinterpreta- 
tion. They had no visions of universal 
dominion ; they looked not to Samaria or 
Sichem to become the metropolis of some 
mighty empire. They had some legend 
of the return of Moses to discover the 
sacred vessels concealed near Mount 
Gerizim,* but they did not expect to see 
the banner raised, and the conqueror go 
forth to beat the nations to the earth, and 
prostrate mankind before their re-estab- 
lished theocracy. They might even be 
more inclined to recognise the Messiah in 
the person of a purely religious reformer, 
on account of the overbearing confidence 
with which the rival people announced 
their hour of triumph, when the Great 
King should erect his throne on Zion, and 
punish all the enemies of the chosen race, 
among whom the “ foolish people,” as they 
were called, “who dwelt at Sichem,”+t 
would not be the last to incur the terrible 
vengeance. A Messiah who would dis- 
appoint the insulting hopes of the Jews 
would, for that very reason, be more ac- 
ceptable to the Samaritans. 

The Samaritan commonwealth was goy- 
erned, under the Roman suprem- samaritan 
acy, by a council or sanhedrin: Sanhedrin, 
but this body had not assumed the preten- 
sions of a divinely-inspired hierarchy ; 
nor had they a jealous and domineering 
sect, like that of the Pharisees, in posses- 
sion of the public instruction, and watch- 
ing every new teacher who did not wear 
the garb, or speak the Shibboleth of their 
faction, as guilty of an invasion of their 
peculiar province. But, from whatever 
cause, the reception of Jesus among the 
Samaritans was strongly contrasted with 
that among the Jews. They listened with 
reverence, and entreated him to take up 
his permanent abode within their province ; 
and many among them distinctly acknowl- 
edged him as the Messiah and Saviour of 
the world. 

Still, a residence longer than was ne- 
cessary in the infected air, as the Jews. 
would suppose it, of Samaria, would have 
strengthened the growing hostility of the 


* Hist. of the Jews, ii., 135. ' 

+ There be two manner of nations which my 
heart abhorreth, and the third is no nation. They 
that sit upon the mountain of Samaria, and they 
that dwell among the Philistines, and that foolish 
people that dwell at Sichem.—Ecclesiast., l., 25, 26. 


Ν 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


85 


ruling powers, and of the prevailing sect | was still the “ carpenter's son.” We think, 
among the Jews. After two days, there- | likewise, that we discover in the language 
fore, Jesus proceeded on his journey, re- | of the Nazarenes something of local jeal- 


entered Galilee, and publicly assumed, in 
‘that province, his office as the teacher of 
a new religion. The report of a 
cle in Caper- Second, a more public, and more 
faum, extraordinary miracle than that 
before performed in the town of Cana, 
tended to establish the fame of his actions 
in Jerusalem, which had been disseminated 
by those Galileans who had returned more 
quickly from the Passover, and had ex- 
cited a general interest to behold the per- 
son of whom such wonderful rumours were 
spread abroad.* ‘The nature of the mira- 
cle, the healing a youth who lay sick at 
Capernaum, about twenty-five miles dis- 
tant from Cana, where he then was; the 
station of ffie father, at whose entreaty 
he restored the son to health (he was 
probably on the household establishment 
of Herod), could not fail to raise the ex- 
pectation to a higher pitch, and to prepare 
the inhabitants of Galilee to listen with 
eager deference to the new doctrines.t 
One place alone received the son of 
Mary with cold and inhospita- 
ble unconcern, and rejected his 
claims with indignant violence 
—his native town of Nazareth. 
The history of this transaction is singular- 
ly true to human nature { Where Jesus 
Was unknown, the awestruck imagination 
of the people, excited by the fame of his 
wonderful works, beheld him already ar- 
rayed in the sanctity of a prophetical, if 
not of a Divine, mission. Nothing in- 
truded on their thoughts to disturb their 
reverence for the commanding gentleness 
of his demeanour, the authoritative per- 
suasiveness of his language, the holiness 
of his conduct, the celebrity of his mira- 
cles: he appeared before them in the pure 
and unmingled dignity of his public char- 
acter. But the inhabitants of Nazareth 
had to struggle with old impressions, and 
to exalt their former familiarity into a 
feeling of deference or veneration. In 
Nazareth he had been seen from his child- 
hood ; and though gentle, blameless, popu- 
lar, nothing had occurred, up to the period 
of his manhood, to place him so much 
above the ordinary level of mankind. His 
father’s humble station and employment 
had, if we may so speak, still farther un- 
dignified the person of Jesus to the mind 
ofhis fellow-townsmen. In Nazareth Jesus 


Ὑ Second mira- 


Nazareth. 
Inhospitable 
reception of 


Jesus. 


* Matt., iv., 13, 17. Mark,i., 14,15. Luke, ἵν.» 
14, 15. John, iv., 43-495. + John, iv., 46-54. 

+ Luke, iv., 16-30. There appears to be an al- 
lusion (John, iv., 44) to this incident, which may 
have taken place before the second miracle. 


+ 


ousy against the more favoured town of 
Capernaum. If Jesus intended to assume 
a public and distinguished character, why 
had not his native place the fame of his 
splendid works? why was Capernaum 
honoured, as the residence of the new 
prophet, rather than the city in which he 
had dwelt from his youth? 

It was in the synagogue of Nazareth, 
where Jesus had hitherto been Jesus in the 
a devout listener, that he stood synagogue. 
up in the character of a Teacher. Ac- 
cording to the usage, the chazan or minis- 
ter of the synagogue,* whose office it was 
to deliver the volume of the law or the 
prophets appointed to be read to the per- 
son to whom that function had fallen, or 
who might have received permission from 
the rulers of the synagogue to address the 
congregation, gave it into the hands of Je- 
sus. Jesus opened on the passage in the 
beginning of the 16th chapter of Isaiah,t 


_by universal consent applied to the coming 


of the Messiah, and under its beautiful im- 
ages describing with the most perfect a 
the character of the new religion. It 
spoke of good tidings to the poor, of con- 
solation in every sorrow, of deliverance 
from every affliction: “‘ He hath anointed 
me to preach the Gospel to the poor; he 
hath sent me to heal the broken hearted ; 
to preach deliverance to the captives, and 
recovering of sight to the blind ; to set at 
liberty them that are bound.” It wenton, 
as it were, to announce the instant fulfil- 
ment of the prediction, in the commence- 
ment of the “acceptable year of the Lord;” 
but before it came to the next clause, 
which harmonized ill with the benign 
character of the new faith, and spoke of 
“ the day of vengeance,” he broke off and 
closed the book. He proceeded, probably 
at some length, to declare the immediate 
approach of these times of wisdom and 


peace. Bs 


* It is said that on the Sabbath the law was read 
in succession by seven persons—a priest, a Levite, 
and five Israelites—and never on any other day by 
less than three. The prophets were read by any 
one; in general, one of the former readers, whom 
the minister might summon to the office. 

+ It is of some importance to the chronology of 
the life of Christ, to ascertain whether this perioche 
or portion was that appointed in the ordinary course 
of reading, or one selected by Jesus. But we can- 
not decide this with any certainty ; nor is it clear 
that the distribution of the lessons, according to the 
ritual of that period, was the same with the present 
liturgy of the Jews. According to that, the 16th 
chapter of Isaiah would have been read about the 
end of August. Macknight and some other harmo- 
nists lay much stress on this point. 


86 


The whole assembly was in a state of 
leasing astonishment at the ease of his 
Relivery, and the sweet copiousness of his 
language ; they could scarcely believe that 
it was the youth whom they had so often 
seen, the son of an humble father, in their 
streets, and who had enjoyed no advan- 
tages of learned education, Some of 
them, probably either by their counte- 
nance, or tone, or gesture, expressed their 
incredulity, or even their contempt, for 
Joseph’s son; for Jesus at once declared 
his intention of performing no miracle to 
satisfy the doubts of his unbelieving coun- 
trymen: “ No prophet is received with 
honour in his own country.” This avow- 
ed preference of other places before the 
dwelling of his youth; this refusal to grant 
to Nazareth any share in the fame of his 
extraordinary works, imbittered, perhaps, 
by the suspicion that the general prejudice 
against their town might be strengthened, 
at least not discountenanced, as it might 
have been, by the residence of so distin- 
guished a citizen within their walls; the 
reproof so obviously concealed in the 
words and conduct of Jesus, mingled, no 
Violence doubt, with other fanatical mo- 
of the Naz- tives, wrought the whole assem- 
arenes. bly to such a pitch of phrensy, 
that they expelled Jesus from the syna- 
gogue. Nazareth lies in a valley, from 
which a hill immediately rises ; they hur- 
ried him up the slope, and were preparing 
to cast him down from the abrupt cliff on 
the other side, when they found that the 
intended victim of their wrath had disap- 
peared. 
Jesus retired to Capernaum, which from 
Capernaum this time became, as it were, his 


the chief headquarters.* This place was 
fesidenceof admirably situated for his pur- 


pose, both from the facility of 
communication, as well by land as by the 
lake, with many considerable and flourish- 
ing towns, and of escape into a more se- 
cure region in case of any threatened per- 
secution. It lay towards the northern ex- 
tremity of the Lake or Sea of Gennesa- 
reth.t On the land side it was a centre 
from which the circuit of both Upper and 
Lower Galilee might begin. The count- 
less barks of the fishermen employed upon 
the lake, many of whom became his ear- 
liest adherents, could transport him with 
the utmost ease to any of the cities on the 
western bank ; while, if danger approach- 


* Luke, iv., 31, 32. 

+ This is the usual position of Capernaum, but 
it rests on very uncertain grounds, and some cir- 
cumstances would induce me to adopt Lightfoot’s 
opinion, that it was much nearer to the southern end 
of the lake. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Ὁ & 


ed from Herod or the ruling powers of 
Galilee, he had but to cross to the opposite 
shore, the territory, at least at the com- 
mencement of his career, of Philip, the 
most just and popular of the sons of Her- 
od, and which, on his death, reverted to the 
Roman government. Nor was it an un- 
favourable circumstance that he had most 
likely secured the powerful protection of 
the officer attached to the court of Herod, 
whose son he had healed, and who proba- 
bly resided at Capernaum, 

The first act of his public career was 
the permanent attachment to his apostles 
person, and the investing in the chosen. 
delegated authority of teachers of the new 
religion, four out of the twelve who after- 
ward became the apostles. Andrew and 
Peter were originally of Bethsaida, at the 
northeastern extremity of the@lake, but the 
residence of Peter appears to have been 
at Capernaum. James and John were 
brothers, the sons of Zebedee.* ‘All these 
men had united themselves to Jesus im- 
mediately after his baptism ; the latter, if 
not all, had probably attended upon him 
during the festival in Jerusalem, but had 
returned to their usual avocations. Jesus 
saw them on the shore of the lake: two 
of them were actually employed in fishing ; 
the others, at a little distance, were mend- 
ing their nets. At the well-known voice 
of their master, confirmed by the sign of 
the miraculous draught of fishes, which 
impressed Peter with so much awe, that 
he thought himself unworthy of standing 
in the presence of so wonderful a Being, 
they left their ships and followed him into 
the town ; and though they appear to have 
resumed their occupations, on which, no 
doubt, their humble livelihood depended, 
it should seem that from this time they 
might be considered as the regular at- 
tendants of Jesus.  . 

The reception of Jesus in the synagogue 
of Capernaum was very differ- Jesus in the 
ent from that which he encoun- synagogue 
tered in Nazareth. He was ΡΤ ον 
heard on the regular day of teaching, the 
Sabbath, not only undisturbed, but with in- 
creasing reverence and awe.f{ And, in- 
deed, if the inhabitants of Nazareth were 
offended, and the Galileans in general as- 
tonished at the appearance of the humble 
Jesus in the character of a public teacher, 
the tone and language which he assumed 
was not likely to allay their wonder. The 


remarkable expression, “ he speaks as one 

* Matt., iv., 22. Mark, i, 17-20. Luke, ν., 
1-11. ᾿ 

+ This supposes, as is most probable, that Luke, 
v., 1-11, refers to the same transaction. 

t Luke, iv., 31-38. Mark, i., 21, 22. 


᾿ af 
having authority and not as the scribes,” 
seems to imply more than the extraordi- 
nary power and persuasiveness of his lan- 
guage. 

The ordinary instructers of the people, 
His anata. of whether under the name of 
teaching dif scribes, lawyers, or rabbis, rest- 
aor a. ed their whole claim to the pub- 
Rabbins. _—_ lic attention on the established 
Sacred Writings. They were the conser- 
vators, and, perhaps, personally ordained 
interpreters of the law, with its equally sa- 
cred traditionary comment ; but they pre- 
tended to no authority not originally de- 
rived from these sources. They did not 
stand forward as legislators, but as accred- 
ited expositors of the law; not as mendi- 
rectly inspired from on high, but as men 
who, by profound study and intercourse 
with the older wise men, were best en- 
abled to decide on the dark, or latent, or 
ambiguous sense of the inspired writings ; 
or who had received, in regular descent, 
the more ancient Cabala, the accredited 
tradition. Although, therefore, they had 
completely enslaved the public mind, 
which reverenced the sayings of the mas- 
ters or rabbis equally with the original 
text of Moses and the prophets; though it 
is quite clear that the spiritual rabbinical 
dominion, which at a later period estab- 
lished so arbitrary a despotism over the 
understanding of the people, was already 
deeply rooted, still the basis of their su- 
premacy rested on the popular reverence 
for the sacred writings. ‘It is written,” 
was the sanction of all the rabbinical de- 
crees, however those decrees might misin- 
terpret the real meaning of the law, or 
* add burdens to the neck of the people,” 


_ by no means intended by the wise and hu- 


re 


mane lawgiver. 

Jesus came forth as a public teacher in 
a new and opposite character. His au- 
thority rested on no previous revelation, 
excepting as far as his Divine commission 
had been foreshown in the law and the 
prophets. He prefaced his addresses with 
the unusual formulary, “ I say unto you.” 
Perpetually displaying the most intimate 
familiarity with- the Sacred Writings, in- 
stantly silencing or baffling his adversaries 
by adducing, with the utmost readiness 
and address, texts of the law and the 
prophets according to the accredited inter- 
pretation, yet his ordinary language evi- 
dently assumed a higher tone. He was the 
direct, immediate representative of the 
wisdom of the Almighty Father ; ap- 
peared as equal, as superior to Moses; as 
the author of a new revelation, which, al- 
though it was not to destroy the law, was 
in a certain sense to supersede it, by the 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


87 


introduction of a new and original faith. 
Hence the implacable hostility manifested 
against Jesus, not merely by the fierce, the 
fanatical, the violent, or the licentious, by 
all who might take offence at the purity 
and gentleness of his precepts, but by the 
better and more educated among the peo- 
ple, the scribes, the lawyers, the Pharisees. 
Jesus at once assumed a superiority not 
merely over these teachers of the law, 
this acknowledged religious aristocracy, 
whose reputation, whose interests, and 
whose pride were deeply pledged to the 
maintenance of the existing system, but he 
set himself above those inspired teachers, 
of whom the rabbis were but the inter- 
preters. Christ uttered commandments 
which had neither been registered on the 
tablets of stone, nor defined in the more 
minute enactments in the book of Leviti- 
cus. He superseded at once by his simple 
word all that they had painfully learned, 
and regularly taught as the eternal, irre- 
pealable word of God, perfect, complete, 
enduring no addition. Hence «,).0< ofthe 
their perpetual endeavours tO hostility of 
commit Jesus with the multi- the ordinary 
tude, as disparaging or infrin- ‘°° 
ging the ordinances of Moses; endeavours 
which were perpetually baffled on his part 
by his cautious compliance with the more 
important observances, and, notwithstand- 
ing the general bearing of his teaching to- 
wards the development of a higher and in- 
dependent doctrine,* his uniform respect 
for the letter as well as the spirit of the 
Mosaic institutes. But as the strength of 
the rabbinical hierarchy lay in the pas- 
sionate jealousy of the people about the 
law, they never abandoned the hope of 
convicting Jesus on this ground, notwith- 
standing his extraordinary works, as a 
false pretender to the character of the 
Messiah. At all events, they saw clearly 
that it was a struggle for the life and death 
of their authority. Jesus once acknowl- 
edged as the Christ, the whole fabric of 
their power and influence fell at once. 
The traditions, the Law itself, the skill of 
the scribe, the subtlety of the lawyer, the 
profound study of the rabbi, or the teacher 
in the synagogue and in the school, be- 
came obsolete; and the pride of superior 
wisdom, the long-enjoyed defence, the 
blind obedience with which the people had 
listened to their decrees, were gone by for 
ever. The whole hierarchy were to cede 


* Compare the whole of the Sermon on the 
Mount, especially Matt., v., 20-45—the parables of 
the leaven and the grain of mustard seed—-the fre- 
quent intimations of the comprehensiveness of the 
“kingdom of God,” as contrasted with the Jewish 
theocracy. 


w 


88 


at once their rank and estimation to an 
humble and uninstructed peasant from 
Galilee, a region scorned by the better ed- 


hy’ 


_ucated for its rudeness and ignorance,* and 


from Nazareth, the most despised town in 
the despised province. Against such deep 
and rooted motives for animosity, which 
combined and knit together every feeling 
of pride, passion, habit, and interest, the 
simple and engaging demeanour of the 
Teacher, the beauty of the precepts, their 


- general harmony with the spirit, however 


they might expand the letter of the law, 
the charities they breathed, the holiness 
they inculcated, the aptitude and imagin- 
ative felicity of the parables under which 
they were couched, the hopes they excited, | 
the fears they allayed, the blessings and 
consolations they promised, all which 
makes the discourses of Jesus so confess- 
edly superior to human morality, made 
little impression on this class, who in 
some respects, as the most intellectual, 
might be considered as in the highest state 
of advancement, and therefore most likely 
to understand the real spirit of the new 
religion. The authority of Jesus could 
not coexist with that of the Scribes and 
Pharisees ; and this was the great princi- 
ple of the fierce opposition and jealous 
hostility with which he was in general 
encountered by the best instructed teach- 
ers of the people. 

In Capernaum, however, no resistance 
seems to have been made to his success : 
the synagogue was open to him on every 
Sabbath ; and wonderful cures, that of a 
demoniac in the synagogue itself, that of 
Simon’s wife’s mother, and of many 
others within the same town, established 
and strengthened his growing influence.} 
From Capernaum he set forth to make a 
Progress Tegular progress through the whole 
through populous province of Galilee, which 
Galilee. was crowded, if we are to receive 
the account of Josephus, with flourishing 
towns and cities beyond almost any other 
region of the world.{ According to the 
Populousness Statements of this author, the 
of Galilee. number of towns, and the pop- 


coos oes ERNE LL We OSs τὺ: το A PD EL BD 

* See in the Compendium of the Talmud by Pin- 
ner of Berlin, intended as a kind of preface to an 
edition and translation of the whole Talmudical 
books, the curious passage (p. 60) from the Erubin, 
in which the Jews and Galileans are contrasted. 
The Galileans did not preserve the pure speech, 
therefore did not preserve pure doctrine—the Gali. 
leans had no teacher, therefore no doctrine—the 
Galileans did not open the book, therefore they 
had no doctrine. | 

t Mark, i., 23-28. Luke, iv., 33-37. Matt., viii., 
14,15. Mark, i. 29-31. Luke, iv., 28-39. 

ὦ δῷ iv., 23-25. Mark, i., 32-39, Luke iv.. 
40-44, 


! 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
» * 


ulation of Galilee, in a district of between 
fifty and sixty miles in length, and be- 
tween sixty and seventy in breadth, was 
no less than 204 cities and villages, the 
least of which contained 15,000 souls.* 
Reckoning nothing for smaller communi- 
ties, and supposing each town and village 
to include the adjacent district, so as to 
allow of no scattered inhabitants in the 
country, the population of the province 
would amount to 3,060,000; of these 
probably much the larger proportion were 
of Jewish descent, and spoke a harsher 
dialect of the Aramaic than that which 
prevailed in Judea, though in many of the 
chief cities there was a considerable num- 
ber of Syrian Greeks and of other foreign 
races.t Each of these towns had one or 
more synagogues, in which the people 
met for the ordinary purposes of worship, 
while the more religious attended regular- 
ly at the festivals in Jerusalem. The 
province of Galilee, with Pereea, yYeroa 

formed the tetrarchate of Herod Antipas. 
Antipas, who, till his incestuous marriage, 
had treated the Baptist with respect, if 
not with deference, and does not appear 
at first to have interfered with the pro- 
ceedings of Jesus. Though at one time 
decidedly hostile, he appears neither to 
have been very active in his opposition, 
nor to have entertained any deep or violent 
animosity against the person of Jesus, 
even at the time of his final trial. No 
doubt Jerusalem and its adjacent province 
were the centre and stronghold of Jewish 
religious and political enthusiasm; the — 
pulse beat stronger about the heart thar 
at the extremities. Nor, whatever per- : 
sonal apprehensions Herod might have δ ἐν 


entertained of an aspirant to the name οὔ 


the Messiah, whom he might suspect of 
temporal ambition, was he likely to be ae- 
tuated by the same jealousy as the Jew- 
ish Sanhedrin of a teacher who confined 
himself to religious instruction.t His 
power rested on force, not on opinion; 
on the strength of his guards and the pro- 
tection of Rome, not on the respect which 
belonged to the half religious, half politi- 


* Josephi Vita, ch, xlv. B. J., 111-111, 2. 

t According to Strabo, Galilee was full of Egyp- 
tians, Arabians, and Pheenicians, lib. xvi. Josephus 
states of Tiberias in particular, that it was inhabited 
by many strangers ; Scythopolis was almost a Greek 
city. In Caesarea and many of the other towns, 
the most dreadful conflicts took place, at the com- 
mencement of the war, between the two races.— 
Hist. of the Jews, ii., 196-198. 

¢ The supposition of Grotius, adopted by Mr, 
Greswell, that Herod was absent at Rome duri 1g 
the interval between the imprisonment and the 
death of John, and therefore adn the first prog 
ress of cesus, appears highly probable. 


ec te ἢ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
Ss 


cal pre-eminence of the rulers in Jerusa- 


lem. That which made Jesus the more 


odious to the native government in Judea, 
his disappointment of their hopes of a 
temporal Messiah, and his announcement 
of a revolution purely moral and religious, 
would allay the fears and secure the in- 
difference of Herod; to him Christianity, 
however imperfectly understood, would 
appear less dangerous than fanatical Juda- 
ism. The Pharisees were in considerable 
numbers, and possessed much influence 
over the minds of the Galileans ;* but it 
was in Juda that this overwhelming fac- 
tion completely predominated, and swayed 
the public opinion with irresistible power. 
Hence the unobstructed success of Jesus 
in this remoter region of the Holy Land, 
and the wisdom of selecting that part of 
the country where, for a time at least, he 
might hope to pursue unmolested his 
Jesus passes CATEer of blessing. During this 
unmolested first progress he seems to have 
through Gal- passed from town to town un- 
sak interrupted, if not cordially wel- 
comed. Either astonishment, or prudent 
caution, which dreaded to offend his nu- 
merous followers; or the better feeling 
which had not yet given place to the 
fiercer passions : or a vague hope that he 
might yet assume all that they thought 
wanting to the character of the Messiah, 
not only attracted around him the popula- 
tion of the towns through which he passed, 
but as he approached the borders, the in- 
habitants of Decapolis (the district beyond 
the Jordan), of Judea, and even of Jeru- 
salem, and the remoter parts of Perea, 
h onged to profit both by his teaching, 
and by the wonderful cures which were 
wrought on all who were afflicted by the 
prevalent diseases of the country.t 

How singular the contrast (familiarity 
with its circumstances, or deep and early 
reverence, prevent us from appreciating 
it justly) between the peaceful progress 
of the Son of Man, on the one hand heal- 
ing maladies, relieving afflictions, resto- 
ring their senses to the dumb or blind; on 
the other, gently instilling into the minds 
of the people those pure, and humane, 
and gentle principles of moral goodness, 
to which the wisdom of ages has been 
able to add nothing, and every other event 
to which it can be compared in the his- 
Comparison LOFTY Of human kind. Compare 
withauthors the men who have at different 
of other rev- periods wrought great and bene- 
olutions. 6618] revolutions in the civil or 
the moral state of their kind; or those 
mythic personages, either deified men or 


* Luke, v., 17. + Matt., iv., 25. 
M ; . 


89 


‘humanized deities, which appear as the 


parents, or at some marked epoch in the 


‘history of different nations, imbodying 
y ying 


the highest notions of human nature or 
Divine perfection to which the age or the 
people had attained ; compare all these, 
in the most dispassionate spirit, with the 
impersonation of the Divine Goodness 
in Jesus Christ. It seems a conception, 
notwithstanding the progress in moral 
truth which had been made among the 
more intellectual of the Jews and the 
nobler reasoners among the Greeks, so 
completely beyond the age, so opposite 
to the prevalent expectations of the times, 
as to add no little strength to the belief of 
the Christian in the Divine origin of his 
faith. Was the sublime notion of the 
Universal Father, the God of Love, and 
the exhibition of as much of the Divine 
nature as is intelligible to the limited 
faculties of man, his goodness and benef- 
icent power, in the “Son of Man,” first 
developed in the natural progress of the 
human mind among the peasants of Gali- 
lee t* 
more faith and surely not less reason, did 
the great Spirit, which created and ani- 
mates the countless worlds, condescend 
to show this image and reflection of his 
own inconceivable nature for the benefit 
of one race of created beings, to restore 
them to, and prepare them for, a higher 
and eternal state of existence ? 

The synagogues, it has been said, ap- 
pear to have been open to Jesus .. nes in 
during the whole of his progress the syna- 
through Galilee ; but it was not goguesand in 
within the narrow walls of °° “PS? 
these buildings that he confined his instruc- 
tions. It was in the open air, in the field, 
or in the vineyard, on the slope of the hill, 
or by the side of the lake, where the deck 
of one of his followers’ vessels formed a 
kind of platform or tribune, that he de- 
lighted to address the wondering multi- 
tudes. His language teems with allusions 
to external nature, which, it has often been 
observed, seem to have been drawn from 
objects immediately around him. It would 
be superfluous to attempt to rival, and un- 
just to an author of remarkable good sense 
and felicity of expression to alter the lan- 
guage in which this peculiarity of Christ’s 
teaching has already been de- yy, inerothis 
scribed: “In the spring our discourses. 
Saviour went into the fields and Quotation 
sat down on a mountain, and ἴα 2" 
made the discourse which is recorded in 
St. Matthew, and which is full of observa- 


* Compare the observations at the end of the 
first chapter. , 


Or, as the Christian asserts with — 


Φ 


90 


᾿ 

tions arising from the things which offered 
themselves to his sight. For when he ex- 
horted his disciples to trust in God, he 
bade them behold the fowls of the air, 
which were then flying about them, .and 
were fed by Divine Providence, though 
they did ‘not sow nor reap, nor gather 
into barns.’ He bade them take notice of 
the lilies of the field which were then 
blown, and were so beautifully clothed by 
the same power, and yet ‘ toiled not’ like 
the husbandmen who were then at work. 
Being in a place where they had a wide 
prospect of a cultivated land, he bade them 
observe how God caused the sun to shine, 
and the rain to descend upon the fields and 
gardens, even of the wicked and ungrate- 
ful. And he continued to convey his doc- 
trine to them under rural images, speaking 
of good trees and corrupt trees ; of wolves 
in sheep’s clothing ; of grapes not growing 
upon thorns, nor figs on thistles ; of the 
folly of casting precious things to dogs and 
swine; of good measure pressed down, 
and shaken together, and running over. 
Speaking at the same time to the people, 
many of whom were fishermen and lived 
much upon fish, he says, What man of you 
will give his son a serpent if he ask a fish? 
Therefore, when he said in the same dis- 
course, Ye are the light of the world; a city 
that is set ona hill, and cannot be hid, it is 
probable that he pointed to a city within 
their view, situated upon the. brow of a 
hill. And when he called them the salt of 
the earth, he alluded, perhaps, to the hus- 
bandmen, who were manuring the ground: 
and when he compared every person who 
observed his precepts to a man who built 
a house upon a rock, which stood firm; 
and every one who slighted his word to a 
man who built a house upon the sand, 
which was thrown down by the winds and 
floods—when he used this comparison, ’tis 
not improbable that he had before his eyes 
houses standing upon high ground and 
houses standing in the valley in a ruinous 
condition, which had been destroyed. by 
inundations.”’* 

It was on his return to Capernaum, ei- 
Sermon on ther at the close of the present or 
the Mount. of a later progress through Gali- 
lee, that among the multitudes who had 
gathered around him from all quarters, he 
ascended an eminence, and delivered in a 
long continuous address the memorable 
Sermon on the Mount.t it is not our de- 


* Jortin’s Discourses. The above is quoted and 
the idea is followed out at greater length and with 
equal beauty in Bishop Law’s Reflections on the 
Life of Christ, at the end of his Theory of Religion. 

+ Scarcely any passage is more perplexing to the 
harmonist of the Gospels than the Sermon on the 


* 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


sign to enter at length on the trite, though, 
in our opinion, by no means exhausted 
subject of Christian morality. Principles of 
We content ourselves with in- Christian | 
dicating some of those charac- ™*4"Y- 
teristic points which belong, as it were, to 
the historical development of the new re- 
ligion, and cannot be distinctly compre- 
hended unless in relation to the circum- 
stances of the times: I. The 1. not in 
morality of Jesus was not in unison with 
unison with the temper or feel- ἰδ 94° 
ings of his age. II. It was universal mo- 
rality, adapted for the whole human race, 
and for every period of civilization. III. 
It was morality grounded on broad and 
simple principles, which had hitherto nev- 
er been laid down as the basis of human 
action. 1. The great principle of the Mo- 
saic theocracy was the strict apportion- 
ment of temporal happiness or calamity, 
at least to the nation, if not to the indi- 
vidual, according to his obedience or his 
rebellion against the Divine laws. The 
natural consequence of this doctrine seem- 
ed to be, that prosperity was the invari- 
able sign of the Divine approval, adversity 
ofdisfavour. And this, in the time of Jesus, 
appears to have been carried to such an ex- 
treme, that every malady, every infirmity 
was an evidence of sin in the individual, or 
a punishment inherited from his guilty fore- 
fathers. The only question which arose 
about the man born blind was, whether his 
affliction was the consequence of his own 
or his parents’ criminality : he bore in his 
calamity the hateful evidence that he was 
accursed of God. This principle was per- 


. 


petually struggling with the belief in ἃ fu- — 


ture state, and an equitable adjustment of 
the apparent inequalities in the present 
life, to which the Jewish mind had gradu- 
ally expanded; and with the natural hu- 
manity inculcated by the spirit of the Mo- 
saic law towards their own brethren. 
But if the miseries of this life were an δυ- 
idence of the Divine anger, the blessings 
were likewise of his favour.* Hence the 


Mount, which appears to be inserted at two differ- 
ent places by St. Matthew and St. Luke. That 
the same striking truths should be delivered more 
than once in nearly the same language, or even that 
the same commanding situation should be more 
than once selected from which to address the peo- 
ple, appears not altogether improbable; but the 
difficulty lies in the accompanying incidents, which 
are almost the same, and could scarcely have 
happened twice. No writer who insists on the 
chronological order of the evangelists has, in my 
judgment, removed the difficulty. On the whole, 
though I have inserted my view of Christian mo- 
rality as derived from this memorable discourse, in 
this place I am inclined to consider the chronology 
of St. Luke more accurate.—Matt., v., vi., vii. 
Luke, vi., 20, to the end. | 

* Compare Mosheim, ii.,12. He considers this 


> 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


prosperous, the wealthy, those exempt 
from human suffering and calamity, were 
accustomed to draw even a more false and 
dangerous line of demarcation than in or- 
dinary cases between themselves and 
their humble and afflicted brethren. The 
natural haughtiness which belonged to 
such superiority acquired, as it were, a 
Divine sanction ; nor was any vice in the 
Jewish character more strongly reproved 
by Jesus, or more hostile to his reception 
as the Messiah. For when the kingdom 
of Heaven should come—when the-theoc- 
racy should be restored in more than its 
former splendour—who so secure of its 
inestimable blessings as those who were 
already marked and designated by the Di- 
vine favour? Among the higher orders, 
the expectation of a more than ordinary 
share in the promised blessings might 
practically be checked from imprudently 
betraying itself, by the natural timidity of 
those who have much to lose, and by their 
reluctance to hazard any political convul- 
sion. Yet nothing could be more inex- 
plicable, or more contrary to the universal 
sentiment, than that Jesus should disre- 
gard the concurrence, and make no par- 
ticular advances towards those who form- 
ed the spiritual as well as the temporal 
aristocracy of the nation; those whose 
possession of the highest station seemed 
in a great degree to prove their designa- 
tion for such eminence by the Almighty. 
“Have any of the rulers believed in 
him t”* was the contemptuous, and, as they 
conceived, conclusive argument against 
his claims adduced by the Pharisees. Je- 
sus not only did not condescend to favour, 
he ran directly counter to this prevailing 
notion. He announced that the kingdom 
of Heaven was peculiarly prepared for the 
humble and the afflicted; his disciples 
were chosen from the lowest order; and 
it was not obscurely intimated that his 
ranks would be chiefly filled by those who 
were undistinguished by worldly prosper- 
ity. Yet, on the other hand, there was 
nothing in his language to conciliate the 
passions of the populace, no address to 
the envious and discontented spirit of the 
needy to inflame them against their supe- 
riors. Popular, as he was, in the highest 
sense of the term, nothing could be farther 
removed than the Prophet of Nazareth 
from the demagogue. The “ kingdom of 


feeling almost exclusively prevalent among the Sad- 
ducees; but from many passages of our Lord’s dis- 
courses with the Pharisees, it should seem to have 
been almost universal. Pauperes et miseros exis- 
timare debebant Deum criminibus et peccatis of- 
fendisse, justamque ejus ultionem sentire, 

* John, vii., 48. 


© 


91 


Heaven” was opened only to those who 
possessed and cultivated the virtues of 
their lowly station: meekness, humility, 
resignation, peacefulness, patience ; and 
it was only because these virtues were 
most prevalent in the humbler classes 
that the new faith was addressed to them. 
The more fierce and violent of the popu- 
lace rushed into the ranks of the zealot, 
and enrolled themselves among the parti- 
sans of Judas the Galilean. They throng- 
ed around the robber chieftain, and secret- 
ly propagated that fiery spirit of insurrec- 
tion which led at length to the fatal war. 
The meek and peaceful doctrines of Jesus 
found their way only into meek and peace- 
ful hearts ; the benevolent character of his 
miracles touched not those minds which 
had only imbibed the sterner, not the hu- 
maner, spirit of the Mosaic law. Thus it 
was lowliness of character, rather than of 
station, which qualified the proselyte for 
the new faith; the absence, in short, of 
all those fierce passions which looked only 
to a conquering, wide-ruling Messiah : and 
it was in elevating these virtues to the 
highest rank, which to the many of all or- 
ders was treason against the hopes of Is- 
rael and the promises of God, that Jesus 
departed most widely from the general 
sentiment of his age and nation. He went 
still farther ; he annihilated the main prin- 
ciple of the theocracy—the administration 
of temporal rewards and punishments in 
proportion to obedience or rebellion—a 
notion which, though, as we have said, by 
no means justified by common experience, 
and weakened by the growing belief in an- 
other life, nevertheless still held its ground 
in the general opinion. Sorrow, as in one 
sense the distinguishing mark and portion 
of the new religion, became sacred; and 
the curse of God was, as it were, removed 
from the afflictions of mankind. His own 
disciples, he himself, were to undergo a 
fearful probation of suffering, which could 
only be secure of its reward in another 
life. The language of Jesus confirmed 
the truth of the anti-Sadducaic belief of 
the greater part of the nation, and assumed 
the certainty of another state of existence, 
concerning which, as yet, it spoke the cur- 
rent language ; but which it was hereafter 
to expand into a more simple and univer- 
sal creed, and mingle, if it may be so said, 
the sense of immortality with all the feel- 
ings and opinions of mankind. 

II. Nor was it to the different classes 
of the Jews alone that the uni- Its univer- 
versal precepts of Christian mo- ality. 
rality expanded beyond the narrow and 
exclusive notions of the age and people. 
Jesus did not throw down the barrier 


92 


᾿ 
which secluded the Jews from the rest of 
mankind, but he shook it to its base. 
Christian morality was not that of a sect, 
a race, or a nation, but of universal man: 
though necessarily delivered at times in 
Jewish language, couched under Jewish 
figures, and illustrated by local allusions, 
in its spirit it was diametrically opposite 
to Jewish. However it might make some 
provisions suited only to the peculiar state 
of the first disciples, yet in its essence it 
may be said to be comprehensive as the 
human race, immutable as the nature of 
man. It had no political, no local, no 
temporaly precepts; it was, therefore, 
neither liable to be abrogated by any 
change in the condition of man, nor to 
fall into disuse, as belonging to a passed 
and obsolete state of civilization. It may 
dwell within its proper kingdom, the heart 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


3 


earnest language. But the Gospel first 
placed these two great principles as the 
main pillars of the new moral structure: 
God the universal Father, mankind one 
brotherhood ; God made known through 
the mediation of his Son, the image and 
humanized type and exemplar of his good- 
ness ; mankind of one kindred, and there- 
fore of equal rank in the sight of the 
Creator, and to be united in one spiritual 
commonwealth. Such were the great 
principles of Christian morals, shadowed 
forth at first, rather than distinctly an- 
nounced, in condescension to the preju- 
dices of the Jews, who, if they had been 
found worthy of appreciating the essential 
spirit of the new religion—if they had re- 
ceived Jesus as the promised Saviour— 
might have been collectively and nation- 
ally the religious parents and teachers of 


of man, in every change of political rela- 
‘tion: in the monarchy, the oligarchy, the 
republic. It may domesticate itself in any 
climate, amid the burning sands of Africa, 
or the frozen regions of the North; for it 
has no local centre, no temple, no Caaba, 
no essential ceremonies impracticable un- 
der any conceivable state of human ex- 
istence. In fact it is, strictly speaking, 
no law; it is no system of positive enact- 
ments; it is the establishment of certain 
principles, the enforcement of certain dis- 
positions, the cultivation of a certain tem- 
per of mind, which the conscience is to 
apply to the ever-varying exigences of 
time and place. This appears to me to 
be the distinctive peculiarity of Christian 
morals, a characteristic in itself most re- 
markable, and singularly so when we find 
this free and comprehensive system ema- 
nating from that of which the mainspring 
was its exclusiveness. 

ΠῚ. The basis of this universality in 
lis original Christian morals was the broad 
principles. and original principles upon 
which it rested. If we were to glean 
from the later Jewish writings, from the 
beautiful aphorisms of other Oriental na- 
tions, which we cannot fairly trace to 
Christian sources, and from the Platonic 
and Stoic philosophy, their more striking 
precepts, we might find, perhaps, a coun- 
terpart to almost all the moral sayings of 
Jesus. But the same truth is of different | 
importance as an unconnected aphorism, 
and as the groundwork of a complete sys- 
tem. No doubt the benevolence of the 
Creator had awakened grateful fee'ings, 
and kindled the most exquisite poetry of 
expression in the hearts and from the lips 
of many before the coming of Christ; no 


mankind. 

Such was the singular position of Jesus 
‘with regard to his countrymen; ,,,. fot 
the attempt to conciliate them Jesus with 
to the new religion was to be regard to his 
fairly made; but the religion, °U™'™™ 
however it might condescend to speak 
their language, could not forfeit or com- 
promise, even for such an end, its primary 
and essential principles. Jesus therefore 
pursues his course, at one time paying the 
utmost deference, at another unavoidably 
offending the deep-rooted prejudices of the 
people. The inveterate and loathsome 
nature of the leprosy in Syria, the deep 
abhorrence with which the wretched vic- 
tim of this disease was cast forth from all 
social fellowship, is well known to all who 
are even slightly acquainted with the Jew- 
ish law and usages. One of these Healing 
miserable beings appealed, and not the leper. 
in vain, to the mercy of Jesus.* He was 
instantaneously cured ; but Jesus, whether 
to authenticate the cure and to secure the 
readmission of the outcast into the rights 
and privileges of society, from ἘΣΗ ΤῸ 
was legally excluded,t or, more probably, 
lest he should be accused of interfering 
with the rights or diminishing the dues of 
the priesthood, enjoined him to preserve 
the strictest secrecy concerning the cause 
Bock vill., 2-4. Mark, i., 40-45. Luke, v., 

2-16 

I have retained what may be called the moral 
connexion of this cure with the Sermon on the 
Mount; if the latter is inserted, as in St. Luke, 
after the more solemn inauguration of the Twelve, 


this incident will retain, perhaps, its present place, 
but lose this moral connexion.—See Luke, v., 12- 
5. 


~ 


+ lam inclined to adopt the explanation of Gro- 
tius, that ‘‘ the testimony” was to be obtained from 
the priest, before he knew that he had been healed 


doubt general humanity had been impress- 
ed upon mankind in the most vivid and 


| by Jesus, lest, in his jealousy, he should declare 
| the cure imperfect. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


* 

of his eure; to submit to the regular ex- 
amination of his case by the appointed 
authorities, and on no account to omit the 
Second Customary offering. The second 
miracle. incident was remarkable for its pub- 
licity, as having taken place in a crowded 
house, in the midst of many of the scribes, 
who were, at this period at least, not 
friendly to Jesus.* The door of the house 
being inaccessible on account of the crowd, 
the sick man was borne in his couch along 
the flat terrace roofs of the adjacent build- 
ings (for in the East the roofs are rarely 
pointed or shelving), and let down through 
an aperture, which was easily made, and 
of sufficient dimensions to admit the bed, 
into the upper chamber,} where Jesus 
was seated in the midst of his hearers. 
Jesus complied at once with their request 
to cure the afflicted man, but made use of 
a new and remarkable expression, “ Thy 
sins are forgiven thee,” which, while it 
coincided with the general notion that 
such diseases were the penalties of sin, 
nevertheless, as assuming an unprecedent- 
ed power, that which seems to belong to 
the Deity alone, struck his hearers, more 
especially the better instructed, the scribes, 
with astonishment. Their wonder, how- 
ever, at the instantaneous cure, for the 
present. overpowered their indignation, 
yet no doubt the whole transaction tended 
to increase the jealousy with which Jesus 
began to be beheld. 

The third incident} jarred on astill more 
The pub- Sensitive chord in the popular feel- 
licans. jing. Onno point were all orders 
among the Jews so unanimous as in their 
contempt and detestation of the publicans. 
Strictly speaking, the persons named in 
the evangelists were not publicans. These 
were men of property, not below the 
equestrian order, who farmed the public 
revenues. Those in question were the 


* Matt..ix.,2-8. Mark, ii., 1-12. Luke, v., 18-26. 

+ Or they may merely have enlarged the door of 
communication with the terrace roof. 

Ἐ Matt., ix., 9. Mark, ii, 13, 14 Luke, κα; 
27, 28 


93 


agents of these contractors, men, often 
freed slaves, or of low birth and Station, 
and throughout the Roman world prover- 
bial for their extortions, and in Judzea stil] 
more hateful, as among the manifest signs 
of subjugation to a foreigndominion. The 
Jew who exercised the function of a publi- 
can was, as it were, a traitor to the na- 
tional independence. One of these, Mat- 
thew, otherwise called Levi, was summon- 
ed from his post as collector, perhaps at 
the port of Capernaum, to become one of 
the most intimate followers of Jesus; and 
the general astonishment was still farther 
increased by Jesus entering familiarly into 
the house, and even partaking of food with 
men thus proscribed by the universal feel- 
ing ; and, though not legally unclean, yet 
no doubt held in even greater abhorrence 
by the general sentiment of the people. 

Thus ended the first year of the public 
life of Jesus. The fame of his Close of first 
wonderful works ; the authority year of public 
with which he delivered his "™ 
doctrines; among the meeker and more 
peaceful spirits, the beauty of the doctrines, 
themselves; above all, the mystery which 
hung over his character and pretensions, 
had strongly excited the interest of the 
whole nation. From all quarters—from 
Galilee, Persea, Judzea, and even the remo- 
ter Idumea—multitudes approached him 
with eager curiosity. On the other hand, 
his total secession from, or, rather, his 
avowed condemnation of, the great pre- 
vailing party, the Pharisees, while his doc- 
trines seemed equally opposed to the less 
numerous yet rival Sadducaic faction; 
his popular demeanour, which had little in 
common with the ascetic mysticism of the 
Essenes ; his independence of the ruling 
authorities ; above all, notwithstanding his 
general deference for the law, his manifest 
assumption of a power above the law, had 
no doubt, if not actively arrayed against 
him, yet awakened to a secret and brood- 
ing animosity the interests and passions 
of the more powerful and influential 
throughout the country. 


94 


Μὰ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | 


CHAPTER V. 


SECOND YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. 


Tue second year of the public life of 
Christ opened, as the first, with 


AgD 21/28; > 2: 
Passover, his attendance at the Passover.* 
Jesus in. He appeared again amid the as- 
Jerusalem. 


sembled populace of the whole 
race of Israel, in the place where, by com- 
mon consent, the real Messiah was to as- 
sume his office, and to claim the allegiance 
of the favoured and chosen people of God.t 
Change in It is clear that a considerable 
popular change had taken place in the 
sentiment. yopular sentiment, on the whole, 
at least with the ruling party, unfavoura- 
ble to Jesus of Nazareth. The inquisi- 
tive wonder, not unmingled with respect, 
which on the former occasion seemed to 
have watched his words and actions, had 
turned to an unquiet and jealous vigilance, 
and a manifest anxiety on the part of his 
opponents to catch some opportunity of 
weakening his influence over the people. 
The misapprehended speech concerning 
the demolition and restoration of the Tem- 
ple probably rankled in the recollection of 
many; and rumours no doubt, and those 
most likely inaccurate and misrepresent- 
ed, must have reached Jerusalem of the 
mysterious language in which he had 
spoken of his relation to the Supreme Be- 
ing. The mere fact that Galilee had been 
chosen, rather than Jerusalem or Judea, 
for his assumption of whatever distin- 
guished character he was about to sup- 
port, would work, with no doubtful or 
disguised animosity, among the proud 
and jealous inhabitants of the metropolis. 
Nor was his conduct, however still cau- 
tious, without farther inevitable collision 
with some of the most inveterate preju- 
dices of his countrymen. The first year 
the only public demonstration of his supe- 
riority had been the expulsion of the 


* My language on this point is to be taken with 
some latitude, as a certain time elapsed between 
the baptism of Jesus and the first Passover. 

J adopt the opinion that the feast ἴῃ the 5th chap- 
ter of St. John (verse 1) was a Passover. This 
view is not without objection, namely, the long in- 
terval of nearly a whole year, which would be over- 
leaped at once by the narrative of St. John. But 
if this Gospel was intended to be generally supple- 
mentary to the rest, or, as it seems, intended espe- 
cially to relate the transactions of Jerusalem, omit- 
ted by the other evangelists, this total silence on 
the intermediate events in Galilee would not be al- 
together unaccountable, 


buyers and sellers from the temple, and 
his ambiguous and misinterpreted speech 
about that sacred edifice. His conversa- 
tion with Nicodemus had probably not 
transpired, or, at least, not gained general 
publicity ; for the same motives which _ 
would lead the cautious Pharisee to con- 
ceal his visit under the veil of night, would 
induce him to keep within his own bosom 
the important and startling truths, which 
perhaps he himself did not yet clearly 
comprehend, but which, at all events, were 
so opposite to the principles of his sect, 
and so humiliating to the pride of the ruling 
and learned oligarchy. 

During his second visit, however, at the 
same solemn period of national assem- 
blage, Jesus gave a new cause of aston- 
ishment to his followers, of offence to his 
adversaries. by an act which could not but 
excite the highest wonder and the strong- 
est animadversion. This was Breach of 
no less than an assumption of fie Sabbath. 
authority to dispense with the erence for 
observance of the Sabbath. Of the Sabbath. 
all their institutions, which, after having 
infringed or neglected for centuries of cold 
and faithless service, the Jews, on the re- 
turn from the Captivity, embraced with 
passionate and fanatical attachment, none 
had become so completely identified with 
the popular feeling, or had been guarded 
by such minute and multifarious provis- 
ions, as the Sabbath. Inthe early days of 
the Maceabean revolt against Antiochus, 
the insurgents, having been surprised on a 
Sabbath, submitted to be tamely butchered 
rather than violate the sanctity of the day 
even by defensive warfare. And though 
the manifest impossibility of recovering or 
maintaining their liberties against the in- 
roads of hostile nations had led toa relax- 
ation of the law as far as self-defence, yet, 
during the siege of Jerusalem by Pompey, 
the wondering Romans discovered that, _ 
although on the seventh day the garrison 
would repel an assault, yet they would do 
nothing to prevent or molest the enemy in 
carrying on his operations in the trenches. 
Tradition, “the hedge of the law,” as it 
was called, had fenced this institution with 
more than usual care’ it had noted with , 
jealous rigour almost every act of bodily 
exertion within the capacity of man, ar- 


t John, v., 1-15.} ranged them under thirty-nine heads, 


᾿ 


_ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


which were’each considered to compre- 
hend a multitude of subordinate cases, and 
against each and every one of these had 
solemnly affixed the seal of Divine con- 
demnation. A Sabbath day’s journey was 
a distance limited to 2000 cubits, or rath- 
er less than a mile; and the carrying 
any burden was especially denounced as 
among the most flagrant violations of the 
law. ‘This Sabbatic observance was the 
stronghold of Pharisaic rigour; and, en- 
slaved as the whole nation was in volun- 
tary bondage to those minute regulations, 
in no point were they less inclined to 
struggle with the yoke, or wore it with 
greater willingness and pride. 

There was a pool,* situated most likely 
Healing of tO the north of the Temple, near 
the sick man the sheep-gate, the same, proba- 
Retpeeetef bly, through which the animals 

ethesda. 2 Ε 

intended for sacrifice were usu- 

ally brought into the city. The place was 
called Beth-esda (the house of mercy), and 
the pool was supposed to possess remark- 
able properties for healing diseases. At 
certain periods there was a strong com- 
motion in the waters, which probably bub- 
bled up from some chymical cause con- 
nected with their medicinal effects. Pop- 
ular belief, or rather, perhaps, popular lan- 
guage, attributed this agitation of the sur- 
face to the descent of ‘an angel;f for of 
course the regular descent of a celestial 
being, visible to the whole city, cannot for 
an instant be supposed. Around the pool 
were usually assembled a number of dis- 
eased persons, blind or paralytic, who 
awaited the right moment for plunging 
into the water, under the shelter of five 
porticoes, which had been built, either by 
private charity, or at the public cost, for 
the general convenience. Among these 
lay one who had been notoriously afflicted 
for thirty-eight years by some disorder 
which deprived him of the use of his 
limbs.{ It was in vain that he had watch- 
ed an opportunity of relief; for, as the sick 
person who first plunged into the water 
when it became agitated seems to have 
exhausted its virtues, this helpless and 
friendless sufferer was constantly thrust 
eee Se SS ae νι δεολενο 

; y * John, v., 1-15. 

- + The verse relating to the angel is rejected as 
spurious by many critics, and is wanting in some 
manuscripts. Perhaps it was silently rejected from 
a reluctance to depart from the literal interpreta. 
tion ; and, at the same time, the inevitable convic- 
tion that, if taken literally, the fact must have been 
notorious and visible to all who visited Jerusalem. 
—Grotius. Lightfoot. Doddridge, in loc. 

1 We are not, of course, to suppose, as is assu- 
med by some of the mythic interpreters, that the 
man had been all this time waiting for a cure at 
this place. 


“ 


95 


aside, or supplanted by some more active 
rival for the salutary effects of the spring. 
Jesus saw and had compassion on the af- 
flicted man, commanded him to rise, and, 
that he might show the perfect restoration 
of his strength, to take up the pallet on 
which had lain, and to bear it away. 
The carrying any burden, as has been 
said, was specifically named as one of the 
most heinous offences against the law; 
and the strange sight of a man thus openly 
violating the statute in so public a place, 
could not but excite the utmost attention. 
The man was summoned, it should seem, 
before the appointed authorities, and ques- 
tioned about his offence against public de- 
cency and the established law. His de- 
fence was plain and simple; he acted ac- 
cording to the command of the wonderful 
person who had restored his limbs with a 
word, but who that person was he had no 
knowledge ; for immediately after the mi- 
raculous cure, Jesus, in conformity with 
his usual practice of avoiding whatever 
might lead to popular tumult, had quietly 
withdrawn from the wondering crowd. 
Subsequently, however, meeting Jesus in 
the temple, he recognised his benefactor, 
and it became generally known that Jesus 
was both the author of the cure and of the 
violation of the Sabbath. Jesus, in his 
turn, was called to account for his conduct. 
The transaction bears the appearance, 
if not of a formal arraignment jygiciat in- 
before the high court of the San- vestigation 
hedrin, at least of a solemn and ° the case. 
regular judicial inquiry. Yet, as no ver- 
dict seems to have been given, notwith- 
standing the importance evidently attach- 
ed to the affair, it may be supposed either 
that the full authority of the Sanhedrin 
was yet wanting, or that they dared not, 
on such insufficient evidence, condemn 
with severity one about whom the popu- 
lar mind was at least divided. The de- 
fence of Jesus, though apparently perence 
not given, at full length by the of Jesus. 
evangelist, was of a nature to startle and 
perplex the tribunal: it was full of mys- 
terious intimations, and couched in lan- 
guage which it is difficult to decide how 
far it was familiar to the ears of the more 
learned. It appeared at once to strike at 
the literal interpretation of the Mosaic 
commandment, and, at the same t:me, to 
draw a parallel between the actions of 
Jesus and those of God.* On the Sab- 
bath the beneficent works of the Almighty 
Father are continued as on any other day; 
there is no period of rest to Him whose 
active power is continually employed in 


* John, v., 16-47. 


» ? 


~ Ff 


96 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ν 


upholding, animating, maintaining in its 
uniform and uninterrupted course the uni- 
verse which he has created. The free 
course of God’s blessing knows no pause, 
no suspension.* It is far from improbable 
that the healing waters of Bethesda oc- 
casionally showed their salutary virtues 
on the Sabbath, and might thus be an ac- 
knowledged instance of the unremitting 
benevolence of the Almighty. In_ the 


same manner, the benevolence of Jesus 


disdained to be confined by any distine- 
tion of days ; it was to flow forth as con- 
stant and unimpeded as the Divine bounty. 
The indignant court heard with astonish- 
ment this aggravation of the offence. Not 
only had Jesus assumed the power of dis- 
pensing with the law, but, with what ap- 
peared to them profane and impious bold- 
ness, he had instituted a comparison be- 
tween himself and the great ineffable De- 
ity. With one consent they determine to 
press with greater vehemence the capital 
charge. 

The second defence of Jesus is at once 
Second more full and explicit, and more 
defenceof alarming to the awestruck assem- 
Jesus. bly. It amounted to an open as- 
sumption of the title and offices of the 
Messiah; the Messiah in the person of 
the commanding and fearless, yet still, 
as they supposed, humble Galilean who 
stood before their tribunal. It commenced 
by expanding and confirming that parallel 
which had already sunk so deep into their 
minds. The Son was upon earth, as it 
were, a representation of the power and 
mercy of the invisible Father—of that 
great Being who had never been compre- 
hensible to the senses of man: ‘It pro- 
ceeded to declare his Divine mission and 
his claim to Divine honour, his investment 
with power, not only over diseases, but 
over death itself. From thence it passed 
to the acknowledged offices of the Mes- 
siah, the resurrection, the final jugdment, 
the apportionment of everlasting life. All 
these recognised functions of the Messiah 
were assigned by the Father to the Son, 
and that Son appeared in his person. In 
confirmation of these as yet unheard-of 
pretensions, Jesus declared that his right 
to honour and reverence rested not on his 
own assertion alone. He appealed to the 
testimony which had been publicly borne 


* If the sublime maxim which was admitted in 
the school of Alexandrea had likewise found its way 
into the synagogues of Judea, the speech of Jesus 
(my Father worketh hitherto, and 1 work), in its 
first clause, appealed to principles acknowledged by 
his auditory. ‘God,” says Philo, “ never ceases 
from action ; but as it is the property of fire to burn, 
of snow to chill, so to act (or to work) is the in- 
alienable function of the Deity.”—De Alleg., lib. ii. 


to his character by John the Baptist. The 
prophetic authority of John had been, if 
not universally, at least generally recog- 
nised ; it had so completely sunk into the 
popular belief, that, as appears in a sub- 
sequent incident, the multitude would have 
resented any suspicion thrown even by 
their acknowledged superiors on one thus 
established in their respect and veneration, 
and perhaps farther endeared by the per- 
secution which he was now suffering un- 
der the unpopular tetrarch of Galilee. He 
appealed to a more decisive testimony, 
the public miracles which he had wrought, 
concerning which the rulers seem scarcely 
yet to have determined on their course, 
whether to doubt, to deny, or to ascribe 
them to demoniacal agency. Finally, he 
appealed to the last unanswerable author- 
ity, the sacred writings, which they held 
in such devout reverence; and distinctly 
asserted that his coming had been pre- 
figured by their great lawgiver, from the 
spirit, at least, if not from the express 
letter of whose sacred laws they were de- 
parting, in rejecting his claims to the title 
and honours of the Messiah. There is an 
air of conscious superiority in the whole 
of this address, which occasionally rises 
to the vehemence of reproof, to solemn 
expostulation, to authoritative admonition, 
of which it is difficult to estimate the im- 
pression upon a court accustomed to issue 
their judgments ἴο ἃ trembling and humili- 
ated auditory. But of their subsequent 


proceedings we have no infor- pigieuit po- 


mation whether the Sanhedrin sition of the _ 


hesitated or feared to proceed ; Sanhedrin. 

whether they were divided in their opin- 
ions, or could not reckon upon the support 
of the people ; whether they doubted their 
own competency to take so strong a meas- 
ure without the concurrence: or sanction 
of the Roman governor ; at all events, no 
attempt was made to secure the person of 
Jesus. He appears, with his usual cau- 
tion, to have retired towards the safer 
province of Galilee, where the Jewish 
senate possessed no authority, and where 
Herod, much less under the Pharisaie in- 
fluence, would not think it necessary to 
support the injured dignity of the Sanhe- 
drin in Jerusalem; nor, whatever his politi- 


cal apprehensions, would he entertain the 


same sensitive terrors of a reformer who 
confined his views to the religious im- 
provement of mankind. eo 
But from this time commences the de- 
clared hostility of the Pharisaic Hostility of 
party against Jesus. Every op- ae Ree = 
portunity is seized of detecting foliow him 
him in some farther violation of into Galilee. 
the religious statutes. We now perpetu- 


oe Ψ 


? - 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | 97 
* 


ally find the Pharisees watching his foot- 
steps, and, especially on the Sabbath, lay- 
ing hold of every pretext to inflame 
the popular mind against his neglect or 
open defiance of their observances. Nor 
was their jealous vigilance disappointed. 
Jesus calmly pursued on the Sabbath, 
as on every other day, his course of be- 
nevolence. A second and a third time, 
immediately after his public arraignment, 
that which they considered the inexpiable 
offence was renewed, and justified in 
terms which were still more repugnant to 
their inveterate prejudices. he Passover 
was scarcely ended, and, with his disciples, 
he was probably travelling homeward, 
when the first of these incidents occurred. 
New viola. On the first Sabbath after the 
tion of the second day of unleavened bread, 
Sabbath. the disciples, passing through a 
field of corn, and being hungry, plucked 
some of the ears of corn, and, rubbing them 
in their hands, eat the grain.* This, ac- 
cording to Jewish usage, was no violation 
of the laws of property, as, after the wave- 
offering had been made in the Temple, the 
harvest was considered to be ripe: and 
the humane regulation of the lawgiver 
permitted the stranger who was passing 
through a remote district thus to satisfy 
his immediate wants.. But it was the 
Sabbath, and the act directly offended 
against another of the multifarious pro- 
visions of Pharisaic tradition. The vin- 
dication of his followers by their master 
took still higher ground: it not merely ad- 
duced the example of David, who, in ex- 
treme want, had not scrupled, in open vio- 
lation of the law, to take the shewbread, 
which was prohibited to all but the priest- 
ly order, and thus placed his humble dis- 
ciples oh a level with the great king, 
whose memory was cherished with the 
most devout reverence and pride, but dis- 
tinctly asserted his own power of dispen- 
yvsing with that which was considered the 
eternal, the irreversible commandment— 
he declared himself Lord of the Sabbath. 
Rumours of this dangerous innovation 
accompanied him into Galilee. Whether 
some of the more zealous Pharisees had 
followed him during his journey, or had 
accidentally returned at the same time 
from the Passover, or whether, by means 
of that intimate and rapid correspondence 
likely to be maintained among the mem- 
bers of an ambitious and spreading sect, 
they had already communicated their ap- 
prehensions of danger and their animosity 
against Jesus, they already seem to have 
_ arrayed against him in all parts the vigil- 


* Matt., xii, 1-8. Mark ii., 23-28. Luke, vi., 


1-5. 
N 


a“ 


ance and enmity of their brethren. It 
was in the public synagogue, in some 
town which he entered on his return to 
Galilee, in the face of the whole assem- 
bly, that a man with a withered hand re- 
covered the strength of his limb at the 
commandment of Jesus on the Sabbath 
day.* And the multitude, instead of being 
inflamed by the zeal of the Pharisees, ap- 
pear at least to have been unmoved by their 
angry remonstrances. They heard without 
disapprobation, if they did not openly tes- 
tify their admiration, both of the power 
and goodness of Jesus ; and listened to the 
simple arguments with which he silenced 
his adversaries, by appealing to their own 
practice in extricating their own property, 
or delivering their own cattle from jeop- 
ardy on the sacred day.- _ 

The discomfited Pharisees endeavour- 
ed to enlist in their party the followers, 
perhaps the magistracy of Herod, and to 
organize a formidable opposition to the 
δ ΠΡ influence of Jesus. So success- 
ful was their hostility, that Jesus d 
seems to have thought it pru- peopl ven 
dent to withdraw for a short yondthe Sea: 
time from the collision. He % 92 
passed towards the lake, over which he 
could at any time cross into the district 
which was beyond the authority both of 
Herod and of the Jewish Sanhedrin.t A 
bark attended upon him, which might 
transport him to any quarter he might de- 


sire, and on board of which he seems to 


have avoided the multitudes which con- 
stantly thronged around, or, seated on the 
deck, addressed with greater convenience 
the crowding hearers who lined the shores. 
Yet concealment, or, at. least, Jesus retires 
less frequent publicity, seems from public 
now to have been his object ;§ ἥδ᾽ 

for, when some of those insane persons 
the demoniacs as they were called, openly 
addressed him by the title of Son of God, 
Jesus enjoins their silence,|| as though he 
were yet unwilling openly to assume this 
title, which was fully equivalent to that of 
the Messiah, and which, no doubt, was al- 
ready ascribed to him by the bolder and 
less prudent of his followers. The same 
injunctions of secrecy were addressed to 


others who at this time were relieved or 


cured by his beneficent power; so that 
one evangelist considers that the cautious 
and unresisting demeanour of Jesus, thus 
avoiding all unnecessary offence or irrita- 
tion, exemplified that characteristic of 
the Messiah so beautifully described by 


* Matt., xii., 9-14. Mark, iii., 1-6. Luke, vi, 
6-11, + Matt., xii., 15-21. Mark, ili., 7-12. 

t Mark, iii., 7. § Matt., xii, 16, 

|| Mark, iii., 1], 12. 


> 


98 


Isaiah,* ‘‘ He shall neither strive nor cry, 
neither shall any man hear his voice in the 
streets; a bruised reed shall he not break, 
and smoking flax shall he not quench, till 
he send forth judgment unto victory.” 

This persecution, however, continues 
Reappearsat but a short time, and Jesus ap- 
Capernaum. pears again openly in Caperna- 
um and its neighbourhood. After a night 
passed in solitary retirement, he takes the 
Orzanization Gecided step of organizing his 
of his fol- followers, selecting and solemn- 
lepers ly inaugurating a certain num- 
ber of his more immediate disciples, who 
were to receive an authoritative commis- 
sion to disseminate his doctrines.t Hith- 
erto he had stood, as it were, alone: 
though doubtless some of his followers 
had attended upon him with greater zeal 
and assiduity than others, yet he could 
searcely be considered as the head of a 
regular and disciplined community. The 
twelve apostles, whether selected with 
that view, could not but call to mind the 
number of the tribes of Israel. 
earlier lives of these humble men, little 
can be gathered beyond the usual avoca- 
tions of some among them; and even tra- 
dition, for once, preserves a modest and 
almost total silence. ‘They were of the 
lower, though perhaps not quite the low- 
est, class of Galilean peasants. What 
previous education they had received we 
can scarcely conjecture ; though almost 
all the Jews appear to have received some 
kind of instruction in the history, the re- 
ligion, and the traditions of the nation. 
The twelve First among the twelve appears 
apostles. Simon, to whom Jesus, in allu- 
sion to the firmness of character which he 
was hereafter to exhibit, gave a name, or 
rather, perhaps, interpreted a name by 
which he was already known, Cephas,t{ 
the Rock ; and declared that his new reli- 
gious community was to rest on a founda- 
tion as solid as that name seemed to sig- 
nify. Andrew, his brother, is usually asso- 
ciated with Peter. James and John) re- 
_ * Matt., xii., 19, 20. 

+ Mark, iii., 13-19. Luke, vi., 12-19, 

1 The equivocal meaning of the word was, no 
doubt, evident in the original Aramaic dialect spo- 
ken in Galilee. The French alone of modern Jan- 
guages exactly retains it. ‘ Vous étes Pierre, et 
sur cette pierre.’ The narrative of St. John as- 
cribes the giving this appellative to an earlier peri- 
od.—See supra, p. 77. 

ὁ John must have been extremely young when 
chosen as an apostle; there is so constant a tradi- 
tion of his being alive at a late period in the first 
century, that the fact can scarcely be doubted. Je- 
rome may perhaps have overstrained the tradition 
“ut autem sciamus Johannen tum fuisse puerum, 
cum a Jesu electus est, manifestissimé docent ec- 
clesiastica: historia, quod usque ad Trajani vixerit 
imperium.”—Hieronym. in Journ., i., 1. 


Of the 


ἣν 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ὰ 


ceived the remarkable name of Boanerges, 
the Sons of Thunder, of which it is not 
easy to trace the exact force ; for those 
who bore it do not appear remarkable 
among their brethren either for energy or 
vehemence: the peculiar gentleness of 
the latter, both in character and in the 
style of his writings, would lead us to doubt 
the correctness of the interpretation gen- 
erally assigned to the appellation. ‘he 
two former were natives of one town, 
Bethsaida ; the latter either of Bethsaida 
or*Capernaum, and obtained their liveli- 
hood as fishermen on the Lake of Gennes- 
areth, the waters of which were extraor- 
dinarily prolific in fish of many kinds. 
Matthew or Levi, as it has been said, was 
a publican. Philip was likewise of Beth- 
saida; Bartholomew, the son of Tolmai or 
Ptolemy, is generally considered to have 
been the same with Nathaniel, and was 
distinguished, before his knowledge Je. 
sus, by the blamelessness of his character, 
and, from the respect in which he was 
held, may be supposed to have been of 
higher reputation, as of a better instructed 
class. Thomas or Didymus (for the Syr- 
iac and Greek words have the same signi- 
fication), a twin, is remarkable in the sub- 
sequent history for his coolness and re- 
flecting temper of mind. Lebbeus, or 
Thaddeus, or Judas, the brother of James, 
are doubtless the same person; Judas in 
Syriae is Thaddai. Whether Lebbaios is 
derived from the town of Lebba, on the sea- 
coast of Galilee, or from a word denoting’ 
the heart, and, therefore, almost synon- 
ymous with Thaddai, which is interpreted 
the breast, is extremely doubtful. James, 
the son of Cleophas or Alpheus, concern- 
ing whom and his relationship to Jesus 
there has been much dispute. Huis father 
Cleophas was married to another Mary, 
sister of Mary the mother of Jesus, to 
whom he would therefore be cousin-ger- 
man. But whether he is the same with 
the James who in other places is named 
the brother of the Lord—the term of broth- 
er, by Jewish usage, according to one opin- 
ion, comprehending these closer ties of 
kindred—and whether either of these two, 
or which, was the James who presided 
over the Christian community in Jerusa- 
lem, and whose cruel death is described 
by Josephus, must remain among those 
questions on which we can scarcely ex- — 
pect farther information, and cannot, there- 
fore, decide with certainty. Simon the 
Canaanite was.so called, not, as has been 
supposed, from the town of Cana, still les 
from his Canaanitish descent, but from a_ 
Hebrew word meaning a zealot, to which | 
fanatical and dangerous bedy this apostle 


.% 


‘HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


had probably belonged, before he joined 
the more peaceful disciples of Jesus. The 
last was Judas Iscariot, perhaps so named 
from a small village named Iscara, or, 
more probably, Carioth, a town in the tribe 
of Judah. 

It was after the regular inauguration of 
the twelve in their apostolic office that, 
according to St. Luke, the Sermon on the 
Mount was delivered, or some second out- 
line of Christian morals repeated in nearly 
Healing of Similarterms. Immediately af- 
be centuri- ter, as Jesus returned to Caper- 
om’sservant. noum,acure was wrought, both 
from its circumstances and its probable 
influence on the situation of Jesus, highly 
worthy of remark.* It was in favour of a 
centurion, a military officer of Galilean 
descent, probably in the service of Herod, 
and a proselyte to Judaism, for he could 
‘scarcely have built a synagogue for Jew- 
ish worship unless a convert to the reli- 
gion.t This man was held in such high es- 
timation, that the Jewish elders of the city, 
likewise, it should seem, not unfavour- 
ably disposed towards Jesus, interceded in 
his behalf. The man himself appears to 
have held the new teacher in such pro- 
found reverence, that in his humility he 
did not think his house worthy of so illus- 
trious a guest, and expressed his confi- 
dence that a word from him would be as 
effective, even uttered at a distance, as the 
orders that he was accustomed to issue to 
his soldiery. Jesus not only complied 
with his request by restoring his servant 
to health, but took the opportunity of de- 
claring that many Gentiles, from the most 
remote quarters, would be admitted within 
the pale of the new religion, to the exclu- 
sion of many who had no title but their 
descent from Abraham. Still there was 
nothing, at least in the earlier part of this 
declaration, directly contrary to the estab- 
lished opinions ; for at least the more lib- 
eral Jews were not unwilling to entertain 
the splendid ambition of becoming the re- 
ligious instructers of the world, provided 
the world did homage to the excellence 
and Divine institution of the Law; and at 
all times the Gentiles, by becoming Jews, 
either as proselytes of the age, if not pros- 
elytes by circumcision, might share in 
-most, if not in all, the privileges of the 


_ chosen people. This incident was likewise 


of importance, as still farther strength- 
ening the interest of Jesus with the ruling 


_ authorities and with another powerful offi- 


cer in the town of Capernaum. <A more 


_ extraordinary transaction followed. As 


τῶ * St. Matthew as well as St. Luke places this 


- cure as immediately following the Sermon on the 
Mount t Matt., viii., 5-13, Luke, vii., 1-10. 
ὗ . ΤᾺΝ ‘ 


me 


2 


a 
99 


yet, Jesus had claimed authority over the 
most distressing and obstinate maladies ; 
he now appeared invested with power over 
death itself. Ashe entered the Raising the 
town of Nain, between twenty widow’sson_ 
and thirty miles from Capernaum, he met 
a funeral procession, accompanied with 
circumstances of extreme distress. It 
was a youth, the only son of a widow, 
who was borne out to burial; so great 
was the calamity, that it had excited the 
general interest of the inhabitants. Jesus 
raises the youth from his bier, and re- 
stores him to the destitute mother.* 

The fame of this unprecedented miracle 
was propagated with the utmost rapidity 
through the country; and still vague, yet 
deepening rumours that a prophet had ap- 
peared; that the great event which held 
the whole nation in suspense was on the. 
instant of fulfilment, spread throughout | 
the whole province. It even reached the 
remote fortress of Macherus, in which 
John was still closely guarded, though it 
seems the free access of his followers was 
not prohibited.t John commis- Message ot 
sioned two of his disciples to in- John the 
quire into the truth of these won- 23Pts*- 
derful reports, and to demand of Jesus 
himself whether he was the expected 
Messiah. But what was the design of 
John in this message to Jesust The 
question is not without difficulty. Was it 
for the satisfaction of his own doubts or 
those of his followers*{ Was it that, m 
apprehension of his approaching death, he 
would consign his disciples to the care of 
a still greater instructer? Was it that he 
might attach them before his death to Je- 
sus, and familiarize them with conduct, in 
some respects, sO opposite to his own 
Essenian, if not Pharisaic habits? He 
might foresee the advantage that would be 
taken by the more ascetic to alienate his 
followers from Jesus, as a teacher who fell 
far below the austerity of their own; and 
who, accessible to all, held in no respect 
those minute observances which the usage 
of the stricter Jews, and the example of 
their master, had arrayed in indispensable 
sanctity. Or was it that John himself, 
having languished for nearly a year in 
his remote prison, began to be impatient 
for the commencement of that splendid 
epoch,§ of which the whole nation, even 
the apostles of Jesus, both before and af- 
ter the resurrection, had by no means 
RR RN ΜΈΡΗ ον Ne REI Ae 

* Luke, vii., 11-18, 

+ Matt., xi, 2-30. Luke, vii., 17-35. 

t Whitby. Doddridge, in loc. 

§ Hammond inclines to this view, as does Jor- 
oe Discourses on the Truth of the Christian Re- 
igion. bs 


100 


abandoned their glorious, worldly, and 
Jewish notions? Was John, like the rest 
of the people, not yet exalted above those 
hopes which were inseparable from the 
national mind? If he is the king, why 
does he hesitate to assume his kingdom ? 
If the Deliverer, why so tardy to com- 
mence the deliverance? “If thou art in- 
deed the Messiah (such may appear to 
have been the purport of the Baptist’s mes- 
sage), proclaim thyself at once; assume 
thy state; array thyself in majesty ; dis- 
comfit the enemies of holiness and of God! 
My prison doors will at once burst open: 
my trembling persecutors will cease from 
their oppressions. Herod himself will 
yield up his usurped authority ; and even 
the power of Rome will cease to afflict 
the redeemed people of the Almighty ?” 
What, on the other hand, is the answer of 
Jesus? It harmonizes in a remarkable 
manner with this latter view. It declares 
at once, and to the disappointment of these 
temporal hopes, the purely moral and re- 
ligious nature of the dominion to be estab- 
lished by the Messiah. He was found dis- 
playing manifest signs of more than human 
power, and to these peaceful signs he ap- 
peals as the conclusive evidence of the 
commencement of the Messiah’s kingdom, 
the relief of diseases, the cessation of sor- 
rows, the restoration of their lost or de- 
cayed senses to the deaf or blind, the equal 
admission of the lowest orders to the same 
religious privileges with those more espe- 
cially favoured by God. The remarkable 
words are added, “ Blessed is he that shall 
not be offended in me;” he that shall not 
consider irreconcilable with the splendid 

romises of the Messiah’s kingdom, my 

wly condition, my calm and unassuming 
course of mercy and love to mankind, my 
total disregard of worldly honours, my re- 
fusal to place myself at the head of the 
people as a temporal ruler. Violent men, 
more especially during the disturbed and 
excited period since the appearance of 
John the Baptist, would urge ona kingdom 
of violence. How truly the character of 
the times is thus described, is apparent 
from the single fact, that shortly after- 
ward the people would have seized Jesus 
himself and forced him to assume the royal 
title, if he had not withdrawn himself from 
his dangerous adherents. This last ex- 
pression, however, occurs in the subse- 
quent discourse of Jesus, after his disci- 
ples had departed, when in those striking 
images he spoke of the former concourse 
of the people to the Baptist, and justified 
it by the assertion of his prophetic charac- 
ter. It wasno idle object which Jed them 
into the wilderness, to see, as it were, “a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


reed shaken by the wind,” nor to behold 
any rich or luxurious object ; for such the 
would have gone to the courts of t 
sovereigns.. Still he declares the meanest 
of his own disciples to have attained some 
moral superiority, some knowledge, prob- 
ably, of the real nature of the new reli- 
gion, and the character and designs of the 
Messiah, which had never been possessed 
by John. With his usual rapidity of 
transition, Jesus passes at once to his 
moral instruction, and vividly shows that, 
whether severe or gentle, whether more 
ascetic or more popular, the teachers of a 
holier faith had been equally unacceptable. 
The general multitude of the Jews had re- 
jected both the austerer Baptist and him- 
self, though of so much more benign and 
engaging demeanour. ‘The whole dis- 
course ends with the significant words, 
‘““My yoke is easy, and my burden is 
light.” 

Nothing, indeed, could offer a more 
striking contrast to the secluded 
and eremitical life of John, than lak εὐτο 
the easy and accessible manner 2nd Jolin the 
with which Jesus mingled with 33?" 
all classes, even with his bitterest oppo- 
nents, the Pharisees. He accepts the in- 
vitation of one of these, and enters into 
his house to partake of refreshment.* 
Here a woman of dissolute life found her 
way into the chamber where the feast was 
held; she sat at his feet, anointing him, 
according to Eastern usage, with a costly 
unguent, which was contained in a box of 
alabaster ; she wept bitterly, and with her 
long locks wiped away the falling tears. 
The Pharisees, who shrunk not only from 
the contact, but even from the approach, 
of all whom they considered physically or 
morally unclean, could only attribute the 
conduct of Jesus to his ignorance of her 
real character. The reply of Jesus inti- 
mates that his religion was intended to 
reform and purify the worst, and that some 
of his most sincere and ardent believers 
might proceed from those very outcasts 
of society from whom Pharisaic rigour 
shrunk with abhorrence. 

After this, Jesus appears to have made 
another circuit through the towns and vil- 
lages of Galilee. On his return to Caper- 


naum, instigated, perhaps, by his adversa- - 


ries, some of his relatives appear to have 
believed, or pretended to believe, that he 
was out of his senses; and, therefore, at- 
tempted to secure his person. This 
scheme failing, the Pharisaic party, who 
had been deputed, it should seem. from 


Jerusalem to watch his conduct, endeay- . 


--- Σουρ SNE ay Bees 
* Luke, vii., 36-50; xi. 14-26. 


heir 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


our to avail themselves of that great prin- 
ciple of Jewish superstition, the belief in 
the power of evil spirits, to invalidate his 
growing authority.* On the occasion of 
the cure of one of those lunatics, usually 
pit aes called demoniacs,} who was 

* both dumb and blind, they ac- 
cused him of unlawful dealings with the 
spirits of evil. It was by a magic influ- 
ence, obtained by a secret contract with 
Beelzebub, the chief of the powers of 
darkness, or by secretly invoking his All- 
powerful name, that he reduced the sub- 
ordinate demons to obedience. ‘The an- 
swer of Jesus struck them with confu- 
sion. Evil spirits, according to their own 
creed, took delight in the miseries and 
crimes of men; his acts were those of the 
purest benevolence : how gross the incon- 
sistency to suppose that malignant spirits 
would thus lend themselves to the cause 
of human happiness and virtue. Another 
more personal argument still farther con- 
founded his adversaries. ‘The Pharisees 
were professed exorcists ;{ if, then, exor- 


ἃ Matt., xii., 22-45. Mark, 11]., 19-30. 

+ 1 have no scruple in avowing my opinion on the 
subject of the demoniacs to be that of Joseph Mede, 
Lardner, Dr. Mead, Paley, and all the learned mod- 
ern writers. It was a kind of insanity not unlikely 
to be prevalent among a people peculiarly subject 
to leprosy and other cutaneous diseases ; and no- 
thing was more probable than that lunacy should 
take the turn and speak the language of the prevail- 
ing superstition of the times. As the belief in witch- 
craft made people fancy themselves witches, so the 
belief in possession made men of distempered minds 
fancy themselves possessed. The present case, in- 
deed, seems to have been one rather of infirmity 
than lunacy: the afflicted person was blind and 
dumb; but such cases were equally ascribed to 
malignant spirits. There is one very strong rea- 
son, which | do not remember to have seen urged 
with sufficient force, but which may have contrib- 
uted to induce Jesus to adopt the current language 
on this point. The disbelief in these spiritual in- 
fluences was one of the characteristic tenets of the 
unpopular sect of the Sadducees. A departure from 
the common language, or the endeavour to correct 
this inveterate error, would have raised an imme- 
diate outcry against him from his watchful and 
malignant adversaries as an unbelieving Sadducee. 
Josephus mentions a certain herb which had the 
power of expelling daemons, a fact which intimates 
that it was a bodily disease. Kuinoel, in Matt., iv., 
24, referring to the latter fact, shows that in Greek 
authors, especially Hippocrates, madness and dz- 
moniacal possession are the same ; and quotes the 
various passages in the New Testament where the 
same language is evidently held; as, among many 
others, John, x., 20. Matt., xvii., 15. Mark, v., 15. 

have again the satisfaction of finding myself to 
ave arrived at the same conclusion as Neander. 

Ὁ The rebuking subordinate demons, by the in- 
vocation of a more powerful name, is a very ancient 
and common form of superstition. The later anti- 


Christian writers among the Jews attribute the 


ἣν 


ower of Jesus over evil spirits to his having ob- 
ained the secret, and dared to utter the ineffable 
name, “the Sem-ham-phorash.” To this name 


101 


cism, or the ejection of these evil spirits, 
necessarily implied unlawful dealings with 
the world of darkness, they were as open 
to the charge as he whom they accused. 
They had, therefore, the alternative of 
renouncing their own pretensions, or of 
admitting that those of Jesus were to be 
judged on other principles. It was, then, 
blasphemy against the Spirit of God to 
ascribe acts which bore the manifest im- 
press of the Divine Goodness in their es- 
sentially beneficent character to any other 
source but the Father of Mercies ; it was 
an offence which argued such total obtuse- 
ness of moral perception, such utter inca- 
pacity of feeling or comprehending the 
beauty either of the conduct or the doc- 
trines of Jesus, as to leave no hope that 
they would ever be reclaimed from their 
rancorous hostility to his religion, or be 
qualified for admission into the pale and 
to the benefits of the new faith. 

The discomfited Pharisees now demand 
a more public and undeniable sign pharisees 
of his Messiahship,* which alone demand a 
could justify the lofty tone assu- *'S" 
med by Jesus. A second time Jesus ob- 
scurely alludes to the one great future 
sign of the new faith—his resurrection ; 
and, refusing farther to gratify their curi- 
osity, he reverts, in language of more than 
usual energy, to the incapacity of the age 
and nation to discern the real and intrinsic 
superiority of his religion. 

The followers of Jesus had now been 
organized into a regular sect or party. 
Another incident distinctly showed that 
he no longer stood alone ; even the social 
duties, which up to this time he had, no 
doubt, discharged with the utmost affec- 
tion, were to give place to the sublimer 
objects of his mission. While he sat en- 
circled by the multitude of his conauct of 
disciples, tidings were brought Jesus to his 
that his mother and his breth- fel@tives. 
ren desired to approach him.t But Jesus 
refused to break off his occupation; he 
declared himself connected by a closer 
tie even than that of blood with the great 
moral family of which he was to be the 
parent, and with which he was to stand 


wonderful powers over the whole invisible world 
are attributed by the Jewish Alexandrean writers, 
Artapanus and Ezekiel, the tragedian ; and it is 
not impossible that the more superstitious Phari- 
sees may have hoped to reduce Jesus to the dilem- 
ma either of confessing that he invoked the name 
of the prince of the demons, or secretly uttered 
that which it was still more criminal to make use 
of for such a purpose, the mysterious and unspeak- 
able Tetragrammaton.—See Eisenmenger, i., 154. 
According to Josephus, the art of exorcism descend- 
ed from King Solomon.—Antiq., Viii., 2. 


* Matt., xil., 38-45. ss 
+ Matt., xii, 46-49. Mark, iii., 31-39. 


¢ 


102 


in the most intimate relation. He was 
the chief of a fraternity, not connected by 
common descent or consanguinity, but by 
a purely moral and religious bond ; not by 
any national or local union, but bound to- 
gether by the one strong but indivisible 
link of their common faith. On the in- 
crease, the future prospects, the final des- 
tiny of this community, his discourses 
now dwell, with frequent but obscure al- 
lusions.* His language more constantly 
assumes the form of parable. Nor 
was this merely in compliance 
with the genius of an Eastern people, in 
order to convey his instruction in a form 
more attractive, and, therefore, both more 
immediately and more permanently im- 
pressive; or, by awakening the imagina- 
tion, to stamp his doctrines more deeply 
on the memory, and to incorporate them 
with the feelings. These short and lively 
apologues were admirably adapted to sug- 
gest the first rudiments of truths which it 
was not expedient openly to announce. 
Though some of the parables have a pure- 
ly moral purport, the greater part deliver- 
ed at this period bear a more or less coy- 
ert relation to the character and growth 
of the new religion; a subject which, 
avowed without disguise, would have re- 
volted the popular mind, and clashed too 
directly with their inveterate nationality. 
Yet these splendid, though obscure anti- 
cipations singularly contrast with occa- 
sional allusions to his own personal des- 
titution: “ The foxes have holes, and the 
birds of the air have nests, but the Son of 
Man hath not where to lay his head.” 
For, with the growth and organization of 
his followers, he seems fully aware that 
his dangers increase; he now frequently 
changes his place, passes from one side 
of the lake to the other, and even endeav- 
ours to throw a temporary concealment 
over some of his most extraordinary mir- 
acles. During one of these expeditions 


Parables. 


across the lake, he is in danger from one 


of those sudden and violent tempests which 
often disturb inland seas, particularly in 
Rebukes Mountainous districts. He re- 
the storm. bukes the storm, and it ceases. 
On the other side of the lake, in the dis- 
trict of Gadara, occurs the remarkable 
scene of the demoniacs among the tombs, 
Destruc- and the herd of swine ; the only 
tionofthe act in the whole life of Jesus in 
swine. the least repugnant to the uni- 
form gentleness of his disposition, which 


_ would shrink from the unnecessary de- 


* Matt., xiii. Mark, iv., 1-34. Luke, viii., 1-18. 
_t Matt., viii, 18-27. Mark, iv., 35-41. Luke, 
Vill., 22-25. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. |  * 


struction even of the meanest and mont 
loathsome animals.* On his return from 
this expedition to Capernaum took place 
the healing of the woman with the issue 
of the blood, and the raising of Jairus’s 
daughter. Concerning the latter, as like- 
wise concerning the relief of two blind 
men,f he gives the strongest injunctions 
of secrecy, which, nevertheless, the active 
zeal of his partisans seems by no means 
to have regarded. “ 

But ἃ more decisive step was now ta- 
ken than the organization of the The apostles 
new religious community. The sent out. 
twelve apostles were sent out to dissemi- 
nate the doctrines of Jesus throughout the 
whole of Galilee.§ They were invested 
with the power of healing diseases ; with 
cautious deference to Jewish feeling, they 
were forbidden to proceed beyond the 
borders of the Holy Land, either among 
the Gentiles or the heretical Samaritans; 
they were to depend on the hospitality of 
those whom they might address for their 
subsistence ; and he distinctly anticipates 
the enmity which they would perpetually 
encounter, and the dissension which would 
be caused, even in the bosom of families, 
by the appearance of men thus actmg on 
a commission unprecedented and unrec- 
ognised by the religious authorities of the 
nation, yet whose doctrines were of such. 
intrinsic beauty, and so full of exciting 
promise. 

It was most likely this open proclama- 
tion, as it were, of the rise*of a Condnet 
new and organized community, of Herod, 
and the greater publicity which this simul- 
taneous appearance of two of its delegates 
in the different towns of Galilee could not 
but give to the growing influence of Jesus, 
that first attracted the notice of the gov- 
ernment. Up to this period, Jesus, as a 
remarkable individual, must have been 
well known by general report; by this 
measure he stood in a very different char- 
acter, as the chief of a numerous fraternity. 
There were other reasons, at this critical 
period, to excite the apprehensions and 
jealousy of Herod. During the short in- 
terval between the visit of John’s disciples 
to Jesus and the present time, the tetrarch 


* The moral difficulty of this transaction has al- 
ways appeared to me greater than that of reconci- 
ling it with the more rational view of damoniacism. 
Both are much diminished, if not entirely removed, 
by the theory of Kuinoel, who attributes to the lu- 
natics the whole of the conversation with Jesus, 
and supposes that their driving the herd of swine 
down the precipice was the last paroxysm in which 
their insanity exhausted itself.—Matt., vili., 28-34. 
Mark, v., 1-20. Luke, vili., 26-39. 

+ Luke, viii., 40-56. t+ Matt., xx., 27-31. 

ὁ Matt.,x. Mark, vi. 7 13. Luke, ix., 1-6. 


_ 


* » 


Φ 


4 * 

DeathofJonn had at leagth, at the instigation 
the Baptist. of his wife. perpetrated the mur- 
der of the Baptist. Whether his reluct- 


- anee to shed unnecessary blood, or his 


prudence, had as yet shrunk from this 
crime, the condemnation of her marriage 
could not but rankle in the heart of the 
wife. The desire of revenge would be 
strengthened by a feeling of insecurity, 
and an apprehension of the precariousness 
of a union, declared, on such revered 
authority, null and void. As long as this 
stern and respected censor lived, her in- 
fluence over her husband, the bond. of 
marriage itself, might, in an hour of pas- 
sion or remorse, be dissolved. The com- 
mon crime would cement still closer, per- 
haps for ever, their common interests. 
The artifices of Herodias, who did not 
scruple to make use of the beauty and 
grace of her daughter to compass her end, 
had extorted from the reluctant king, in 
the hour of festive carelessness—the cele- 
bration of Herod’s birthday—the royal 
promise, which, whether for good or for 
evil, was equally irrevocable.* The head 
of John the Baptist was the reward for the 
dancing of the daughter of Herodias.t 
Whether the mind of Herod, like that of 
his father,{ was disordered by his crime, 
and the disgrace and discomfiture of his 
arms contributed to his moody terrors ; 
or whether some popular rumour of the 
reappearance of John, and that Jesus was 
the murdered prophet restored to life, had 
obtained currency, indications of hostility 
from the government seem to have put 
Jesus upon his guard.§ For no sooner 
had he been rejoined by the apostles, than 
he withdrew into the desert country about 
Bethsaida, with the prudence which he 
now thought fit to assume, avoiding any 
sudden collision with the desperation or 
the capricious violence of the tetrarch. 
But he now filled too important a place 
Jesus with. 1 the public mind to remain con- 
draws fron cealed so near his customary 
Galilee.  yesidence and the scene of his 
extraordinary actions. The multitude 
thronged forth to trace his footsteps, so 


* Matt., xiv., 1-12. Mark, vi., 14-29. Luke, ix., 
7-9. 
+ Josephus places the scene of this event in 
Macherus. Macknight would remove the prison 
of John to Tiberias. But the circumstances of the 
war may have caused the court to be held in this 
strong frontier town, and the feast may have been 
intended chiefly for the army, the “ Chiliarchs” of 
St. Mark. , 

Ἐ According to Josephus, the Jews ascribed the 
discomfiture of Herod’s army by Aretas, king of 
Arabia, to the wrath of Heaven for the murder of 
John. 

§ Matt., xiv., 13, 14. Mark, vi., 30-34. Luke, 
ix., 10, 11. John, vi, 1, 2. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


108 


that five thousand persons had preoccu- 
pied the place of his retreat; and so com- 
pletely were they possessed by profound 
religious enthusiasm, as entirely to have 
forgotten the difficulty of obtaining pro- 
visions in that desolate region. The man- 
ner in which their wants were pe muti- 
preternaturally supplied, and the tudes fed in 
whole assemblage fed by five the desert. 
loaves and two small fishes, wound up at 
once the rising enthusiasm to the highest 
pitch. It could not but call to the mind 
of the multitude the memorable event in 
their annals, the feeding the whole nation 
in the desert by the multiplication of the 
manna.* Jesus, then, would no longer 
confine himself to those private and more 
unimposing acts of beneficence, of which 
the actual advantage was limited to a 
single object, and the ocular evidence of 
the fact to but few witnesses. Here was 
a sign performed in the presence of many 
thousands, who had actually participated 
in the miraculous food. This, then, they 
supposed, could not but be the long-desired 
commencement of, his more public, more 
national career. Behold a second Moses! 
behold a Leader of the people, under whom 
they could never be afflicted with want! 
behold at length the Prophet, under whose 
government the people were to enjoy, 
among the other blessings of the Mes- 
siah’s reign, unexampled, uninterrupted 
plenty. ? 

Their acclamations clearly betrayed 
their intentions; they would gnthusiasm 
brook no longer delay; they °fthe people. 
would force him to assume the royal title ; 
they would proclaim him, whether con- 
senting or not, the King of Israel.{ Jesus 
withdrew from the midst of the dangerous 
tumult, and till the next day they sought 
him in vain. On their return to Caper- 


* Matt., xiv., 15-23. Mark, vi., 35-45. Luke, 
ix., 12-17, John, vi., 3-14. 

+ He made manna to descend for them, in which 
were all manner of tastes; and every Israelite 
found in it what his palate was chiefly pleased with. 
If he desired fat in it, he had it. In it the young 
men tasted bread ; the old men, honey; and the 
children, oil. So it shall be in the world to come 
(the days of the Messias); he shall give Israel 
peace, and they shall sit down and eat in the garden 
of Eden; all nations shall behold their condition ; 
as it is said, ‘“ Behold my servants shall eat, but ye 
shall be hungry.”—Isaiah, xv. Rambam in San- 
hed., cap. 10. 

Many affirm that the hope of Israel is, that Mes- 
siah should come and raise the dead; and they 
shall be gathered together in the garden of Eden, | 
and shall eat and drink, and satiate themselves all 
the days of the world .. . ; and that there are 
houses built all of precious stones, beds of silk and 
rivers flowing with wine and spicy oil.—Shenoth 
Rabba, sect. 25. Lightfoot, in loc., vol. xi, 29,2. 

1 John, vi., 15. 


104 


naum, they found that he had crossed the 
lake, and entered the city the evening be- 
fore. Their suspense, no doubt, had not 
been allayed by his mysterious disappear- 


ance on the other side of the lake. The 


ee ances under which he had passed 


over,* if communicated by the apostles 
to the wondering multitude (and, unless 
positively prohibited by their master, they 
could not have kept silence on so won- 
derful an occurrence), would inflame still 
farther the intense popular agitation. 
While the apostles were passing the lake 
in their boat, Jesus had appeared by their 
side, walking upon the waters. 

~ When, therefore, Jesus entered the syn- 
Jesus in the agogue of Capernaum, no doubt 
synagogue of the crisis Was immediately ex- 
Capernaum. Hected: at length he will avow 
himself; the declaration of his dignity 
must now be made; and where with such 
propriety as in the place of the public wor- 
ship, in the midst of the devout and ado- 
ring people?+ The calm, the purely reli- 
gious language of Jesus was a deathblow 
to these high-strung hopes. The object 
of his mission, he declared in explicit 
terms, was not to confer temporal bene- 
fits ; they were not to follow him with the 
hope that they would obtain without la- 
bour the fruits of the earth, or be secured 
against thirst and hunger: these were 
mere casual and incidental blessings.t 
The real design of the new religion was 
the improvement of the moral and spirit- 
ual condition of man, described under the 
strong but not unusual figure of nourish- 
ment administered to the soul. During 
the whole of his address, or, rather, his 
conversation with the different parties, the 
popular opinion was in a state of fluctua- 
tion; or, as is probable, there were two 
distinct parties, that of the populace, at 
first more favourable to Jesus, and that 
of the Jewish leaders, who were altogeth- 
er hostile. The former appear more hum- 
bly to have inquired what was demanded 
by the new teacher in order to please God: 
of them Jesus required faith in the Mes- 
siah. The latter first demanded a new 
sign,§ but broke out into murmurs of dis- 
approbation when “the carpenter’s son” 
began in his mysterious language to speak 
of his descent, his commission from his 
Father, his reascension to his former inti- 
mate communion with the Deity; still 
more when he seemed to confine the hope 
of everlasting life to those only who were 
fitted-to receive it; to those whose souls 


"ἢ Matt., xiv., 24-33, Mark, vi., 47-53. John, 
vi., 16-2). + John, vi., 22-71. 
t Ibid., 26-29. § Ibid., 30. 


‘ ‘HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


» 


gt ; 
would receive the inward nutriment of his 
doctrines. No word inthe whole address 
fell in with their excited, their passionate 
hopes: however dark, however ambigu- 
ous his allusions, they could not warp or 


misinterpret them into the confirmation of 
| Not only did they 
appear to discountenance the immediate, 


their splendid views. 


they gave no warrant to the remote, ac- 


complishment of their visions of the Mes- ~ 


siah’s earthly power and glory.* At all 
events, the disappointment was universal ; 
his own adherents, baffled and sinking at 
once from their exalted hopes, cast off 
their unambitious, their inexplicable Lead- 
er; and so complete appears to have been 
the desertion, that Jesus demanded of the 
twelve whether they too would abandon 
his cause, and leave him to his fate. In 
the name of the apostles, Peter replied 
that they had still full confidence in his 
doctrines, as teaching the way, to eternal 
life; they still believed him to be the 
promised Messiah, the Son of God. Je- 
sus received this protestation of fidelity 
with apparent approbation, but intimated 
that the time would come when one even 
of the tried and chosen twelve would 
prove a traitor.t 


* There is some difficulty in placing the conver- 
sation with the Pharisees (Matt., xv., 1-20. Mark, 
vil., 1-23), whether before or after the retreat of Je- 
sus to the more remote district. The incident, 
though characteristic, is not of great importance, 
and seems rather to have been a private inquiry of 
certain members of the sect, than the public appeal 
of persons deputed for that purpose. 

+ The wavering and uncertainty of the apostles, 
and, still more, of the people, concerning the Mes- 
siahship of Jesus, is urged by Strauss as an argu- 
ment for the later invention and inconsistency of 
the Gospels. It has always appeared to me one of 
those marks of true nature and of inartificial com- 
position which would lead me to a conclusion di- 
rectly opposite. The first intimation of the defer- 
ence and homage shown to him by John at his bap- 
tism, grows at once into a welcome rumour that 
the Christ has appeared. Andrew imparts the joy- 
ful tidings to his brother. ‘We have found the 
Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ ;” 
so Philip, verse 46. But though Jesus, in one part of 
the Sermon on the Mount, speaks of himself as the 
future judge, in general his distinct assumption of 
that character is exclusively to individuals in private, 
to the Samaritan woman (John, iv., 26-42), and in 
more ambiguous language, perhaps, in his private 
examination before the authorities in Jerusalem 
(John, v., 46). Still the manner in which he assu- 
med the title and asserted his claims was so totally 
opposite to Jewish expectation; he appeared to de- 
lay solong the open declaration of his Messiahship, 
that the populace constantly fluctuated in their 
opinion, now ready by force to make him a king 
(John, vi , 15), immediately after this altogether de- 


serting him, so that even the apostles’ faith is se-- 


verely tried. (Compare with John, vi., 69, Luke, ix., 
20, Matt., xvi., 16, Mark, vili., 29, where it appears 
that rumours had become prevalent, that, though 
not the Messiah, he was either a prophet or a fore 


a 


«Ὺ 


* 


- 


HISTORY OF ΟΗΚΙΘΤΙΑΝΙΤΥ.. 


ἡ" 

Thus the public life of Jesus closed its 
second year. On one side endangered by 
the zeal of the violent, on the other en- 
feebled by the bei of so many of his 
followers, Jesus, so long as he spoke the 
current language about the Messiah, might 
be instantly taken at his word, and against 
‘his will be set at the head of a daring in- 
surrection ; immediately that he departed 
from it, and rose to the sublimer tone of 
a purely religious teacher, he excited the 
most violent animosity even among many 


ap 


105 


of his most ardent adherents. Thus his 
influence at one moment was apparently 
most extensive, at the next was confined 
to but a small circle. Still, however, it 
held the general mind in unallayed sus- 

ense ; and the ardent admiration, the at- 


‘tachment of the few, who were enabled 


to appreciate his character, and the ani- 
mosity of the many, who trembled at his 
progress, bore testimony to the command- 
ing character and the surprising works of 
Jesus of Nazareth 


CHAPTER VI. δ᾿ 


THIRD YEAR OF THE PUBLIC LIFE OF JESUS. 


Tue third Passover had now arrived 
since Jesus of Nazareth had ap- 
ΠῚ peared as a public teacher, but, 
as it should seem, his “appointed hour” 
was not yet come; and, instead of de- 
scending with the general concourse of the 
whoie nation to the capital, he remains in 
Galilee, or, rather, retires to the remotest 
extremity of the country ; and, though he 
approaches nearer to the northern shore 
of the lake, never ventures down into the 
populous region in which he more usually 
fixed his residence. The avowed hos- 
tility of the Jews, and their determination 
to put him to death; the apparently grow- 
ing jealousy of Herod, and the desertion 
of his cause, on one hand, by a great num- 
ber of his Galilean followers, who had 
taken offence at his speech in the syna- 
gogue of Capernaum, with the rash and 
intemperate zeal of others, who were pre- 
pared to force him to assume the royal 
title, would render his presence at Jerusa- 
lem, if not absolutely necessary for his 
designs, both dangerous and inexpedient.* 
But his absence from this Passover is still 
more remarkable, if, as appears highly 
probable, it was at this feast that the 
event occurred which is alluded to in St. 


Passover. 


Luke} as of general notoriety, and at a 


runner of the Messiah). ‘The real test of the fidel- 
ity of the apostles was their adherence, under all 
the fluctuation of popular. opinion, to this convic- 
tion, which at last, however, was shaken by that 
which most completely clashed with their precon- 
ceived notions of the Messiah, his ignominious 
death, and undisturbed burial. 

As a corrective to Strauss on this point, I would 
recommend the work of one who will not be sus- 
pected of loose and inaccurate reasoning—Locke 
on the Reasonableness of Christianity. 

* The commencement of the 7th chapter of St. 
John’s Gospel appears to me to contain a manifest 
reference to his absence from this Passover. 

+ John, vii, 1. 


later period was the subject of a con- 


- OF A 
versation between Jesus and his’ Ms 
τὰ Ἢ assacre of 


disciples, the slaughter OFS OGL the Galleans 
tain Galileans in the Temple of at the Pass- 
Jerusalem by the Roman gov- τ 
ernor.* The reasons for assigning this 
fact to the period of the third Passover ap- 
pear to have considerable weight. Though 
at all times of the year the Temple was 
open, not merely for the regular morning 
and evening offerings, but likewise for the 
private sacrifices of more devout worship- 
pers, such an event as this massacre was 
not likely to have occurred, even if Pilate 
was present at Jerusalem at other times, 
unless the metropolis had been crowded 
with strangers, at least in numbers suffi- 
cient to excite some apprehension of dan- 
serous tumult; for Pontius Pilate, though 
prodigal of blood if the occasion seemed 
to demand the vigorous exercise of power, 
does not appear to have been wantonly 
sanguinary. It is therefore most proba- 
ble that the massacre took place during 
some public festival; and, if so, it must 
have been either at the Passover or Pente- 
cost, as Jesus was present at both the 
later feasts of the present year, those of 
Tabernacles and of the Dedication: nor 
does the slightest intimation occur of any 
disturbance of that nature at cither.t Who 


* Luke, xiii, 1. 

+ The point of time at which the notice of this 
transaction is introduced in the narrative of St. 
Luke, may appear irreconcilable with the opinion 
that it took place so far back as the previous Pass- 
over. This circumstance, however, admits of an 
easy explanation. The period at which this fact is 
introduced by St. Luke, was just before the last 
fatal visit to Jerusalem. Jesus had now expressed 
his fixed determination to attend the approaching 
Passover; he was actually on his way to the me- 
tropolis. It was precisely the time at which some 
who might take an interest in his personal safety, 
might think it well to warn him of his danger. 


106 
“¢ 


these Galileans were, whether they had 
_ been guilty of turbulent or seditious con- 

᾿ duct, or were the innocent victims of the 
governor’s jealousy, there is no evidence. 
It has been suggested, not without plausi- 
bility, that they were of the sect of Judas 
the Galilean; and, however they may not 
have been forinally enrolled as belonging 
to this sect, they may have been ‘in some 
degree infected with the same opinions ; 
more especially, as properly belonging to 
the jurisdiction of Herod, these Galileans 
would scarcely have been treated with 
such unrelenting severity, unless impli- 
cated, or suspected to be implicated, in 
some designs obnoxious to the Roman 
sway. If, however, our conjecture be 
right, had he appeared at this festival, 
Jesus might have fallen undistinguished 
in a general massacre of his countrymen, 
by the direct interference of the Roman 
governor, and without the guilt of his re- 
jection and death being attributable to the 
rulers or the nation of the Jews. 

Yet, be this as it may, during this period 
Concealment Of the life of Jesus it is most 
of Jesus. difficult to trace his course; his 
rapid changes have the semblance of con- 
cealment. At one time he appears at the 
extreme border of Palestine, the district 
immediately adjacent to that of Tyre and 
Sidon; he then seems to have descended 
again towards Bethsaida, and the desert 
country to the north of the Sea of Tibe- 
rias; he is then, again, on the immediate 
frontiers of Palestine, near the town of 
Cesarea Philippi, close to the fountains 
of the Jordan. 

The incidents which occur at almost all 
these places coincide with his. singular 
situation at this period of his life, and 
perpetually bear almost a direct reference 
to the state of public feeling at this par- 
The Syro- ticular time. His conduct to- 
Phenician wards the Greek or Syro-Pheeni- 
woman. ΟἾΔ woman may illustrate this.* 
Those who watched the motions of Jesus 
with the greatest vigilance, either from 


These persons may have been entirely ignorant of 
his intermediate visits to Jerusalem, which had 
been sudden, brief, and private. He had appeared 
unexpectedly ; he had withdrawn without notice. 
They may have supposed, that, having been absent 
at the period of the massacre in the remote parts of 
the country, he might be altogether unacquainted 
with the circumstances, or, at least, little impressed 
with their importance ; or even, if not entirely ig- 
norant, they might think it right to remind him of 
the dangerous commotion which had taken place 
at the preceding festival, and to intimate the possi- 
bility that, under a governor so reckless of human 
life as Pilate had shown-himself, and by recent cir- 
cumstances not predisposed towards the Galilean 
name, he was exposing himself to most serious 
peril. * Matt., xv., 21-28. Mark, vii., 24-30. 


- HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


attachment or animosity, must have be- 
held him with astonishment, at this period, 
when every road was crowded with trav- 
ellers towards Jerusalem, deliberately pro- 
ceeding in an opposite direction; thus, at 
the time of the most solemn festival, 
moving, as it were, directly contrary to 
the stream, which flowed in one current 
towards the capital. There appears at 
one time to have prevailed among some 
an ebscure apprehension, which, though 
only expressed during one of his later 
visits to Jerusalem,* might have begun to 
creep into their minds at an earlier period; 
that, after all, the Saviour might turn his 
back on his ungrateful and inhospitable 
country, or, at least, not fetter himself 
with the exclusive nationality inseparable 
from their conceptions of the true Mes- 
siah. And here, at this present instant, 
after having excited their hopes to the 
utmost by the miracle which placed him, 


as it were, on a level with their lawgiver, — — 


and having afterward afflicted them with 
bitter disappointment by his speech in the 


a 


* oe 
synagogue—here, at the season of th Pa 


Passover, he was proceeding towards, if 
not beyond, the borders of the Holy Land, 
placing himself, as it were, in direct com- 
munication with the uncircumcised, and 
imparting those blessings to strangers and 
aliens which were the undoubted, inalien- 
able property of the privileged race. 

At this juncture, when he was upon the 
borders of the territory of Tyre and Sidon, 


a woman of heathen extraction, having | 


heard the fame of his miracles, determined — 
to have recourse to him to heal her daugh-— 
ter, who was suffering under diabolic pos- 
session. Whether adopting the common 
title which she had heard that Jesus had 
assumed, or from any obscure notion of 
the Messiah, which could not but have 
penetrated into the districts immediately 
bordering on Palestine, she saluted him 
by his title of Son of David, and implored 
his mercy. In this instance alone, Jesus, 
who on all other occasions is described as 
prompt and forward to hear the cry of the 
afflicted, turns, at first, a deaf and regard- 
less ear to her supplication: the mercy is, 
as it were, slowly and reluctantly wrung 
from him. The secret of this apparent 
but unusual indifference to suffering no 


* John, vii., 35) nt 

+ She is called in one place a Canaanite, in an- 
other a Syro-Phoenician and a Greek. She was 
probably of Pheenician descent, and the Jews con- 
sidered the whole of the Pheenician race as descend- 
ed from the remnant of the Canaanites, who were 
not extirpated. She was a Greek as distinguished 
from a Jew, for the Jews divided mankind into 
Jews and Greeks, as the Greeks did into Greeks 
and Barbarians. 


2 ἐμ 


> 
« 


aid, 


; 
, 


a 


a 


2 
ee 
spt 
wd 
my 
ἤν 


7 ἡ δίκαιος this exclusive tone. 


i 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


doubt lies in the circumstances of the ease. 
Nothing would have been so repugnant to 
Jewish prejudice, especially at this junc- 
ture, as his admitting at once this recog- 
nition of his title, or his receiving and re- 
warding the homage of any stranger from 
the blood of Israel, particularly one de- 
scended from the accursed race of Canaan. 
The conduct of the apostles shows their 
harsh and Jewish spirit. They are in- 
dignant at her pertinacious importunity ; 
they almost insist on her peremptory dis- 
missal. That a stranger, a Canaanite, 
should share in the mercies of their mas- 
ter, does not seem to have entered into 
their thoughts : the brand of ancient con- 
demnation was upon her; the hereditary 
hatefulness of the seed of Canaan marked 
her as a fit object for malediction, as the 
appropriate prey of the evil spirits, as 
without hope of blessing from the God of 
Israel. Jesus himself at first seems to 
He de- 
ares that he is sent only to the race of 
srael; that dogs (the common and oppro- 
brious term by which all religious aliens 
were described) could have no hope of 
sharing in the blessings jealously reserv- 
ed for the children of Abraham. The 
humility of the woman’s reply, “ Truth, 
Lord, but the dogs eat of the crumbs which 
fall from the master’s table,” might almost 
disarm the antipathy of the most zealous 
Jew. That the Gentiles might receive a 
kind of secondary and inferior benefit from 
their Messiah, was by no means in oppo- 
sition to the vulgar belief; it left them in 
full possession of their exclusive religious 
dignity, while it was rather flattering to 
their pride than debasing to their preju- 
dices, that, with such limitation, the power 
of their Redeemer should be displayed 
among the Gentile foreigners. By his 
condescension, therefore, to their preju- 
dices, Jesus was enabled to display his 
own benevolence, without awakening, or 
confirming, if already awakened, the quick 
suspicions of his followers. 

After this more remote excursion, Je- 
Jesus still in SUS appears again, for a short 
partial con- time, nearer his accustomed res- 
cealment. idence ; but still hovering, as it 
were, on the borders, and lingering rather 
in the wild, mountainous region to the 
north and east of the lake, than descend- 
ing to the more cultivated and populous 
districts to the west.* But here his fame 
follows him; and even in these desert re- 
gions, multitudes, many of them bearing 
their sick and afflicted relatives, perpet- 


* This may be assigned to the period between 
the Passover and the Pentecost. 


107 


- aac 
ually assemble around him.* His con- 
duct displays, as it were, a continual strug- 


gle between his benevolence and his eau- ~~ 


tion ; he seems as if he could not refrain 
from the indulgence of his goodness, while, 
at the same time, he is aware that every 
new cure may reawaken the dangerous 
enthusiasm from which he had so recently 
withdrawn himself. In the hill country 
of Decapolis, a deaf and dumb man is re- 
stored to speech; he is strictly enjoined, 
though apparently without effect, to pre- 
serve the utmost secrecy. A second time 
the starving multitude in the desert appeal 
to his compassion. They are again mi- 
raculously fed ; but Jesus, as though re- 
membering the immediate consequences 
of the former event, dismisses them at 
once, and, crossing in a boat to Dalma- 
nutha or Magdala, places, as it were, the 
lake between himself and their indiscreet 
zeal or irrepressible gratitude.t At Mag- 
dala he again encounters some of the 
Pharisaic party, who were, perhaps, re- 
turned from the Passover. ‘They reiter- 
ate their perpetual demand of some sign 
which may satisfy their impatient incre- 
dulity, and a third time Jesus repels them 
with an allusion to the great “‘ sign” of his 
resurrection. ᾿ 

As the Pentecost draws near, he again 
retires to the utmost borders of the land. 
He crosses back to Bethsaida, where a 
blind man is restored to sight, with the 
same strict injunctions of concealment.§ 
He then passes to the neighbourhood of 
Cesarea Philippi, at the extreme verge of 
the land, a modern town, recently built on 
the site of the older, now named Paneas, 
situated almost close to the fountains of 
the Jordan.|| 

Alone with his immediate disciples in 
this secluded region, he begins to unfold 
more distinctly, both his real character 
and his future fate, to their wondering 
ears. It is difficult to conceive Perplexity of 
the state of fluctuation and em- the apostles. 
barrassment in which the simple minds of 
the apostles of Jesus must have been con- 
tinually kept by what must have appeared 
the inexplicable, if not contradictory, con- 
duct and language of their master. Αἱ 
one moment he seemed entirely to lift the 
veil from his own character; the next, it 
fell again, and left them in more than 
their former state of suspense. Now all 
is clear, distinct, comprehensible ; then, 
again, dim, doubtful, mysterious. Here 
their hopes are elevated to the highest, 


"* Matt., xv., 29-31. Mark, vii., 31-37. 
+ Matt., xv., 32-39. Mark, viii., 1-9. 
1 Matt., xvi., 1-12. Mark, viii., 11-22. 
§ Mark, viii., 22-26. || Mark, viii., 27. 


? 


« 


ve 
108 ᾽ gate 


and all their preconceived notions of the 
greatness of the Messiah seem ripening 
into reality ; there, the strange foreboding 
of his humiliating fate, which he commu- 
nicates with more than usual distinctness, 
thrills them with apprehension. Their 
own destiny is opened to their prospect, 
crossed with the same strangely mingling 
lights and shadows. Atone time they are 
promised miraculous endowments, and 
seem justified in all their ambitious hopes 
οἵ eminence and distinction in the ap- 
proaching kingdom; at the next, they are 
warned that they must expect to share in 
the humiliations and afflictions of their 
teacher. 

Near Czesarea Philippi Jesus questions 
Jesus near his disciples as to the common 
Cesarea yiew of his character. By some, 
Philipp. it seems, he was supposed to be 
John the Baptist restored from the dead ; 
by others, Elias, who was to reappear on 
earth previous to the final revelation of 
the Messiah; by others, Jeremiah, who, 
according to a tradition to which we have 
before alluded, was to come to life: and 
when the ardent zeal of Peter recognises 
him under the most sacred title, which was 
universally considered as appropriated to 
the Messiah, ‘the Christ, the Son of the 
Living God,” his homage is no longer de- 
clined; and the apostle himself is com- 
mended in language so strong, that the 
pre-eminence of Peter over the rest of the 
twelve has been mainly supported by the 
words of Jesus employed on this occa- 
sion. The transport of the apostles at 
this open and distinct avowal of his char- 
acter, although at present confined to the 
secret circle of his more immediate adhe- 
rents, no doubt before long to be publicly 
proclaimed, and asserted with irresistible 
power, is almost instantaneously checked ; 
the bright, expanding prospects change 
in a moment to the gloomy reverse, when 
Jesus proceeds to foretel to a greater 
number of his followers* his approaching 
lamentable fate, the hostility of all the 
rulers of the nation, his death, and that 
which was probably the least intelligible 
part of the whole prediction—his resur- 
rection.| The highly-excited Peter can- 


1 


ΚΝ not endure the sudden and unexpected re- 


verse ; he betrays his reluctance to be- 


~ lieve that the Messiah, whom he had now, 


he supposed, full authority to array in the 
highest temporal splendour which his im- 
agination could suggest, could possibly 
apprehend so degraded a doom. Jesus 
not only represses the ardour of the apos- 


* Mark, viii., 34. 
t+ Matt., xvi., 21-28, 


8 Mark, viii, 31; ix. 1. 
Luke, iv., 18-27. 


~~ 


: ® 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tle, but enters at some length into the 
earthly dangers to which his disciples 
would be exposed, and the unworldly na- 
ture of Christian reward. ‘They listened, 
but how far they comprehended these sub- 
lime truths must be conjectured from their 
subsequent conduct. 

It was to minds thus preoccupied, on 
one hand full of unrepressed hopes of the 
instantaneous revelation of the Messiah in 
all his temporal greatness, on the other, 
embarrassed with the apparently irrecon- 
cilable predictions of the humiliation of 
their Master, that the extraordinary scene 
of the Transfiguration was pre- ‘The ‘Trans- 
sented.* Whateverexplanation figuration. 
we adopt of this emblematic vision, its 
purport and its effect upon the minds of 
the three disciples who beheld it remain 
the same.t Its significant sights and 
sounds manifestly announced the equality, 
the superiority of Jesus to the founder, 
and to him who may almost be called the 
restorer of the Theocracy, to Moses the 
lawgiver, and Elias the representative of 
the prophets. ‘These holy personages 
had, as it were, seemed to pay homage to 
Jesus; they had vanished, and he alone 
had remained. ‘The appearance of Moses 
and Elias at the time of the Messiah was 
strictly in accordance with the general 
tradition ;{ and when, in his astonishment, 
Peter proposes to make there three of 
those huts or cabins of boughs which the 
Jews were accustomed to run up as tem- 
porary dwellings at the time of the Feast 
of the Tabernacles, he seems to have sup- 
posed that the spirits of the lawgiver and 
the prophet were to make their permanent 
residence with the Messiah, and that this 
mountain was to be, as it were, another 
sacred place, a second Sinai, from which 
the new kingdom was to commence its 
dominion and issue its mandates. 

The other circumstances of the transac- 
tion, the height on which they stood, their 
own half-waking state, the sounds from 
heaven (whether articulate voices or thun- 
der, which appeared to give the Divine as- 
sent to their own preconceived notions of 


* Tradition has assigned this scene to Mount 
Tabor, probably for no better reason than because 
Tabor is the best known and most conspicuous 
height in the whole of Galilee. The order of the 
narrative points most distinctly to the neighbour- 
hood of Czsarea Philippi, and the Mons Paneus is 
a much more probable situation. 

+ Matt.,xvil., 1-21, Mark, ix.,2-29. Luke, ix., 
28-42. a eg 

+ Dixit sanctus benedictus Mosi, sicut vitam 
tuam dedisti pro Israele in hoc seculo, sic tempore 
futuro, tempore Messiz, quando mittam ad eos 
Eliam prophetam vos duo venietis simul.—Debar. 
Rab., 293. Compare Lightfoot, Schoetgen, and 
Eisenmenger, in loco. 


. » 
Ψ « * 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. . 


the Messiah), the wonderful change in the 
appearance of Jesus, the glittering cloud 
which seemed to absorb the two spirits, 
and leave Jesus alone upon the mountain 
—all the incidents of this majestic and 
mysterious scene, whether presented as 
dreams before their sleeping, or as visions 
before their waking senses, tended to ele- 
vate still higher their already exalted no- 
tions of their master. Again, however, 
they appear to have been doomed to hear 
a confirmation of that which, if their re- 
Juctant minds had not refused to entertain 
the humiliating thought, would have de- 
pressed them to utter despondency. After 
healing the demoniac, whom they had in 
vain attempted to exorcise, the assurance 
of his approaching death is again renewed, 
and in the clearest language, by their 
master.* 

From the distant and the solitary scenes 
where these transactions had taken place, 
Jesus now returns to the populous district 
about Capernaum. On his entrance into 
Tribute the city, the customary payment of 
money. half ashekel for the maintenance of 

he Temple, a capitation tax which was 
levied on every Jew, in every quarter of 
the world, is demanded of Jesus.t How, 
then, will he act, who but now declared 
himself to his disciples as the Messiah, the 
Son of God? Will he claim his privilege 
of exemption as the Messiah? Will the 
Son of God contribute to the maintenance 
of the Temple of the Father? or will the 
long-expected public declaration at length 
take place? Will the claim of immunity 
virtually confirm his claim to the privi- 
leges of his descent? He again reverts to 
his former cautious habit of never unne- 
cessarily offending the prejudices of the 
people; he complies with the demand, and 
the money is miraculously supplied. 

But on the minds of the apostles the 
Contention of recent scenes are still working 
the apostles. withunallayed excitement. The 
dark, the melancholy language of their 
Master appears to pass away and leave no 
impression upon their minds; while every 
circumstance which animates or exalts 
is treasured with the utmost care ; and in 
a short time, on their road to Capernaum, 
they are fiercely disputing among them- 
selves their relative rank in the instanta- 
neously expected kingdom of the Messiah.f 
πο δ΄ ᾿ς a RTT: 


* Matt., xvii., 22,23. Mark, ix., 30-32. Luke, 
ix., 44, 45. + Matt., xvii., 24-28. 

Ἑ It is observable that the ambitious disputes of 
the disciples concerning primacy or preference, 
usually follow the mention of Christ’s death and 
sesurrection.—Luke, ix., 44-46. Matt, xx., 18-20. 
Luke, xxii., 22-24. They had so strong a prepos- 
session that the resurrection of Christ (which they 
no doubt understood in a purely Jewish sense, compare 


a 


ε᾿ 


9109 


The beauty of the significant action by 
which Jesus repressed the rising emotions 


of their pride, is heightened by consider- 


ing it in relation to the immediate circum- 
stances.* Even now, at this crisis of their 
exaltation, he takes a child, Jesus com- 
places it in the midst of them, mendsachid 
and declares that only those in tion of the. 
such a state of innocence and apostles. 
docility are qualified to become members 
of the new community. Over such hum- 
ble and blameless beings, over children, 
and over men of childlike dispositions, the 
vigilant providence of God would watch 
with unsleeping care, and those who in- 
jured them would be exposed to his strong 
displeasure.t The narrow jealousy of the 
apostles, which would have prohibited a 
stranger from making use of the name of 
Jesus for the purpose of exorcism, was 
rebuked in the same spirit: all who would 
embrace the cause of Christ were to be 
encouraged rather than discountenanced. 
Some of the most striking sentences, and 
one parable which illustrates, in the most 
vivid manner, the extent of Christian for- 
giveness and mutual forbearance, close, 
as it were, this period of the Saviour’s 
life, by instilling into the minds of his fol- 
lowers, as the time of the final collision 
with his adversaries approaches, the mild- 
er and more benignant tenets of the evan- 
gelic religion. 

The Passover had come, and Jesus had 
remained in the obscure borders Feast of Tab- 
of the land; the Pentecost had etnacles. 
passed away, and the expected public as- 
sumption of the titles and functions of the 
Messiah had not yet»been made. The 
autumnal Feast of ‘Tabernaclest is at 
hand; his incredulous brethren again as- 
semble around him, and even the impatient 
disciples can no longer endure the sus- 
pense : they urge him with almost imperi- 
ous importunity to cast off at length his 
prudential, his mysterious reserve; at 
least to vindicate the faith of his follow- 
ers, and to justify the zeal of his partisans, 
by displaying those works, which he seem- 
ed so studiously to conceal among the ob- 
scure towns of Galilee, in the crowded 
metropolis of the nation, at sume great. 
period of national assemblage.§ 
to prevent any indiscreet protlamation of 


Mark, ix . !0) should introduce the earthly kingdom 
of the Messiah, that no declaration of our Lord 
could remove it from their minds: they always 
“understood not what was spoken.”—Lightfoot, in 
loco. * Matt, xviii. ]-6 Mark, 1x., 33-37 

+ Matt., xviii., 6-10. Mark, ix, 37. 

t On the fifteenth day of the seventh month.— 
Deut., xxili , 39-43. About the end of our Septem 
ber or the beginning of October. 

§ John, vii., 2, to vili., 59. 


Tn order - 


+. 


110° 


+ 
his approach, or any procession of his fol- 
lowers through the country, and probably 


lest the rulers should have time to organize 
their hostile measures, Jesus disguises 
under ambiguous language his intention 
of going up to Jerusalem ; he permits his 
brethren, who suppose that he is still in 
Gaiilee, to set forward without him. Still, 
however, his movements are the subject 
of anxious inquiry among the assembling 
multitudes in the capital ; and many secret 
and half-stifled murmurs among the Gali- 
leans, some exalting his virtues, others 
representing him as a dangerous disturber 
of the public peace, keep up the general 
curiosity about his character and designs.* 
On a sudden, in the midst of the 
festival, he appears in the Tem- 
ple, and takes his station as a 
yee teacher. The rulers seem to have 

een entirely off their guard ; and the mul- 
titude are perplexed by the bold and, as 
yet, uninterrupted publicity with which 
a man, whom the Sanhedrin were well 
known to have denounced as guilty of a 
capital offence, entered the court of the 
Temple, and calmly pursued his office of 
instructing the people. The fact that he 
had taken on himself that office was of it- 
self unprecedented and surprising to many. 
As we have observed before, he belonged 
to no school, he had been bred at the feet 
of none of the recognised and celebrated 
teachers, yet he assumed superiority to 
all, and arraigned the whole of the wise 
men of vainglory rather than of sincere 
piety. His own doctrine was from a 
higher source, and possessed more un- 
deniable authority. He even boldly an- 
ticipated the charge, which he knew would 
be renewed against him, his violation of 
the Sabbath by his works of mercy. He 
accused them of conspiring against his 
life; a charge which seems to have ex- 
cited indignation as well as astonishment. 
The suspense and agitation of the assem- 
blage are described with a few rapid but 


Jesus in the 
Temple at 
Jerusalem. 


_ singularly expressive touches. It was part 


of the vague popular belief that the Mes- 
siah would appear in some strange, sud- 
den, and surprising manner. The circum- 
stances of his coming were thus left to 
the imaginatjon of each to fill up, accord- 
ing to his own notions of that which was 
striking and magnificent. But the extra- 
ordinary incidents which attended the birth 
of Jesus were forgotten, or had never been 
generally known; his origin and extrac- 
tion were supposed to be ascertained; he 
appeared but as the legitimate descendant 
of an humble Galilean family ; his acknow]- 


* John, vil., 11-13, t Id., 19-24, 


ν 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


edged brethren were ordinary and undis- 
tinguished men. “ We know this man 
whence he is; but when Christ cometh 
no man knoweth whence he is.” His 
mysterious allusions to his higher descent 
were heard with mingled feelings of in- 
dignation and awe. On the multitude his 
wonderful works had made a favourable 
impression, which was not a little in- 
creased by the inactivity and hesitation 
of the rulers. The Sanhedrin, perplexity of 
in which the Pharisaic party the Sanhedrin. 
still predominated, were evidently unpre- 
pared, and had concerted no measures 
either to counteract his progress in the 
public mind, or to secure his person. Their 
authority in such a case was probably, in 
the absence of the Roman prefect, or with- 
out the concurrence of the commander of 
the Roman guard in the Antonia, by no 
means clearly ascertained. With every 
desire, therefore, for his apprehension, 
they at first respected his person, and 
their non-interference was mistaken for 
connivance, if not as a sanction for his 
proceedings. They determine at length 
on stronger measures; their officers are 
sent out to arrest the offender, but seem 
to have been overawed by the tranquil dig- 
nity and commanding language of Jesus, 
and were, perhaps, in some degree controll- 


ed by the manifest favour of the people.* _ 
On the great day of the feast, the agita- 


tion of the assembly, as well as the per- 
plexity of the Sanhedrin, is at its height. 
Jesus still appears publicly; he makes a 
striking allusion to the ceremonial of the 
day. Water was drawn from the hallow- 
ed fountain of Siloah, and borne into the 
Temple with the sound of the trumpet and 
with great rejoicing. ‘‘ Who,” say the 
rabbins, “ hath not seen the rejoicing on 
the drawing of this water, hath seen no 
rejoicing at all.” They sang in the pro- 
cession, “ with joy shall they draw water 
from the wells of salvation.”t In the 
midst of this tumult, Jesus, according to 
his custom, calmly diverts the attention 
to the great moral end of his own teach- 
ing, and, in allusion to the rite, declares that 
from himself are to flow the real living 
waters of salvation. The ceremony al- 
most appears to have been arrested in its 
progress; and open discussions of his 
claim to be considered as the Messiah di 
vide the wondering multitude. The San 
hedrin find that they cannot depend on 
their own officers, whom they accuse of 
surrendering themselves to the popular 
deception, in favour of one condemned by 
the rulers of the nation. Even within 


* John, vii., 32. { Id. ib. 32-39. Lightfoot, in loc. 


᾿ς. 


» 


- 


HISTORY ms CHRISTIANITY. 
a Ὗ " 


their council, Nicodemus, the secret pros- 


111 


‘turning the current of popular odium, or " 


elyte of Jesus, ventures to interfere in his|even contempt, upon his assailants; the 


behalf; and though, with the utmost eau- 
tion, he appeals to the law, and asserts 
the injustice of condemning Jesus without 
“a hearing (he seems to have desired that 
Jesus might be admitted publicly to plead 
his Own cause before the Sanhedrin), he 
is accused by the more violent of leaning 
to the Galilean party—the party which 
bore its own condemnation in the simple 
fact of adhering to a Galilean prophet. 
The council dispersed without coming to 
any decision. 

On the next day, for the former transac- 
Woman tions had taken place in the earlier 
taken in part of the week, the last, the most 
adultery. crowded and solemn day of the 
festival, a more insidious attempt is made, 
whether from a premeditated or fortuitous 
circumstance, to undermine the growing 
popularity of Jesus; an attempt to make 
him assume a judicial authority in the case 
of a woman taken in the act of adultery. 
Such an act would probably have been re- 
sisted by the whole Sanhedrin as an inva- 
sion of their province ; and as it appeared 
that he must either acquit or condemn the 
criminal, in either case he would give an 
advantage to his adversaries. If he in- 
clined to severity, they might be able, not- 
withstanding the general benevolence of 
his character, to contrast their own leni- 
ency in the administration of the law 
(this was the characteristic of the Phar- 
isaic party which distinguished them 
from the Sadducees, and of this the Rab- 
binical writings furnish many curious illus- 
trations) with the rigour of the new teach- 
er, and thus to conciliate the naturally 
compassionate feelings of the people, 
which would have been shocked by the 
unusual spectacle of a woman suffering 
death, or even condemned to capital pun- 
ishment, for such an offence.* If, on the 
other hand, he acquitted her, he abrogated 
the express letter of the Mosaic statute ; 
and the multitude might be inflamed by 
this new evidence of that which the ruling 
party had constantly endeavoured to instil 
into their minds, the hostility of Jesus to 
the law of their forefathers, and his secret 
design of abolishing the whole long-rev- 
erenced and heaven-enacted code. No- 
thing can equal, if the expression may be 
ventured, the address of Jesus in extri- 
cating himself from this difficulty; his 


* Grotius has a different view: Ut eum accusa- 
rent aut apud Romanos imminute majestatis, aut 
apud populum imminut# libertatis. That they 
might accuse him to the Romans of encroaching on 
their authority, or to the people of surrendering 
their rights and independence, 


manner in which, by summoning them to 
execute the law, he extorts a tacit confes- 
sion of their own loose morals: “ He that 
is without sin among you, let him first cast 
a stone at her” (this being the office of the 
chief accuser) ; and finally shows mercy 
to the accused, without in the least inval- 
idating the decision of the law against the 
crime, yet not without the most gentle and 
effective moral admonition. 

After this discomfiture of his opponents, 
Jesus appears to have been per- jesus teach- 
mitted to pursue his course of es in the 
teaching undisturbed, until new 7°™Ple 
circumstances occurred to inflame the re- 
sentment of his enemies. He had taken 
his station in a part of the Temple court 
called the Treasury. His language be- 
came more mysterious, yet, at the same 
time, more authoritative; more full of 
those allusions to his character as the 
Messiah, to his Divine descent, and at 
length to his pre-existence. The former 
of these were in some degree familiar to 
the popular conception ; the latter, though 
it entered into the higher notion of the 
Messiah, which was prevalent among 
those who entertained the loftiest views of 
his character, nevertheless, from the man- 
ner in which it was expressed, jarred with 
the harshest discord upon the popular ear. 
They listened with patience to Jesus while 
he proclaimed himself the light of the 
world: though they questioned his right 
to assume the title of ““Son of the Heav- 
enly Father” without farther witness than 
he had already produced, they yet permit- 
ted him to proceed in his discourse: they 
did not interrupt him when he still farther 
alluded, in dark and ambiguous terms, to 
his own fate: when he declared that God 
was with him, and that his doctrines were 
pleasing to the Almighty Father, a still 
more favourable impression was made, 
and many openly espoused his belief; but 
when he touched on their rights and priv- | 
ileges as descendants of Abraham, the sub- 
ject on which, above all, they were most 
jealous and sensitive, the collision became 
inevitable. He spoke of their freedom, 
the moral freedom from the slavery of 
their own passions, to which they were to 
be exalted by the revelation of the truth; 
but freedom was a word which to them 
only bore another sense. They broke in 
at once with indignant denial that the race 
of Abraham, however the Roman troops 
were guarding their Temple, had ever for- 
feited their national independence.* He 


* John, viii., 33. 


112 


“ spoke as if the legitimacy of their descent 

_ from Abraham depended not on their he- 
reditary genealogy, but on the moral evi- 
dence of their similarity in virtue to their 
great forefather. The good, the pious, the 
gentle Abraham was not the father of 
those who were meditating the murder of 
an innocent man. If their fierce and san- 
guinary dispositions disqualified them from 
being the children of Abraham, how much 
more from being, as they boasted, the 
adopted children of God; the spirit of evil, 
in whose darkest and most bloody temper 
they were ready to act, was rather the 
parent of men with dispositions so diabol- 
ic.* At this their wrath bursts forth in 
more unrestrained vehemence ; the worst 
and most bitter appellations by which a 
Jew could express his hatred, were heaped 
on Jesus; he is called a Samaritan, and 
declared to be under demoniac possession. 
But when Jesus proceeded to assert his 
title to the Messiahship, by proclaiming 
that Abraham had received some intima- 
tion of the future great religious revolu- 
tion to be effected by him; when he was 
“not fifty years old” (that is, not arrived 
at that period when the Jews, who assu- 
med the public offices at thirty, were re- 
leased from them on account of their age), 
declared that he had existed before Abra- 
ham; when he thus placed himself, not 
merely on an equality with, but asserted 
his immeasurable superiority to, the great 
father of their race; when he uttered the 
awful and significant words which identi- 
fied him, as it were, with the great self- 
existent Deity, “ Before Abraham was, I 
am,” they immediately rushed forward to 
crush without trial, without farther hear- 
ing, him-whom they considered the self- 
convicted blasphemer. As there was al- 
ways some work of building or repair go- 
ing on within the Temple, which was not 
considered to be finished till many years 
after, these instruments for the fulfilment 
of the legal punishment were immediately 
at hand; and Jesus only escaped from be- 
ing stoned on the spot by passing, during 
the wild and frantic tumult, through the 
‘midst of his assailants, and withdrawing 
from the court of the Temple. 

But even in this exigency he pauses at 
Healing the NO great distance to perform an 
blindman. act of mercy.t There was a 


a Ἠ οὡ-- --- Θ ΓΤ ΣΦὃΦὃὃὉὁὉὁὉὁὉὁὉΦ ΟΦ ὋΦὋΦὋΦὋῬ᾽ἩἮὀ 


* John, viii., 44. 

+ I hesitate at the arrangement of no passage in 
the whole narrative more than this history of the 
blind man Many harmonists have placed % du- 
ring the visit of Jesus to Jerusalem at the Feast of 
Dedication, The connexion in the original, how- 
ever, seems more natural, as a continuation of the 
preceding incident; yet at first sight it seems ex- 

> 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


man, notoriously blind from his birth, who 
seems to have taken his accustomed sta- 
tion in some way leading to the Temple. 
Some of the disciples of Jesus had accom- 
panied him, and perhaps, as it were, cov- 
ered his retreat from his furious assail- 


ants; and as by this time, probably, being ~ 


safe from pursuit, they stopped near the 
place where the blind man stood. The 
whole history of the cure of this blind 
man is remarkable, as singularly illustra- 
tive of Jewish feeling and opinion, and on 
account both of the critical juncture at 
which it took place, and the strict judicial 
investigation which it seems to have un- 
dergone before the hostile Sanhedrin. The 
common popular belief ascribed every 
malady or affliction to some sin, of which 
it was the direct and providential punish- 
ment: a notion, as we have before hinted, 
of all others the most likely to harden the 
bigoted heart to indifference, or even con- 
tempt and abhorrence of the heaven-visit- 
ed, and, therefore, heaven-branded sufferer. 
This notion, which, however, was so over- 
powered by the strong spirit of national- 
ism as to obtain for the Jews in foreign 
countries the admiration of the heathen 
for their mutual compassion towards each 
other, while they had no kindly feeling for 
strangers, no doubt, from the language of 
Jesus on many occasions, exercised a 
most pernicious influence on the general 
character in their native land, where the 
lessons of Christian kindliness and human- 
ity appear to have been as deeply needed 
as they were unacceptable. But how was 
this notion of the penal nature of all suffer- 


tremely improbable that Jesus should have time, 
during his hurried escape, to work this miracle ; 
and, still more, that he should again encounter his 
enraged adversaries without dangerous or fatal con- 
sequences. We may, however, suppose that this 
incident took place without the Temple, probably 
in the street leading down from the Temple to the 
Valley of Kidron and to Bethany, where Jesus 
spent the night. The attempt to stone him was an 
outburst of popular tumult: it is clear that he had 
been guilty of no offence legally capital, or it would 
have been urged against him at his last trial, since 
witnesses could not have been wanting to his 
words: and it seems quite clear that, however they 
might have been glad to have availed themselves 
of any such ebullition of popular violence, as a court, 
the Sanhedrin, divided and in awe of the Roman 
power, was constrained to proceed with regularity 
and according to the strict letter of the law. Mac- 
knight would place the cure immediately after the 
escape from the Temple; the recognition of the 
man, and the subsequent proceedings, during the 
visit at the Dedication. But, in fact, the popular 
feeling seems to have been in a perpetual state of 
fluctuation ; at one instant their indignation was in- 
flamed by the language of Jesus; at the next, some 
one of his extraordinary works seems to have caused 
as strong a sensation, at least with a considerable 
party, in his favour. 


~ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 113 


ing to be reconciled with the fact of a man 
being born subject to one of the most 
grievous ὍΝ ga of our nature—the 
want of sight? ‘They were thus thrown 
back upon those other singular notions 
which prevailed among the Jews of that 
period: either his fathers or himself must 
have sinned. Was it, then, a malady in- 
herited from the guilt of his parents! or 
was the soul, having sinned in a pre-exist- 
ent state, now expiating its former of- 
fences in the present form of being? This 
notion, embraced by Plato in the West, 
was more likely to have been derived by 
the Jews from the East,* where it may be 
regularly traced from India through the 
different Oriental religions. Jesus at once 
corrected this inveterate error; and, having 
anointed the eyes of the blind man with 
clay, sent him to wash in the celebrated 
pool of Siloam, at no great distance from 
the street of the Temple. The return of 
the blind man restored to sight excited so 
much astonishment, that the by-standers 
began to dispute whether he was really 
the same who had been so long familiarly 
known. ‘The man set their doubts at rest 
by declaring himself to be the same. The 
Sanhedrin, now so actively watching the 
actions of Jesus, and, indeed, inflamed to 
the utmost resentment, had no course but, 
if possible, to invalidate the effect of such 
a miracle on the public mind; they hoped 
either to detect some collusion between 
the parties, or to throw suspicion on the 
whole transaction: at all events, the case 
was so public, that they could not avoid 
bringing it under the cognizance of their 
tribunal.t| The man was summoned, and, 
as it happened to have been the Sabbath, 
the stronger Pharisaic party were in hopes 
of getting rid of the question altogether 
by the immediate decision, that a man 
guilty of a violation of the law could not 
act under the sanction of God. But acon- 
siderable party in the Sanhedrin were still 
either too prudent, too just, or too much 
impressed by the evidence of the case to 
coneur in so summary a sentence. ‘This 
decision of the council appears to have led 
to. a more close investigation of the whole 
transaction. The first object appears to 


* It may be traced in the Egypto-Jewish book of 

the Wisdom of Solomon, viii., 19,20. The Phari- 

sees’ notion of the transmigration of souls may be 
found in Josephus, Ant., xvili., 1. 

+ Jt is a curious coincidence, that anointing a 
blind man’s eyes on the Sabbath is expressly for- 
bidden in the Jewish traditional law.—Kuinoel, in 
loc. According to Grotius, opening the eyes of the 
blind was an acknowledged sign of the Messiah. 
-—Midrash in Psalm exlvi., 8. Isa., xlii., 7. It was 
a miracle never known to be wrought by Moses or 
by any other prophet. 

Ῥ 


have been, by questioning the man him- 
self, to implicate him as an adherent of 
Jesus, and so to throw discredit upon his 
testimony. The man, either from caution, 
or ignorance of the character assumed by 
Jesus, merely replied that he believed him 
to be a prophet. Baffled on this point, 
the next step of the Pharisaic party is to 
inquire into the nature of the malady and 
the cure. The parents of the blind man 
are examined; their deposition simply af- 
firms the fact of their son having been 
born blind, and having received his sight ; 
for it was now notorious that Conduct of 
the Sanhedrin had threatened the Sanhedrin. 
all the partisans of Jesus with the terrible 
sentence of excommunication; and the 
timid parents, trembling before this awful 
tribunal, refer the judges to their son for 
all farther information on this perilous 
question. 

The farther proceedings of the Sanhe- 
drin are still more remarkable: unable to 
refute the fact of the miraculous cure, they 
endeavour, nevertheless, to withhold from 
Jesus all claim upon the gratitude of him 
whom he had relieved, and all participa- 
tion in the power with which the instan- 
taneous cure was wrought. The man is 
exhorted to give praise for the blessing to 


God alone, and to abandon the cause οὔ 


Jesus of Nazareth, whom they authorita- 
tively denounce as a sinner. He rejoins, 
with straightforward simplicity, that he 
simply deposes to the fact of his blindness, 
and of his having received his sight: on 
such high questions as the character of 
Jesus, he presumes not at first to dispute 
with the great legal tribunal, with the 
chosen wisdom of the nation. Wearied, 
however, at length with their pertinacious 
examination, the man seems to discover 
the vantage ground on which he stands ; 
the altercation becomes more spirited on 
his part, more full of passionate violence 
on theirs. He declares that he has al- 
ready again and again repeated the cir- 
cumstances of the transaction, and that it 
is in vain for them to question him farther, 
unless they are determined, if the truth of 
the miracle should be established, to ac- 
knowledge the Divine mission of Jesus. 
This seems to have been the object at 
which the more violent party in the San- 
hedrin aimed; so far to throw him off his 
guard as to make him avow himself the 
partisan of Jesus, and by this means to 
shake his whole testimony. On the in- 
stant they begin to revile him, to appeal 
to the popular clamour, to declare him ἃ 
secret adherent of Jesus, while they were 
the steadfast disciples of Moses. God 
was acknowledged to have spoken by 


ἦψ 


114 


> 
Moses, and to compare Jesus with him 
was inexpiable impiety: Jesus, of whose 
origin they professed themselves ignorant. 
The man rejoins in still bolder terms, 
“Why, herein is a marvellous thing, that 
ye know not from whence he is, but yet 
he hath opened mine eyes.” He continues 
in the same strain openly to assert his 
conviction that no man, unless commis- 
sioned by God, could work such wonders. 
Their whole history, abounding, as it did, 
with extraordinary events, displayed no- 
thing more wonderful than that which had 
so recently taken place in his person. This 
daring and disrespectful language excites 
the utmost indignation in the whole as- 
sembly. They revert to the popular opin- 
ion, that the blindness with which the man 
was born was a proof of his having been 
accursed of God. ‘Thou wast altogether 
born in sin, and dost thou teach us 1) God 
marked thy very birth, thy very cradle, 
with the indelible sign of his displeasure ; 
and therefore the testimony of one branded 
by the wrath of Heaven can be of no 
value. Forgetful that, even on their own 
principle, if, by being born blind, the man 
was manifestly an object of the Divine 
anger, his gaining his sight was an evi- 
dence equally unanswerable of the Divine 
favour. But, while they traced the hand 
of God in the curse, they refused to trace 
it in the blessing; to close the eyes was 
a proof of Divine power, but to open them 
none whatever. The fearless conduct, 
however, of the man appears to have 
united the divided council; the formal and 
terrible sentence of excommunication was 
pronounced, probably for the first time, 
against any adherent of Jesus. The evan- 
gelist concludes the narrative, as if to show 
that the man was not as yet a declared 
disciple of Christ, with a second interview 
between the blind man and Jesus, in which 
Jesus openly accepted the title of the Mes- 
siah, the Son of God, and received the 
homage of the now avowed adherent. 
Nor did Jesus discontinue his teaching on 
account of this declared interposition of 
the Sanhedrin; his manifest superiority 
throughout this transaction rather appears 
to have caused a new schism in the coun- 
eil, which secured him from any violent 
measures on their part until the termina- 
tion of the festival. 

Another collision takes place with some 
of the Pharisaic party, with whom he now 
seems scarcely to keep any measure: he 
openly denounces them as misleading the 

eople, and declares himself the “ one true 
Shepherd.” Whither Jesus retreated after 
_this conflict with the ruling powers, we 


A have no distinct information ; most proba- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


bly, however, into Galilee ;* nor is it pos- 
sible with certainty to assign those events, 
which filled up the period between the 
autumnal Feast of Tabernacles and that 
of the Dedication of the Temple, which 
took place in the winter. Now, however, » 
Jesus appears more distinctly to have . 
avowed his determination not to remain 
in his more concealed and private charac- 
ter in Galilee; but, when the occasion 
should demand, when, at the approaching 
Passover, the whole nation should be as- 
sembled in the metropolis, he would con- 
front them, and at length bring his accept- 
ance or rejection to a crisis.| He now, 
at times at least, assumes greater state ; 
messengers are sent before him to pro- 
claim his arrival in the different towns and 
villages; and, as the Feast of Dedication 
draws near, he approaches the 
borders of Samaria, and sends 
forward some of his followers into a neigh- 
bouring village to announce his approach.} 
Whether the Samaritans may have enter- 
tained some hopes, from the rumour of 
his former proceedings in their country, 
that, persecuted by the Jews, and avow- 
edly opposed to the leading parties in Jeru- 
salem, he might espouse their party in the 
national quarrel, and were therefore in- 
stigated by disappointment as well as jeal- 
ousy ; or whether it was merely an acci- 
dental outburst of the old irreconcilable 
feud, the inhospitable village refused to 
receive him.§ The disciples were now 
elate with the expectation of the approach- 
ing crisis; on their minds all the dispirit- 
ing predictions of the fate of their Master 

* From this period, the difficulty of arranging a 
consistent chronological narrative out of the sep- 
arate relations of the evangelists increases to the 
greatest degree. Mr. Greswell, to establish his sys- 
tem, is actually obliged to make Jesus, when the 
Samaritans refuse to receive him because “his face 
was as though he would go to Jerusalem,” to be 
travelling in the directly opposite direction. He 
likewise, in my opinion, on quite unsatisfactory 
grounds, endeavours to prove that the ‘village of 
Martha and Mary was not Bethany.” Any arrange- 
ment which places (Luke, x., 38-42) the scene in 
the house of Mary and Martha after the raising of 
Lazarus, appears highly improbable. 

+ By taking the expression of St. Luke, “he 
steadfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem,” in this 
more general sense, many difficulties, if not avoided, 
are considerably diminished. 1 Luke, ix., 51-56, 

§ The attendance of the Jews at the Feast of 
the Dedication, a solemnity of more recent institu- 
tion, was not unlikely to be still more obnoxious to 
the possessors of the rival temple than the other 
great national feasts. This consideration, in the 
want of more decisive grounds, may be some argu- 
ment for placing this event at the present period. 
I find that Doddridge had before suggested this al- 
lusion. The inhabitants of Ginea (Josephus, Ant., 
xx, ch. 6) fell on certain Galileans proceeding to 
Ph law for one of the feasts, and slew many of 
them. 


Near Samaria. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


passed away without the least impression ; 
they were indignant that their triumphant 
procession should be arrested; and with 
these more immediate and peculiar mo- 
tives mingled, no doubt, the implacable 
spirit of national hostility. They thought 
that the hour of vengeance was now come; 
that even their gentle Master would resent, 
on these deadliest foes of the race of Is- 
real, this deliberate insult on his dignity ; 
that, as he had in some respects resem- 
bled the ancient prophets, he would now 
not hesitate to assume that fiercer and 
more terrific majesty, with which, accord- 
’ ing to their ancient histories, these holy 
men had at times been avenged; they en- 
treated their Master to call down fire from 
heaven to consume the village. Jesus 
simply replied by a sentence which at 
once established the incalculable differ- 
ence between his own religion and that 
which it was to succeed. ‘This sentence, 
most truly sublime and most character- 
istic of the evangelic religion, ever since 
the establishment of Christianity has been 
struggling to maintain its authority against 
the still-reviving Judaism, which, insep- 
arable, it should seem, from uncivilized and 
unchristian man, has constantly endeav- 
oured to array the Deity rather in his at- 
tributes of destructive power than of pre- 
serving mercy: “The Son of Man is not 
zome to destroy men’s lives, but to save 
vhem.” So speaking, he left the inhospi- 
table Samaritans unharmed, and calmly 
passed to another village. 

It appears to me probable that he here 
left the direct road to the metropolis 
through Samaria, and turned aside to the 
district about Scythopolis and the valley 
of the Jordan, and most likely crossed 
into Perea.* From hence, if not before, 
he sent out his messengers with greater 
regularity ;f and, it might seem, to keep up 
some resemblance with the established 
institutions of the nation, he chose the 
number of Seventy, a number already 
sanctified in the notions of the people as 
that of the great Sanhedrin of the nation, 
who deduced their own origin and author- 
ity from the Council of Seventy establish- 
ed by Moses in the wilderness. ‘The Sev- 
enty, after a short absence, returned and 
made a favourable report of the influence 
which they had obtained over the people.t 
The language of Jesus, both in his charge 
to his disciples and in his observations 
on the report of their success, appears to 


* After the visit to Jerusalem at the Feast of the 
Dedication, he went again (John, x., 40) into the 
country beyond Jordan; he must therefore hav 
been there before the Feast. ' 

t Luke, x., 1-16. t Ibid., 17-20. 


115 


indicate the still approaching crisis; it 
should seem that even the towns in which 
he had wrought his mightiest works, Cho- 
razin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum, at least 
the general mass of the people and the 
influential rulers, now had declared against 
him. They are condemnéd in terms of 
unusual severity for their blindness ; yet ᾿ἡ 
among the meek and humble he had a 
still increasing hold; and the days were 
now at hand which the disciples were per- 
mitted to behold, and for which the wise 
and good for many ages had been looking 
forward with still baffled hopes.* 

It was during the absence of the Seven- 
ty, or immediately after their Feast of the 
return, that Jesus, who perhaps Dedication. 
had visited, in the interval, many emia 
towns and villages both of Gal- lem. 

1166 and Pera, which his central position 
near the Jordan commanded, descended 
to the winter Festival of the Dedication.t 
Once it is clear that he drew near to Je- 
rusalem, at least as near as the village of 
Bethany; and, though not insensible to 
the difficulties of this view, we cannot but 
think that this village, about two miles’ 
distance from Jerusalem, and the house 
of the relations of Lazarus, was the place 
where he was concealed during both his 
two later unexpected and secret visits to 
the metropolis, and where he, in general, 
passed the nights during the week of the 
last Passover.{ His appearance at this 
festival seems to have been, like the for- 
mer, sudden and unlooked-for. The mul- 
titude probably at this time was not so 
great, both on account of the season, and 
because the festival was kept in other pla- 


_ * Luke, x., 24. The parable of the good Samar- 
itan may gain in impressiveness if considered in 
connexion with the recent transactions in Samaria, 
and as perhaps delivered during the journey to Je- 
rusalem, near the place where the scene is laid: 
the wild and dangerous country between Jericho 
and Jerusalem. 

+ This feast was instituted by Judas Maccabeus, 
1 Macc., iv., 52-56. It was kept on the 25th of the 
month Cisleu, answering to our 15th of December. 
The houses were illuminated at night during the 
whole period of the feast, which lasted eight days. 
—John, x., 22-39. 

{In connecting Luke, x., 38-42, with John, x., 
22-39, there is the obvious difficulty of the former 
evangelist mentioning the comparatively unimpor- 
tant circumstance which he relates, and being en- 
tirely silent about the latter. But this objection is 
common to all harmonies of the Gospels. The si- 
lence of the three former evangelists concerning 
the events in Jerusalem is equally remarkable un- 
der every system, whether, according to Bishop 
Marsh and the generality of the great German 
scholars, we suppose the evangelists to have com- 
piled from a common document, or adhere towany 
of the older theories, that each wrote either entire- 
ly independently or as supplementary to the prece- 
ding evangelists. 


116 


ces besides Jerusalem,* though, of course, 
with the greatest splendour and concourse 
in the Temple itself. Jesus was seen 
walking in one of the porticoes or arcades 
which surrounded the outer court of the 
Temple, that to the east, which, from its 
greater splendour, being formed of a triple 
instead of a double row of columns, was 
called by the name of Solomon’s. The 
leading Jews, whether unprepared for 
more violent measures, or with some in- 
sidious design, now address him, seem- 
ingly neither in a hostile nor unfriendly 
tone. It almost appears that, having be- 
fore attempted force, they are now incli- 
ned to try the milder course of persuasion ; 
their language sounds like the expostula- 
tion of impatience. Why, they inquire, 
does he thus continue to keep up this 
strange excitement? Why thus persist in 
endangering the public peace? Why does 
he not avow himself at once? Why does 
he not distinctly assert himself to be the 
Christ, and by some signal, some public, 
some indisputable evidence of his being 
the Messiah, at once set at rest the doubts, 
and compose the agitation of the troubled 
nation? The answer of Jesus is an ap- 
peal to the wonderful works which he had 
already wrought; but this evidence the 
Jews, in their present state and disposi- 
tion of mind, were morally incapable of 
appreciating. He had already avowed 
himself, but in language unintelligible to 
their ears; a few had heard him, a few 
would receive the reward of their obedi- 
ence, and those few were, in the simple 
phrase, the sheep who heard his voice. 
But, as he proceeded, his language assu- 
med a higher, a more mysterious tone. 
He spoke of his unity with the great Fa- 
ther of the worlds. “I and my Father 
are one.”t However understood, his 
words sounded to the Jewish ears so like 
direct blasphemy, as again to justify on 
the spot the summary punishment of the 
law. Without farther trial, they prepared 
to stone him where he stood. Jesus ar- 
rested their fury on the instant by a calm 
appeal to the manifest moral goodness, as 
well as the physical power, of the Deity 
displayed in his works. The Jews, in 
plain terms, accused him of blasphemous- 
ly ascribing to himself the title of God. 
He replied by reference to their sacred 
books, in which they could not deny that 
the Divine name was sometimes ascribed 
to beings of an inferior rank; how much 
less, therefore, ought they to be indignant 
at ghat sacred name being assumed by 
him, in whom the great attributes of Di- 


* Lightfoot, in loco. + John, x., 30. 


. . 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


vinity, both the power and the goodness, 
had thus manifestly appeared. His won- 
derful works showed the intercommunion 
of nature in this respect between himself 
and the Almighty. This explanation, far 
beyond their moral perceptions, only ex- 
cited a new burst of fury, which Jesus 
eluded, and, retiring again from the capi- 
tal, returned to the district beyond the 
Jordan. 

The three months which elapsed be- 
tween the Feast of Dedication peica be- 
and the Passover* were no doubt tween the 
occupied in excursions, if not in Mg ne 
regular progresses, through the and the 
different districts of the Holy Passover. 
Land, on both sides of the river, which his 
central position, near one of the most cel- 
ebrated fords, was extremely well suited 
to command. Wherever he went, multi- 
tudes assembled around him; and at one 
time the government of Herod was seized 
with alarm, and Jesus received informa- 
tion that his life was in danger, and that 
he might apprehend the same fate which 
had befallen John the Baptist if he re- 
mained in Galilee or Perea, both which 
districts were within the dominions of 
Herod. It is remarkable that this intelli- 
gence came from some of the Pharisaic 
party,} whether suborned by Herod, thus 
peacefully, and without incurring any far- 
ther unpopularity, to rid his dominions of 
one who might become either the design- 
ing or the innocent cause of tumult and 
confusion (the reflection of Jesus on the 
crafty character of Herod{ may confirm 
the notion that the Pharisees were acting 
under his insidious direction), or whether 
the Pharisaic party were of themselves 
desirous to force Jesus, before the Pass- 
over arrived, into the province of Judea, 
where the Roman government might ei- 
ther, of itself, be disposed to act with de- 
cision, or might grant permission to the 
Sanhedrin to interpose its authority with 
the utmost rigour. But it was no doubt in 
this quarter that he received intelligence 
of a very different nature, that led to one 
of his preternatural works, which of itself 


* Luke, xi., xii., xiii., to verse 30, also to xviii., 
34, Matt., xix., xx., to verse 28. Mark, x., 1-31. 

t Luke, xii., 31-35. 

1 Wetstein has struck out the character of Her- 
od with great strength and success: “ Hic, ut 
plerique ejus temporis principes et presides, mores 
ad exemplum Tiberii imperatoris, qui uullam ex 
virtutibus suis magis quam dissimulationem dilige- 
bat, composuit ; tune autem erat annosa vulpes, 
cum jam triginta annos principatum gessisset, et 
diversissimas personas egisset, personam servi apud 
Tiberium, domini apud Galileam, amici Sejano, Ar- 


| tabano, fratribus suis Archelao, Philippo, Herodi al- 


teri, quorum studia erant diversissima, et inter se 
et a studiis Herodis ipsius.”—In loc. 


. 


was the most extraordinary, and evidently 
made the deepest impression upon the 
public mind.* The raising of Lazarus 
may be considered the proximate cause 
of the general conspiracy for his death, by 
throwing the popular feeling more decli- 
dedly on his side, and thereby deepening 
the fierce animosity of the rulers, who 
now saw that they had no alternative but 
to crush him at once, or to admit his tri- 
umph. 

We have supposed that it was at the 
Raising of house of Lazarus, or of his rela- 
Lazarus. tives, in the village of Bethany, 
that Jesus had passed the nights during 
his recent visits to Jerusalem: at some 
distance from the metropolis he receives 
information of the dangerous illness of 
that faithful adherent, whom he seems to 
have honoured with peculiar attachment. 
He at first assures his followers, in ambig- 
uous language, of the favourable termina- 
tion of the disorder; and, after two days’ 
delay, notwithstanding the remonstrances 
of his disciples, who feared that he was 
precipitately rushing, as it were, into the 
toils of his enemies, and who resolve to 
accompany him, though in acknowledged 
apprehension that his death was inevita- 
ble, Jesus first informs his disciples of the 
actual death of Lazarus, yet, nevertheless, 
persists in his determination of visiting 
Bethany. On his arrival at Bethany, the 
dead man, who, according to Jewish usage, 
had no doubt been immediately buried, had 
been four days in the sepulchre. The 
house was full of Jews, who had come to 
console, according to their custom, the af- 
flicted relatives; and the characters as- 
signed in other parts of the history to the 
two sisters are strikingly exemplified in 
their conduct on this mournful occasion. 
The more active Martha hastens to meet 
Jesus, laments his absence at the time of 
her brother’s death, and, on his declara- 
tion of the resurrection of her brother, re- 
verts only to the general resurrection of 
mankind, a truth imbodied in a certain 
sense in the Jewish creed., So far Christ 
answers in language which intimates his 
own close connexion with that resurrec- 
tion of mankind. The gentler Mary falls 
at the feet of Jesus, and, with many tears, 

expresses the same confidence of his pow- 
er, had he been present, of averting her 
_brother’s death. So deep, however, is 
their reverence, that neither of them ven- 
tures the slightest word of expostulation 
at his delay; nor does either appear to 


* John, xi., 1-46. 


' HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


117 


have entertained the least hope of farther 
relief. The tears of Jesus himself appear 
to confirm the notion that the case is ut- 
terly desperate ; and some of the Jews, in 
a less kindly spirit, begin to murmur at 
his apparent neglect of a friend, to whom, 
nevertheless, he appears so tenderly at- 
tached. It should seem that it was in the 
presence of some of these persons, by no 
means well-disposed to his cause, that Je- 
sus proceeded to the sepulchre, summoned 
the dead body to arise, and was obeyed. 

The intelligence of this inconceivable 
event spread with the utmost rapidity to 
Jerusalem: the Sanhedrin was instantly 
summoned, and a solemn debate com- 
menced, finally to decide on their future 
proceedings towards Jesus. It had now 
become evident that his progress in the 
popular belief must be at once arrested, or 
the power of the Sanhedrin, the influence 
of the Pharisaic party, was lost for ever. 
With this may have mingled, in minds en- 
tirely ignorant of the real nature of the 
new religion, an honest and conscientious, 
though blind dread of some tumult or in- 
surrection taking place, which would give 
the Romans an excuse for wresting away 
the lingering semblance of national inde- 
pendence, to which they adhered with 
such passionate attachment. The high- 
priesthood was) now filled by Caiaphas, 
the son-in-law of Annas or Ananus ; for 
the Roman governors, as has been said, 
since the expulsion of Archelaus, either in 
the capricious or venal wantonness of 
power, or from jealousy of his authority, 
had perpetually deposed and reappointed 
this chief civil and religious magistrate of 
the nation. Caiaphas threw the weight 
of his official influence into the scale of 
the more decided and violent party; and 
endeavoured, as it were, to give an ap- 
pearance of patriotism to the meditated 
crime, by declaring the expediency of sac- 
rificing one life, even though innocent, for 
the welfare of the whole nation.* His 
language was afterward treasured in the 
memory of the Christians, as inadvertently 
prophetic of the more extensive benefits 
derived to mankind by the death of their 
Master. The death of Jesus was deliber- 
ately decreed ; but Jesus for the present 
avoided the gathering storm, withdrew 
from the neighbourhood of the metropolis, 
and retired to Ephraim, on the border of 
Judza, near the wild and mountainous 
region which divided Judea from Sa- 
maria.t 


* John, xi., 47-53. + Ibid., 54. 


118 * 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE LAST PASSOVER.——THE CRUCIFIXION. 


Tue Passover rapidly approached ; the 
Last Pass- roads from all quarters were al- 
over. ready crowded with the assem- 
bling worshippers. It is difficult for those 
who are ignorant of the extraordinary 
power which local religious reverence 
holds over Southern and Asiatic nations, 
to imagine the state of Judea and of Je- 
rusalem at the time of this great periodi- 
eal festival.* The rolling onward of 
countless and gathering masses of popu- 
lation to some of the temples in India; 
the caravans from all quarters of the 
Eastern world, which assemble at Mecca 
during the Holy Season; the multitudes 
which formerly flowed to Loretto or 
Rome at the great ceremonies, when the 
Roman Catholic religion held its unenfee- 
bled sway over the mind of Europe, do 
not surpass, perhaps scarcely equal, the 
sudden, simultaneous confluence, not of 
the population of a single city, but of the 
whole Jewish nation, towards the capital 
of Judea at the time of the Passover. 
Dispersed as they were throughout the 
world, it was not only the great mass of 
the inhabitants of Palestine, but many 
foreign Jews, who thronged from every 
quarter—from Babylonia, from Arabia, 
from Egypt, from Asia Minor and Greece, 
from Italy, probably even from Gaul and 
Spain. Some notion of the density and 
vastness of the multitude may be formed 
from the calculation of Josephus, who, 
having ascertained the number of paschal 
lambs sacrificed on one of these solemn 
occasions, which amounted to 256,500,t 
and assigning the ordinary number to a 
company who could partake of the same 
Victim, enumerated the total number of 
the pilgrims and residents in Jerusalem 
at 2,700,000. Through all this concourse 
of the whole Jewish race, animated more 
or less profoundly, according to their pe- 
culiar temperament, with the same _ na- 
tional and religious feelings, rumours 
about the appearance, the conduct, the 
pretensions, the language of Jesus, could 


*Miupior ἀπὸ μυρίων ὅσων πόλεων, οἱ μὲν διὰ 
γῆς, οἱ δὲ διὰ ϑαλάττης, ἐξ ἀνατολῆς καὶ δύσεως, 
καὶ ἄρκτου καὶ peonubplac, καθ᾽ ἐκάστην ἑορτὴν 
a τὸ ἱερὸν kataipovoiv.—Philo, de Monarch., 

+ Or, according to Mr. Greswell’s reading, 
266,500 


not but have spread abroad, and be com- 
municated with unchecked rapidity. The 
utmost anxiety prevails throughout the 
whole crowded city and its neighbour- 
hood, to ascertain whether this new 
prophet—this more, perhaps, than proph- 
et—will, as it were, confront at this sol- 
emn period the assembled nation, or, as 
on the last occasion, remain concealed in 
the remote parts of the country. The 
Sanhedrin are on their guard, and strict 
injunctions are issued that they may re- 
ceive the earliest intelligence of his ap- 
proach, in order that they may arrest him 
before he has attempted to make any im- 
pression on the multitude.* 

Already Jesus had either crossed the 
Jordan, or descended from the hill coun- 
try to the north. He had passed through 
Jericho, where he had been recognised by 
two blind men as the Son of David, the 
title of the Messiah, probably the most 
prevalent among the common people; 
and, instead of disclaiming the homage, 
he had rewarded the avowal by the res- 
toration of their sight to the suppliants.t+ 

On his way from Jericho to Jerusalem, 
but much nearer to the metropo- 
lis, he was hospitably received 
in the house of a wealthy publican named 
Zaccheus, who had been so impressed 
with the report of his extraordinary char- 
acter, that, being of small stature, he had 
climbed a tree by the roadside to see 
him pass by; and had evinced the sin- 
cerity of his belief in the just and gener- 
ous principles of the new faith, both by 
giving up at once half of his property to 
the poor, and offering the amplest restitu- 
tion to those whom he might have op- 
pressed in the exercise of his function as 
a publican.{ It is probable that Jesus 
passed the night, perhaps the whole of 
the Sabbath, in the house of Zaccheus, 
and set forth, on the first day of the week, 
through the villages of Bethphage and 
Bethany to Jerusalem. 

Let us, however, before we trace his 
progress, pause to ascertain, if possible, 
the actual state of feeling at this precise 
period among the different ranks and or- 
ders of the Jews. 

* John, xi., 55, 57. 


+ Matt., xx.,30. Mark, x., 46. Luke, xviii., 35, 
+ Luke, xix., 1-10, 


Zaccheus, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Jesus of Nazareth had now, for three 
years, assumed the character of a public 
teacher ; his wonderful works were gen- 
erally acknowledged ; all, no doubt, con- 
sidered him as an extraordinary being ; 
but whether he was the Messiah still, as 
it were, hung in the balance. His lan- 
guage, plain enough to those who could 
comprehend the real superiority, the real 
divinity of his character, was necessarily 
dark and ambiguous to those who were 
insensible to the moral beauty of his 
words and actions. Few, perhaps, be- 
yond his more immediate followers, look- 
ed upon him with implicit faith; many 
with doubt, even with hope; perhaps still 
greater numbers, comprising the more 
turbulent of the lower class, and almost 
all the higher and more influential, with 
incredulity, if not with undisguised ani- 
mosity. For, though thus for three years 
he had kept the public mind in suspense 
as to his being the promised Redeemer, 
of those circumstances to which the pop- 
ular passions had looked forward as the 
only certain signs of the Messiah’s com- 
ing; those which, among the mass of the 
community, were considered inseparable 

from the commencement of the kingdom 

of heaven—the terrific, the awful, the na- 
tional—not one had come to pass. The 
deliverance of the nation from the Ro- 
man yoke was as remote as ever; the 
governor had made but a short time, per- 
haps a year, before, a terrible assertion 
of his supremacy, by defiling the Temple 
itself with the blood of the rebellious or 
unoffending Galileans. The Sanhedrin, 
imperious during his absence, quailed and 
submitted whenever the tribunal of Pilate 
was erected in the metropolis. ‘The pub- 
licans, those unwelcome remembrancers 
of the subjugation of the country, were 
still abroad in every town and village, lev- 
ying the hateful tribute ; and, instead of 
joining in the popular clamour against 
these agents of a foreign rule, or even 
reprobating their extortions, Jesus had 
treated them with his accustomed equa- 
ble gentleness ; he had entered familiarly 
into their houses; one of his constant 
followers, one of his chosen twelve, was 
of this proscribed and odious profession. 

Thus, then, the fierce and violent, the 
Allsectshos- avowed or the secret partisans 
tile to Jesus. of the Galilean Judas, and all 
who, without having enrolled themselves 
in his sect, inclined to the same opinions, 
if not already inflamed against Jesus, 
were at least ready to take fire on the in- 
stant that his success might appear to en- 
danger their schemes and visions of inde- 
pendence: and their fanaticism once in- 


119 


flamed, no considerations of humanity or 
justice would arrest its course or assuage 
its violence. To every sect Jesus had 
been equally uncompromising: to the 
Pharisees he had always pro- ThePhar- 
claimed the most undisguised op- ‘sees. 
position; and if his language rises from 
its gentle and persuasive, thqugh authori- 
tative tone, it is ever in inveighing against 
the hypocrisy, the avarice, the secret vices 
of this class, whose dominion over the 
public mind it was necessary to shake 
with a strong hand; all communion with 
whose peculiar opinions it was incumbent 
on the teacher of purer virtue to disclaim 
in the most unmeasured terms.* But this 
hostility to the Pharisaic party was likely 
to operate unfavourably to the cause of 
Jesus, not only with the party itself, but 
with the great mass of the lower orders. 
If there be in man a natural love of inde- 
pendence both in thought and action, there 
is among the vulgar, especially in a nation 
850 superstitious as the Jews, a reverence, 
even a passionate attachment to religious 
tyranny. The bondage in which the mi- 
nute observances of the traditionists, more | 
like those of the Brahminical Indians than 
the free and more generous institutes of 
their lawgiver, had fettered the whole life 
of the Jew, was nevertheless a source of 
satisfaction and pride; and the offer of 
deliverance from this inveterate slavery 
would be received by most with unthank- 
fulness or suspicion. Nor can any teach- 
er of religion, however he may appeal to 
the better feelings and to the reason, with- 
out endangering his influence over the 
common people, permit himself to be out- 
done in that austerity which they ever 
consider the sole test of favour and sin- 
cerity. Even those less enslaved to the 
traditionary observances, the law- The law- 
yers (perhaps the religious ances- yers. 
tors of the Karaitest), who adhered more 
closely, and confined their precepts to the 
sacred books, must have trembled and re- 
coiled at the manner in which Jesus as- 
sumed an authority above that of Moses 
or the prophets. With the Sad- the saqa- 
ducees Jesus had come less fre- ducees. 
quently into collision: it is probable that 
this sect prevailed chiefly among the aris- 
tocracy of the larger cities and the me- 
tropolis, while Jesus in general mingled 
with the lower orders; and the Sadducees 
were less regular attendants in the syna- 


* Luke, xi., 39-54. 

+ The Karaites among the later Jews were the: 
Protestants of Judaism (see Hist. of Jews, iil., p- 
223). It is probable that a party of this nature ex- 
isted much earlier, though by no means numerous, 
or influential. 


120 


gogues and schools, where he was wont 
to deliver his instructions. They, in all 
likelihood, were less possessed than the 
rest of the nation with the expectation of 
the Messiah ; at all events, they rejected 
as innovations not merely the Babylonian 
notions about the angels and the resurrec- 
tion, which prevailed in the rest of the 
community, but altogether disclaimed 
these doctrines, and professed themselves 
adherents of the original simple Mosaic 
Theocracy. Hence, though on one or two 
occasions they appear to have joined in 
the general confederacy to arrest his prog- 
ress, the Sadducees in general would look 
on with contemptuous indifference ; and 
although the declaration of eternal life 
mingled with the whole system of the 
teaching of Jesus, yet it was not till his 
resurrection had become the leading arti- 
cle of the new faith—till Christianity was 
thus, as it were, committed in irreconci- 
lable hostility with the main principle of 
their creed—that their opposition took a 
more active turn; and, from the accidental 
increase of their weight in the Sanhedrin, 
came into perpetual and terrible collision 
with the apostles. The only point of 
union which the Sadducaic party would 
possess with the Pharisees would be the 
most extreme jealousy of the abrogation 
of the law, the exclusive feeling of its su- 
perior sanctity, wisdom, and irrepealable 
authority: on this point the spirit of na- 
tionality would draw together these two 
conflicting parties, who would vie with 
each other in the patriotic, the religious 
vigilance with which they would seize on 
any expression of Jesus which might im- 
ply the abrogation of the divinely-inspired 
institutes of Moses, or even any material 
innovation on the strict letter. But, be- 
sides the general suspicion that Jesus was 
assuming an authority above, in some cases 
contrary to, the law, there were other tri- 
fling circumstances which threw doubts 
on that genuine and unconstrained Juda- 
ism which the nation in general would 
have imperiously demanded from their 
Messiah. There seems to have been some 
apprehension, as we have before stated, of 
his abandoning his ungrateful countrymen, 
and taking refuge among a foreign race ; 
and his conduct towards the Samaritans 
was directly contrary to the strongest 
Jewish prejudices. On more than one in- 
stance, even if his remarkable conduct and 
Janguage during his first journey through 
Samaria had not transpired, he had avow- 
edly discountenanced that implacable na- 
tional hatred, which no one can ever at- 
tempt to allay without diverting it, as it 
wvere, on his own head. He had adduced 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the example of a Samaritan as the only 
one of the ten lepers* who showed either 
gratitude to his benefactor or piety to 
God; and in the exquisite apologue of the 
good Samaritan, he had placed the Priest 
and the Levite in a most unfavourable light, 
as contrasted with the descendant of t of 
hated race. al > 

Yet there could be no doubt that he had 
already avowed himself to be the Jesus the 
Messiah : his harbinger, the Bap- Messiah. 
tist, had proclaimed the rapid, the instan- 
taneous approach of the kingdom of 
Christ : of that kingdom Jesus himself had 
spoken as commencing, as having already 
commenced ; but where were the outward, 
the visible, the undeniable signs of sover- 
eignty? He had permitted himself, both 
in private and in public, to be saluted as 
the Son of David, an expression which 
was equivalent to a claim to the hereditary 
throne of David: but still, to the common 
eye, he appeared the same lowly and un- 
royal being as when he first set forth as a 
teacher through the villages of Galilee. 
As to the nature of this kingdom, even to 
his closest followers, his language was 
most perplexing and contradictory. An 
unworldly kingdom, a moral dominion, a 
purely religious community, held together 
only by the bond of common faith, was so 
unlike the former intimate union of civil 
and religious polity, so diametrically op- 
posite to the first principles of their The- 
ocracy, as to be utterly unintelligible. 
The real nature and design of the new re- 
ligion seemed altogether beyond their 
comprehension ; and it is most remarkable 
to trace it, as it slowly dawned on the 
minds of the apostles themselves, and 
gradually, after the death of Jesus, extend- 
ed its horizon till it comprehended all 
mankind within its expanding view. To 
be in the highest sense the religious an- 
cestors of mankind ; to be the authors, or, 
at least, the agents in the greatest moral 


revolution which has taken place in the. 


world; to obtain an influence over | 


Ἃ 


human mind, as much more extensive 


than that which had been violently ob- 
tained by the arms of Rome, as it was 
more conducive to the happiness of the 
human race; to be the teachers and dis- 
seminators of doctrines, opinions, senti- 
ments, which, slowly incorporating them- 
selves, as it were, with the intimate es- 
sence of man’s moral being, were to work 
a gradual but total change: a change 
which, as to the temporal as well as the 
eternal destiny of our race, to those who 
look forward to the simultaneous progress 


* Luke, xvii., 18, 


5 
υ 
. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of human civilization and the genuine re- 
ligion of Jesus, is yet far from complete ; 
all this was too high, too remote, too mys- 
terious for the narrow vision of the Jew- 
ish people. They, as a nation, were bet- 
ter prepared, indeed, by already possessing 
udiments of the new faith, for becom- 

‘the willing agents in this Divine work ; 

n the other hand, they.were in some re- 
spects disqualified by that very distinc- 
tion, which, by keeping them in rigid se- 
clusion from the rest of mankind, had ren- 
dered them, as it were, the faithful depos- 
itaries of the great principles of religion, 
the Unity of God. The peculiar privilege 
with which they had been intrusted for 
the benefit of mankind, had become, as it 
were, their exclusive property : nor were 
they willing indiscriminately to commu- 
nicate to others this their own distinctive 
prerogative. 

Those, for such doubtless there were, 
who pierced, though dinsly, through the 
veil—the more reasoning, the more ad- 
vanced, the more philosophical—were lit- 
tle likely to espouse the cause of Jesus 
with vigour and resolution. Persons of 
this character are usually too calm, dis- 
passionate, and speculative to be the ac- 
tive and zealous instruments in a great 
religious revolution. It is probable that 
most of this class were either far gone in 
Oriental mysticism, or, in some instances, 
in the colder philosophy of the Greeks. 
For these Jesus was as much too plain 
and popular, as he was too gentle and 
peaceable for the turbulent. He was 
scarcely more congenial to the severe 
TheEs- and ascetic practices of the Essene 
senes. than to the fiercer followers of the 
Galilean Judas. Though the Essene might 
admire the exquisite purity of his moral 
teaching, and the uncompromising firm- 
ness with which he repressed the vices of 
all ranks and parties; however he might 
be prepared for the abrogation of the cer- 
emonial law, and the substitution of the 
religion of the heart for that of the preva- 
lent outward forms, on his side he was 
too closely bound by his own monastic 
rules: his whole existence was recluse 
and contemplative. His religion was so 
altogether unfitted for aggression, as, how- 
ever apparently it might coincide with 
Christianity in some material points, in 
fact its vital system was repugnant to that 
of the new faith. Though, after strict in- 
vestigation, the Essene would admit the 
numerous candidates who aspired to unite 
themselves with his ccenobitic society, in 
which no one, according to Pliny’s ex- 
pression, was born, but which was always 
full, he would never seek proselytes, or 


121 


use any active means for disseminating 
his principles ; and it is worthy of remark, 
that almost the only quarter of Palestine 
which Jesus does not appear to have vis- 
ited is the district near the Dead Sea, 
where the agricultural settlements of the 
Essenes were chiefly situated. 

While the mass of the community were 
hostile to Jesus, from his deficiency in the 
more imposing, the warlike, the destruc- 
tive signs of the Messiah’s power and 
glory; from his opposition to the genius 
and principles of the prevailing sects ; 
from his want of nationality, both as re- 
garded the civil independence and the ex- 
clusive religious superiority of the race of 
Abraham ; and from their own general in- 
capacity for comprehending the moral sub- 
limity of his teaching, additional, and not 
less influential motives conspired to in- 
flame the animosity of the Ru- 
lers. Independent of the dread 
of innovation, inseparable from establish- 
ed governments, they could not but dis- 
cern the utter incompatibility of their own 
rule with that of an unworldly Messiah. 
They must abdicate at once, if not their 
civil office as magistrates, unquestionably 
their sovereignty over the public mind; 
retract much which they had been teach- 
ing on the authority of their fathers, the 
wise men; and submit, with the lowest 
and most ignorant, to be the humble 
scholars of the new Teacher. With all 
this mingled, no doubt, a real apprehen- 
sion of offending the Roman power. ‘They 
could not but discern on how precarious 
a foundation rested, not only the feeble 
shadow of national independence, but even 
the national existence. A single mandate 
from the emperor, not unlikely to be pre- 
cipitately advised and relentlessly carried 
into execution, on the least appearance of 
tumult, by a governor of so decided a char- 
acter as Pontius Pilate, might annihilate 
at once all that remained of their civil, and 
even of their religious constitution. If 
we look forward, we find that, during the 
whole of the period which precedes the 
last Jewish war, the ruling authorities of 
the nation pursued the same cautious pol- 
icy. They were driven into the insurrec- 
tion, not by their own deliberate determi- 
nation, but by the uncontrollable fanati- 
cism of the populace. "ΤῸ every overture 
of peace they lent a willing ear; and their 
hopes of an honourable capitulation, by 
which the city might be spared the hor- 
rors of a storm, and the Temple be secured 
from desecration, did not expire till their 
party was thinned by the remorseless 
sword of the Idumean and the assassin, 
and the Temple had become the stronghold 


The Rulers. 


<i 


~ 
ΕΣ 


122 


of one of the contending factions. Reli- 
gious fears might seem to countenance 
this trembling apprehension of the Roman 
power, for there is strong ground, both in 
Josephus and the Talmudic writings, for 
believing that the current interpretation 
of the phrophecies of Daniel designated 
the Romans as the predestined destroy- 
ers of the Theocracy.* And, however the 
more enthusiastic might look upon this 
only as one of the inevitable calamities 
which was to precede the appearance and 
final triumph of the Messiah, the less fer- 
vid faith of the older and more influential 
party was far more profoundly impressed 
with the dread of the impending ruin than 
elated with the remoter hope of final res- 
toration. The advice of Caiaphas, there- 
fore, to sacrifice even an innocent man for 
the safety of the state, would appear to 
them both sound and reasonable policy. 
We must imagine this suspense, this 
Demeanour agitation of the crowded city, or 
of Jesus. we shall be unable fully to’ enter 
into the beauty of the calm and unosten- 
tatious dignity with which Jesus pursues 
his course through the midst of this ter- 
rific tumult. He preserves the same 
equable composure in the triumphant pro- 
cession into the Temple and in the Hall 
of Pilate. Everything indicates his tran- 
quil conviction of his inevitable death; he 
foretels it, with all its afflicting cireum- 
Stances, to his disciples, incredulous al- 
most to the last to this alone of their 
Master’s declarations. At every step he 
feels himself more inextricably within the 
toils ; yet he moves onward with the self- 
command of a willing sacrifice, constant- 
ly dwelling, with a profound though chas- 
tened melancholy, on his approaching fate, 
and intimating that his death was neces- 
sary, in order to secure indescribable ben- 
efits for his faithful followers and for man- 
kind. Yet there is no needless exaspera- 
tion of his enemies ; he observes the ut- 
most prudence, though he seems so fully 
aware that his prudence can be of no avail ; 
he never passes the night within the city ; 
and it is only by the treachery of one of 


* It is probable that, in the allusion of Jesus to 
the “abomination of desolation,” the phrase was 
already applied by the popular apprehensions to 
some Impending destruction by the Romans. 

Tov avrov τρόπον Δανίηλος καὶ περὶ τῶν Ῥω- 
μαιῶν ἡγεμονίας ἀνέγραψε, καὶ ὅτι ὑπ’ αὐτῶν ἐρη- 
μωθήσεται.--- ΑἸ. x.,2,7; and in the Bell. Jud., iv., 
6, 3, the προφήτεια κατὰ τῆς πάτριδος, referred to 
this interpretation of the verses of the prophet.— 
Compare Babyl. Talm., Gemara, Masseck Nasir, 
c. 5, Masseck Sanhedrin, c. 11. Jerusalem Tal- 
mud, Masseck Kelaim, c. 9. Bertholdt on Daniel, 
p- ἘΣ Compare, likewise, Jortin’s Eccl, Hist., 
1., 60. 


« 
« 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


his followers that the Sanhedrin at length 
make themselves masters of his person. 
The Son of Man had now arrived at 
Bethany, and we must endeav- Difficulty of 
our to trace his future proceed- chronologi- 
ings in a Consecutive course ;* ©! arrange- 
but if it has been difficult to dis- Το 
pose the events of the life of Jesus in the 
order of time, this difficulty increases as 
we approach its termination. However 
embarrassing this fact to those who re- 
quire something more than historical cred- 
ibility in the evangelical narratives, to 
those who are content with a lower and 
more rational view of their authority, it 
throws not the least suspicion on their 
truth. It might almost seem, at the pres- 
ent period, that the evangelists, con- 


founded, as it were, and stunned with the - 


deep sense of the importance of the crisis, 
however they might remember the facts, 


had in some degree perplexed and confu- ' 


sed their regular order. At Beth- Jesus at 
any he took up his abode in the Bethany, 
house of Simon, who had been a leper, 
and, it is not improbably conjectured, had 
been healed by the wonderful power of 
Jesus.t| Simon was, in all likelihood, 
closely connected, though the degree of 


δ 


relationship is not intimated, with the 
family of Lazarus, for Lazarus was pres- 


ent at the feast, and it was conducted by 
Martha his sister. The fervent devotion 
of their sister Mary had been already in- 
dicated on two occasions ; and this pas- 
sionate zeal, now heightened by gratitude 
for the recent restoration of her brother 
to life, evinced itself in her breaking an 
alabaster box of very costly perfume, and 
anointing his head,{ according, as we have 
seen on a former occasion, to a usage not 
uncommon in Oriental banquets. It is 
possible that vague thoughts of the royal 
character, which she expected that Jesus 
was about to assume, might mingle with 
those purer feelings which led her to pay 
this prodigal homage to his person. The 
mercenary character of Judas now begins 
to be developed. Judas had been ap- 
pointed a kind of treasurer, and intrusted 
with the care of the common purse, from 
which the scanty necessities of the hum- 
ble and temperate society had been de- 
frayed, and the rest reserved for distribu- 
tion among the poor. Some others of 
the disciples had been seized with aston- 


* Matt., xxi., 1. Mark, xi, 1. Luke, xix., 28. 
John, xii., 1. 
+ Matt., xxvi., 1-13. Mark, xiv., 3-9. John, 
xii, 1-11. (We follow St. John’s narrative in 
lacing !itis incident at the present period.) 
+ See Psalm xxv., 5. Horat., Carm., ii, 11, 16, 
Martial, iii., 12, 4. 


- 
7 


Ύ 


ishment at this unusual and seemingly | 
unnecessary waste of so valuable a com- 
modity: but Judas broke out into open 
remonstrance ; and, concealing his own 
avarice under the veil of charity for the 
poor, protested against the wanton prodi- 
gality. Jesus contented himself with 
praising the pious and affectionate devo- 
tion of the woman, and, reverting to his 
usual tone of calm melancholy, declared 
that, inadvertently, she had performed a 
more pious Office, the anointing his body 
for his burial. 

The intelligence of the arrival of Jesus 
Jesus enters at Bethany spread rapidly to the 
Jerusalem in city, from which it was not quite 
triumph. two miles distant. Multitudes 
thronged forth to behold him: nor was 
Jesus the only object of interest; for the 
fame of the resurrection of Lazarus was 
widely disseminated, and the strangers in 
Jerusalem were scarcely less anxious to 
behold a man who had undergone a fate 
so unprecedented. 

Lazarus, thus an object of intense inter- 
est to the people,* became one of no less 
jealousy to the ruling authorities, the ene- 
mies of Jesus. His death was likewise 
decreed, and the magistracy only awaited 
a favourable opportunity for the execution 
of their edicts. But the Sanhedrin is at 
‘first obliged to remain in overawed and 

trembling inactivity. The popular senti- 
ment is so decidedly in favour of Jesus of 
Nazareth, that they dare not venture to 
oppose his open, his public, his triumph- 
ant procession into the city, or his en- 
trance, amid the applauses of the wonder- 
ing multitude, into the Temple itself. On 
the morning of the second day of the 
Monday, Week,t Jesus is seen, in the face of 
Nisan 2, day, approaching one of the gates 
March. of the city which looked towards 
Mount Olivet.t In avowed conformity to 
a celebrated prophecy of Zachariah, he 
appears riding on the yet unbroken colt 
of an ass; the procession of his follow- 
ers, as he descends the side of the Mount 
of Olives, escort him with royal honours, 
and with exclamations expressive of his 
title of the Messiah, towards the city: 
many of them had been witnesses of the 
resurrection of Lazarus, and no doubt 
proclaimed, as they advanced, this extra- 
ordinary instance of power. They are 
met by another band advancing from the 
city, who receive him with equal homage, 
strew branches of palm and even their 
garments in his way ; and the Sanhedrin 


* John, xii., 9-11. + John, xii., 12. 
$ Matt., xxi, 1-10. Mark, xi.,1-10. Luke, xix., 
29-40. John, xii, 12-19. ᾧ John, xii., 18, 


1 ΧΆ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


123 


could not but hear within the courts of 
the Temple, the appalling proclamation, 
“ Hosannah, blessed is the King of Israel, 
that cometh in the name of the Lord.” 
Some of the Pharisees, who had mingled 
with the multitude, remonstrate with Je- 
sus, and command him to silence what, 
to their ears, sounded like the profane, the 
impious adulation of his partisans, Un- 
interrupted, and only answering that, if 
these were silent, the stones on which he 
trod would bear witness, Jesus still ad- 
vances ; the acclamations become yet 
louder ; he is hailed as the Son of David, 
the rightful heir of David’s kingdom; and 
the desponding Pharisees, alarmed at the 
complete mastery over the public mind 
which he appears to possess, withdraw 
for the present their fruitless opposition. 
On the declivity of the hill he pauses to 
behold the city at his feet, and something 
of that emotion, which afterward is ex- 
pressed with much greater fulness, be- 
trays itself in a few brief and emphatic 
sentences, expressive of the future miser- 
able destiny of the devoted Jerusalem.* 

The whole crowded city is excited by 
this increasing tumult ; anxious inquiries 
about the cause, and the intelligence that 
it is the entrance of Jesus of Nazareth 
into the city, still heighten the universal 
suspense ;f and,eveninthe Tem- accjama- 
ple itself, where perhaps the reli- tions in the 
gion of the place, or the expecta- Temple. 
tion of some public declaration, or perhaps 
of some immediate sign. of his power, 
had caused a temporary silence among 
his older followers, the children prolong 
the acclamations ;{ and as the sick, the 
infirm, the afflicted with different mala- 
dies, are brought to him to be healed, and 
are restored at once to health or the use 
of their faculties, at every instance of the 
power and goodness of Jesus the same 
uncontrolled acclamations from the young- 
er part of the multitude are renewed with 
increasing fervour. ; 

Those of the Sanhedrin who are present, 
though they do not attempt at this immedi- 
ate juncture to stem the torrent, venture 
to remonstrate against the disrespect to 
the sanctity of the Temple, and demand of 
Jesus to silence what, to their feelings, 
sounded like profane violation of the sacred 
edifice. Jesus replies, as usual, with an 
apt quotation from the sacred writings, 
which declared that even the voices of 
children and infants might be raised, with- 
ae in praise and thanksgiving to 

od. 


* Luke, xix., 41-44, 
} Ibid., 15, 


+ Matt.,.xxi., 10, 11. 


£24 


Among the multitudes of Jews who as-, 


sembled at the Passover, there 
were usually many proselytes 
who were called Greeks* (a term in Jew- 
ish language of as wide signification as 
that of barbarians with the Greeks, and 
including all who were not of Jewish de- 
scent). Some of this class, carried away 
by the general enthusiasm towards Jesus, 
expresSed an anxious desire to be admitted 
to his presence. It is not improbable that 
these proselytes might be permitted to 
advance no farther than the division in 
the outer Court of the Gentiles, where 
certain palisades were erected, with in- 
scriptions in various languages, prohibiting 
the entrance of all foreigners; or, even if 
they were allowed to pass this barrier, 
they may have been excluded from the 
court of israel, into which Jesus may have 
passed. By the intervention of two of the 
apostles, their desire is made known to 
Jesus, who, perhaps as he passes back 
through the outward court, permits them 
to approach. No doubt, as these proselytes 
shared in the general excitement towards 
the person of Jesus, so they shared in the 
general expectation of the immediate, 
the instantaneous commencement of the 
splendour, the happiness of the Messiah’s 
kingdom. ΤῸ their surprise, either in an- 
swer to or anticipating their declaration 
to this effect, instead of enlarging on the 
glory of that great event, the somewhat 
ambiguous language of Jesus dwells, at 
first, on his approaching fate, on the severe 
trial which awaits the devotion of his fol- 
lowers; yet on the necessity of this hu- 
miliation, this dissolution to his final glory, 
and to the triumph of his beneficent re- 
ligion. It rises at length into a devotional 
address to the Father, to bring immediate- 
ly to accomplishment all his promises, for 
the glorification of the Messiah. As he 
was yet speaking, a rolling sound was 
heard in the heavens, which the unbeliev- 
ing part of the multitude heard only as an 
accidental burst of thunder; to others, 
however, it seemed an audible, a distinct, 
or, according to those who adhere to the 
Strict letter, the articulate voicet of an 
angel, proclaiming the Divine sanction to 
the presage of his future glory. Jesus 
continues his discourse in a tone of pro- 
founder mystery, yet evidently declaring 
the immediate discomfiture of the “ Prince 
of this world,” the adversary of the Jew- 
ERT ES EE EPS ERED Ye ss OCR a TD 

* John, xii., 20, 43. 

+ Kuinoel, in loc. Some revert to the Jewish 
superstition of the Bath-Kol, or audible voice from 
heaven ; but the more rational of the Jews inter- 


pret this Bath-Kol as an impression upon the mind 
rather than on the outward senses, 


The Greeks. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


* 


_ « 

ish people and of the human race, his own 
departure from the world, and the i 
portant consequences which were to ensue 
from that departure. After his death, his 
religion was to be more attractive than 
during his life. “I, if I be lifted up from 
the earth, will draw all men unto me.” 
Among the characteristics of the Messiah 
which were deeply rooted in the general 
belief, was the eternity of his reign; once 
revealed, he was revealed for ever; once 
established in their glorious, their para- 
disiacal state, the people of God, the sub- 
jects of the kingdom, were to be liable to 
no change, no vicissitude. The allusions 
of Jesus to his departure, clashing with 
this notion of his perpetual presence, 
heightened their embarrassment; and, 
leaving them in this state of mysterious 
suspense, he withdrew unperceived from 
the multitude, and retired again with his 
own chosen disciples to the village of 
Bethany. 

The second morning Jesus returned to 
Jerusalem. A fig-tree stood b fe 
the wayside, of that kind well ae 
known. in Palestine, which, du- ‘ee 
ring a mild winter, preserve their leaves, 
and with the early spring put forth and 
ripen their fruit.* Jesus approached the 
tree to pluck the fruit; but, finding that it 
bore none, condemned it to perpetual bar- 
renness. 

This transaction is remarkable, as al- 
most the only instance in which Jesus 
adopted that symbolic mode of teaching 
by action rather than by language, so 
peculiar to the East, and so frequently ex- 
emplified in the earlier books, especially 
of the Prophets. For it is difficult to con- 
ceive any reason either for the incident 
itself, or for its admission into the evan- 
gelic narrative at a period so important, 
unless it was believed to convey some 
profounder meaning. ‘The close moral 
analogy, the accordance with the common 
phraseology between the barren tree, dis- 
qualified by its hardened and sapless state 
from bearing its natural produce, and the 
Jewish nation, equally incapable of bear- 
ing the fruits of Christian goodness, formed 
a most expressive, and, as it were, living 
apologue. 

On this day Jesus renews the remark- 
able scene which had taken second day 
place at the first Passover. The in Jerusalem. 


* There are three kinds of figs in Palestine: 1. 
The early fig, which blossoms in March, and ripens 
its fruit m June; 2. The Kerman, which shows its 
fruit in June, and ripens in August ; and, 3. The 


kind in question.—See Kuinoel, in loco. Pliny, H. — 


N., xvi, 27. Theophr., 3, 6. Shaw’s Travels, 
Matt., xxi., 18,19. Mark, xi., 12, 14. 


“ea? 
ee 


. 
κῶς (Ἢ traffic, the tumult and confu- 
sion, which his authority had restrained 

r a short time, had been renewed in the 
courts of the Temple; and Jesus again 
expelled the traders from the holy pre- 
cincts, and, to secure the silence and the 
sanctity of the whole enclosure, prohibited 
the carrying any vessel through the Tem- 
ple courts.* Through the whole of this 
day the Sanhedrin, as it were, rested on 

_ their arms; they found, with still increas- 
ing apprehension, that every hour the mul- 
titude crowded with more and more anx- 
lous interest around the Prophet of Naz- 
areth; his authority over the Temple 
courts seems to have been admitted with- 
out resistance ; and probably the assertion 
of the violated dignity of the Temple was 
a point on which the devotional feelings 
would have been so strongly in favour of 
the Reformer, that it would have been 
highly dangerous and unwise for the ma- 
gistrates to risk even the appearance either 
of opposition or of dissatisfaction. 

The third morning arrived. As Jesus 
The third passed to the Temple, the fig-tree, 
day. the symbol of the Jewish nation, 
stood utterly withered and dried up. But, 
as it were, to prevent the obvious infer- 
ence from the immediate fulfilment of his 
malediction—almost the only destructive 
act during his whole public career, and that 
on a tree by the wayside, the common 
property—Jesus mingles with his promise 
of power to his apostles to perform acts 
as extraordinary, the strictest injunctions 
to the milder spirit inculcated by his pre- 
cept and his example. Their prayers 
were to be for the forgiveness, not for the 
providential destruction, of their enemies. 

The Sanhedrin had now determined on 
Deputation the necessity of making an effort 
from the to discredit Jesus with the more 
rulers. and more admiring multitude. A 
deputation arrives to demand by what au- 
thority he had taken up his station, and 
was daily teaching in the Temple ; had ex» 
pelled the traders, and, in short, had usurp- 
ed a complete superiority over the accred- 
ited and established instructers of the peo- 
ple’t The self-command and prompti- 
tude of Jesus caught them, as it were, in 
their own toils, and reduced them to the 
utmost embarrassment. The claim of the 
Baptist to the prophetic character had 
been generally admitted and even passion- 
ately asserted; his death had, no doubt, 
still farther endeared him to all who de- 
tested the Herodian rule, or who admired 


τς * Matt., xxi, 12, 13. Luke, xix., 45, 46. Mark, 


xi, 15, 


x 


4, 


Pa 
ox. , 


i 
+ Matt., xxi., 23-27. Mark, xi., 27-34. Luke, 
1-8. 


"ὁ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


125 


the uncompromising boldness with which 
he had condemned iniquity even upon the 
throne. The popular feeling would have 
resented an impeachment on his prophetic 
dignity. When, therefore, Jesus demand- 
ed their sentence as to the baptism cf 
John, they had but the alternative of ac- 
knowledging its Divine sanction, and so 
tacitly condemning themselves for not 
having submitted to his authority, and 
even for not admitting his testimony in fa- 
vour of Jesus; or of exposing themselves, 
by denying it, to popular insult and fury. 
The self-degrading confession of their ig- 
norance placed Jesus immediately on the 
vantage ground, and at once annulled their 
right to question or to decide upon the au- 
thority of his mission: that right which 
was considered to be vested in the San- 
hedrin. They were condemned to listen 
to language still more humiliating. In 
two striking parables, that of the Lord of 
the Vineyard and of the Marriage Feast,* 
Jesus not obscurely intimated the rejec- 
tion of those labourers who had been first 
summoned to the work of God; of those 
guests who had been first invited to the 
nuptial banquet; and the substitution of 
meaner and more unexpected guests or 
subjects in their place. 

The fourth dayt arrived; and once more 
Jesus appeared in the Temple The fourth 
with a still increasing concourse 49y- 
of followers. No unfavourable impression 
had yet been made on the popular mind 
by his adversaries ; his career is yet un- 
checked, his authority unshaken. 

His enemies are now fully aware of 
their own desperate situation; the appre- 
hension of the progress of Jesus unites 
the most discordant parties into one for- 
midable conspiracy; the Pharisaic, the 
Sadducaic, and the Herodian factions 
agree to make common cause against the 
common enemy : the two national sects, 
the Traditionists and the Anti-tradition- 
ists, no longer hesitate to accept the aid of 
the foreign or Herodian faction.{ The He- 
Some suppose the Herodians to ‘odians. 
have been the officers and attendants on 
the court of Herod, then present at Jeru- 

* Matt., xxi., 28, to xxil., 14. Mark, xil., 1-12. 
Luke, xx., 9-18. 

+ There is considerable difficulty in ascertaining 
the events of the Wednesday. It does not appear 
altogether probable that Jesus should have remain- 
ed at Bethany in perfect inactivity or seclusion du- 
ring the whole of this important day: either, there- 
fore, as some suppose, the triumphant entry into 
Jerusalem took place on the Monday, not on the 
Sunday, according to the common tradition of the 
church; or, as here stated, the collision with his 
various adversaries spread over the succeeding day. 

1 Matt., xxii, 15-22. Mark, xii., 13-17. uke, 
XXL, 19-26. 


126 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


»'? 
salem; but the appellation more probably| The Herodian or political party thua 


includes all those who, estranged from the 
more inveterate Judaism of the nation, and 
having, in some degree, adopted Grecian 
habits and opinions, considered the peace 
of the country best secured by the govern- 
ment of the descendants of Herod, with 
the sanction and under the protection of 
Rome.* They were the foreign faction, 
and, as such, in general, in direct opposi- 
tion to the Pharisaic, or national party. 
But the success of Jesus, however at pres- 
ent it threatened more immediately the 
ruling authorities in Jerusalem, could not 
but endanger the Galilean government of 
Herod. The object, therefore, was to im- 
plicate Jesus with the faction, or, at least, 
to tempt him into acknowledging opinions 
similar to those of the Galilean dema- 
gogue, a scheme the more likely to work 
on the jealousy of the Roman government, 
if it was at the last Passover that the ap- 
prehension of tumult among the Galilean 
strangers had justified, or appeared to jus- 
tify, the massacre perpetrated by Pilate. 
The plot was laid with great subtlety ; for 
either way Jesus, it appeared, must com- 
mit himself. The great test of the Gali- 
lean opinion was the lawfulness of tribute 
to a foreign power, which Judas had 
boldly declared to be, not merely a base 
compromise of the national independence, 
but an impious infringement on the first 
principles of their theocracy. | But the in- 
dependence, if not the universal dominion 
of the Jews, was inseparably bound up 
with the popular belief in the Messiah. 
Jesus, then, would either, on the question 
of the lawfulness of tribute to Casar, con- 
firm the bolder doctrines of the Galilean, 
and so convict himself, before the Ro- 
mans, as one of that dangerous faction; 
or he would admit its legality, and so an- 
nul at once all his claims to the character 
of the Messiah. Not in the least thrown 
off his guard by the artful courtesy, or, 
rather, the adulation of their address, Je- 
sus appeals to the current coin of the coun- 
try, which, bearing the impress of the Ro- 
man emperor, was in itself a recognition 
of Roman supremacy.t 

At “ts τ ees oer see 


* Of all notions on the much-contested point of 
the Herodians, the most improbable is that which 
identifies them with the followers of the Galilean 
Judas. The whole policy of the Herodian family 
was in diametrical hostility to those opinions. 
They maintained their power by foreign influence, 
and, with the elder Herod, had systematically at- 
tempted to soften the implacable hostility of the 
nation by the introduction of Grecian manners. 
Their object, accordingly, was to convict Jesus of 
the Galilean opinions, which they themselves held 
in the utmost detestation. 

+ The latter part of the sentence, ‘ Render 


discomfited, the Sadducees advan- ‘The sad- 
ced to the encounter. Nothing ducees. 

can appear more captious or frivolous than 
their question with regard to the future 
possession of a wife in another state of 
being, who had been successively mar- 
ried to seven brothers, according to the 


Levirate law. But, perhaps, considered | 


in reference to the opinions of the time, 
it will seem less extraordinary. ‘The 


Sadducees, no doubt, had heard that the 


resurrection, and the life to come, μα 


formed an essential tenet in the teaching 
of Jesus. 
tions on these subjects were those gener- 
ally prevalent among the people. But, if 
the later Rabbinical notions of the happi- 
ness of the renewed state of existence 
were current, or even known in their gen- 
eral outline, nothing could be more gross 
or unspiritual :* if less voluptuous, they 
were certainly not less strange and un- 
reasonable, than those which, perhaps, 
were derived from the same source—the 
Paradise of Mohammed. The Sadducees 
were accustomed to contend with these 
disputants, whose paradisiacal state, to 
be established by the Messiah after the 
resurrection, was but the completion of 
those temporal promises in the book of 
Deuteronomy, a perpetuity of plenty, fer- 
tility, and earthly enjoyment.t The an- 
swer of Jesus, while it declares the cer- 
tainty of another state of existence, care- 
fully purifies it from all these corporeal. 
and earthly images; and assimilates man, 
in another state of existence, to a higher 
order of beings. 
inference from the passage in Exodus, in 
which God is described as the God of 
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the allusion 
may perhaps be still kept up. The tem- 
poral and corporeal resurrection of the 
common Pharisaic belief was to take 
place only after the coming of the Mes- 
siah ; yet their reverence for the fathers 
of the race would scarcely allow even the 


therefore unto Cesar the things that are Czsar’s,” 
and ‘to God the things that are God’s,” refers, in 
all probability, to the payment of the Temple trib- 


«ute, which was only received in the coin of the 


country. Hence, as before observed, the money 
changers in the Temple.— Matt., xxii., 23-33. 
Mark, xii., 18-27. Luke, xx., 27-38. 

* It is decided, in the Sohar on Genesis, fol. 24, 
col. 96, ‘‘ that woman, who has married two hus- 
bands in this world, is restored to the first in the 
world to come.”—Schoetgen, in loco. : 

+ Josephus, in his address to his countrymen, 
mingles up into one splendid picture the Metemp- 
sychosis and the Elysium of the Greeks. In Scho- 
etgen, in loco, may be found extracts from the Tal- 
mud of a purer character, and more resembling the 
language of our Lord. 


And in his concluding 


They concluded that his no- — 


~ 


"ὦ 


τὸ 


. 


fat 
«- 
* 


wer 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


4 

Sadducee to suppose their total extinc- 
tion. The actual, the pure beatitude of 
the Patriarchs, was probably an admitted 
point; if not formally decided by their 
teachers, implicitly admitted, and fervent- 
ly embraced by the religious feelings of 
the whole people. But if, according to 
the Sadducaic principle, the soul did not 
exist independent of the body, even Abra- 
ham, Isaac, and Jacob had shared the 

nmon fate, the favour of God had 


_ ceased with their earthly dissolution; nor, 

‘in the time of Moses, could he be justly 

__ deseribed as the God of those who in 
~ death had sunk into utter annihilation. 


Although now engaged in a common 
cause, the hostility of the Pharisaic party 
to the Sadducees could not but derive 
gratification from their public discomfi- 
ture. One scribe of their party is so 
struck by the superiority of Jesus, that, 
though still with something of an insidi- 
ous design, he demands in what manner 
he should rank the commandments, which, 
in popular belief, were probably of equal 
dignity and importance.* But when Je- 
sus comprises the whole of religion under 
the simple precepts of the love of God 
and the love of man, he is so struck with 
the sublimity of the language, that he 
does not hesitate openly to espouse his 
doctrines, 

Paralyzed by this desertion, and warn- 
The Phari- ed by the discomfiture of the 
sees. two parties which had preceded 


them in dispute with Jesus, the Pharisees 


appear to have stood wavering and un- 
certain how to speak oract. Jesus seizes 


the opportunity of still farther weakening 


their authority with the assembled multi- 
tude ; and, in his turn, addresses an em- 
barrassing question as to the descent of 
the Messiah.| The Messiah, according 
to the universal belief, would be the heir 
and representative of David: Jesus, by a 
reference to the second Psalm, which was 
considered prophetic of the Redeemer, 
forces them to confess that, even accord- 
ing to their own authority, the kingdom 
of the Messiah was to be of far higher 
dignity, far wider extent, and administer- 
ed by a more exalted sovereign than Da- 
vid, for even David himself, by their own 
admission, had called him his Lord. 

The Pharisees withdrew in mortified si- 
lence, and for that time had abandoned all 
hope of betraying him into any incautious 
or unpopular denial by their captious ques- 


* Matt., xxii, 34-40. Mark, xii, 28-40. Luke, 
ΧΧ., 39-40. 

+ Matt., xxii, 41-46. Mark, xii, 35-37. Luke, 
xx., 39-44, 


127 


tions. But they withdrew unmoved by 
the wisdom, unattracted by the beauty, 
unsubdued by the authority of Jesus. 

After some delay, during which the 
beautiful incident of his approving the 
charity of the poor widow,* who cast her 
mite into the treasury of the Temple, took 
place, he addressed the wondering multi- 
tude (“ for the common people heard him 
gladly”t) in a grave and solemn denuncia- 
tion against the tyranny, the hypocrisy, 
the bigoted attachment to the most mi- 
nute observances, and, at the same time, 
the total blindness to the spirit of religion, 
which actuated that great predominant 
party. He declared them possessed with 
the same proud and inhuman spirit which 
had perpetually bedewed the city with the 
blood of the Prophets.{ Jerusalem had 
thus for ever rejected the mercy of God. 

This appalling condemnation was, as it 
were, the final declaration of war against 
the prevailing religion; it declared that the 
new doctrines could not harmonize with 
minds so inveterately wedded to their own 
narrow bigotry; but even yet the people 
were not altogether estranged from Jesus ; 
and in that class in which the Pharisaic 
interest had hitherto despotically ruled, it 
appeared, as it were, trembling for its ex- 
istence. 

And now everything indicated the ap- 
proaching, the immediate crisis. The crisis 
Although the populace were so in the fate 
decidedly, up to the present in- ° 4¢s¥s- 
stant, in his favour; though many of the 
ruling party were only withholden by the 
dread of that awful sentence of excommu- 
nication, which inflicted civil, almost reli- 
gious death,§ from avowing themselves 
his disciples, yet Jesus never entered the 
Temple again: the next time he appeared 
before the people was as a prisoner, as a 
condemned malefactor. As he left the 
Temple, a casual expression of admiration 
from some of his followers at the magnif- 
icence and solidity of the building, and the 
immense size of the stones of which it was 
formed, called forth a prediction of its im- 
pending ruin, which was expanded to four 
of his apostles into a more detailed and 
circumstantial description of its appalling 
fate, as he sat, during the evening, upon 
the Mount of Olives.|| 

It is impossible to conceive a spectacle 


* Mark, xii., 40-44. Luke, xxi., 1-4. 

t+ ‘* And the common people heard him gladly.” 
—Mark, xii., 37. 

1 Matt., xxiii. Mark, xii., 38-40. Luke, xx., 
45-47. 

ἧ See Hist. of the Jews, vol. iii., p. 111-147, 

|| Matt., xxiv., xxv. Mark, xiii. Luke, xxi., 5- 


Res: 3 


a 


128 


of greater natural or moral sublimity, than 
Jesuson the Saviour seated on the slope 
the Mount of the Mount of Olives, and thus 
of Olives. ooking down, almost for the last 
time, on the whole Temple and city of 
Jerusalem, crowded as it then was with 
near three millions of worshippers. It 
Fat was evening, and the whole ir- 
view of Jeru- regular outline of the city, rising 
salem and from the deep glens which en- 
the Temple. —. Ἢ = 4 
circled it on all sides, might be 
distinctly traced. The sun, the significant 
emblem of the great Fountain of moral 
light, to which Jesus and his faith had 
been perpetually compared, may be ima- 
gined sinking behind the western hills, 
while its last rays might linger on the 
broad and massy fortifications on Mount 
Sion, on the stately palace of Herod, on 
the square tower, the Antonia, at the cor. 
ner of the Temple, and on the roof of the 
‘Temple, fretted all over with golden spikes, 
which glittered like fire; while below, the 
colonnades and lofty gates would cast their 
broad shadows over the courts, and afford 
that striking contrast between vast masses 
of gloom and gleams of the richest light, 
which only an evening scene like the pres- 
ent can display. Nor, indeed (even with- 
out the sacred and solemn associations 
connected with the holy city), would it 
be easy to conceive any natural situation 
in the world of more impressive grandeur, 
or likely to be seen with greater advantage 
under the influence of such accessaries, 
than that of Jerusalem, seated, as it was, 
upon hills of irregular height, intersected 
by bold ravines, and hemmed in almost on 
all sides by still loftier mountains, and it- 
self formed, in its most conspicuous parts, 
of gorgeous ranges of Eastern architec- 
ture, in all its lightness. luxuriance, and 
variety. The effect may have been height- 
ened by the rising of the slow volumes of 
smoke from the evening sacrifices, while, 
_ even at the distance of the slope of Mount 
Olivet, the silence may have been faintly 
broken by the hymns of the worshippers. 
Yet the fall of that splendid edifice was 
Necessity for inevitable ; the total demolition 


ne wt Of all those magnificent and 
Templeat time-hallowed structures might 
Jerusalem: ot be averted. It was neces- 


sary to the complete development of the 
designs of Almighty Providence for the 
welfare of mankind in the promulgation 
of Christianity. Independent of all other 
reasons, the destruction certainly of the 
Temple, and, if not of the city, at least of 
the city as the centre and metropolis of a 
people, the only true and exclusive wor- 
shippers of the one Almighty Creator, 
seemed essential to the progress of the 


s* 


od 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


new faith. The universal and compre- 
hensive religion to be promulgated by 
Christ and his apostles, was grounded on 
the abrogation of all local claims to pecu- 
liar sanctity, of all distinctions of one na- 
tion above another, as possessing any es- 
pecial privilege in the knowledge or favour 
of the Deity. The time was come when 
“neither in Jerusalem nor on the mount- 
ain of Gerizim” was the great Universal 
Spirit to be worshipped with circumscri- 
bed or local homage. As long, however, 
as the Temple on Mount Moriah remained 
hallowed by the reverence of ages, sanc- 
tified, according to the general belief, for 
perpetuity, by the especial command of 


God, as his peculiar dwelling-place, so_ 


long, among the Jews at least, and even 
among other nations, the true principle of 
Christian worship might be counteracted 
by the notion of the inalienable sanctity 
of this one place. Judaism would scarce- 
ly be entirely annulled as long as the Tem- 
ple rose in its original majesty and vener- 
ation. νὰν 
Yet, notwithstanding this absolute ne- 
cessity for its destruction, not- Jesus contem- 


withstanding that it thus stood, Plates with 


as it were, in the way of the future ruin of ὁ 


progress of human improve- Jerusalem. 

ment and salvation, the Son of Man does 
not contemplate its ruin without emotion. 
And, in all the superhuman beauty of the 
character of Jesus, nothing is more affect- 
ing and impressive than the profound’ mel- 
ancholy with which he foretels the future 
desolation of the city, which, before two 
days were passed, was to reek with his 
own blood. Nor should we do justice to 
this most remarkable incident in his life, 
if we should consider it merely as a sud- 


den emotion of compassion, as the natural — 


sensation of sadness at the decay or disso. 
lotion of that which has long worn the as- 
pect of human grandeur. It seems rather 
a wise and far-sighted consideration, not 
merely of the approaching guilt and future 
penal doom of the city, but of the remoter 
moral causes, which, by forming the na- 


= 


tional character, influenced the national 


destiny ; the long train of events, the won- 
derful combination of circumstances, which 
had gradually wrought the Jewish people 
to that sterner frame of mind, which was 
about to display itself with such barbarous, 
such fatal ferocity. Jesus might seem not 
merely to know what was in man, but how 
it entered into man’s heart and mind. His 
was Divine charity, enlightened by infinite 
wisdom. : 

In fact, there was an intimate moral 
connexion between the murder of Jesus 
and the doom of the Jewish city. It was 


x 


6 


es 


HISTORY OF CH RISTIABEEY. 


, the same national temperament, the same 


characteristic disposition of the people, 
which now morally disqualified them 
“from knowing,’ in the language of 
Christ, “ the things which belonged unto 
their peace,” which forty years after- 
ward comunitted them in their deadly and 
ruinous struggle with the masters of the 
world. Christianity alone could have sub- 
The ruin of dued or mitigated that stubborn 
the Jewsthe fanaticism, which drove them at 


consequence 3 ‘ 
of εν length to their desperate colli- 
character. sion with the arms of Rome. 


As Christians, the Jewish people might 
have subsided into peaceful subjects of 
the universal empire. They might have 
. jived, as the Christians did, with the high 
and inalienable consolations of faith and 
hope under the heaviest oppressions ; and 
calmly awaited the time when their ho- 
lier and more beneficent ambition might 
be gratified by the submission of their ru- 
lers to thé religious dominion founded by 
Christ and his apostles. They would 
have slowly won that victory by the pa- 
tient heroism of martyrdom, and _ the 
steady perseverance in the dissemination 
of their faith, which it was madness to 
hope that they could ever obtain by force 
of arms. As Jews, they were almost 
sure, sooner or later, to provoke the im- 
placable vengeance of their foreign rulers. 
The same vision of worldly dominion, the 
same obstinate expectation of a temporal 
Deliverer, which made them unable to 
comprehend the nature of the redemption 
to be wrought by the presence, and the 
kingdom to be established by the power, 
of Christ, continued to the end to mingle 
with their wild and frantic resistance. 

In the rejection and murder of Jesus, 
Immediate the rulers, as their interests and 
causesofthe authority were more immedi- 
rejection of 
Jesus by the ately endangered, were more 
Jews. deeply implicated than the peo- 
ple; but, unless the mass of the people 
had been blinded by these false notions 
of the Messiah, they would not have de- 
manded, or, at least, with the general 
voice, assented to the sacrifice of Jesus. 
The progress of Jesus at the present pe- 
riod in the public estimation, his transient 
popularity, arose from the enforced admi- 
ration of his commanding demeanour, the 
notoriety of his wonderful works, per- 
haps—for such language is always accept- 
able to the common ear—from his bold 


- animadversions on the existing authori- 


ties ; but it was no doubt supported in the 
mass of the populace by a hope that even 
yet he would conform to the popular 
views of the Messiah’s character. Their 
present i access of faith would not 


7 


4 


129 


have stood long against the continued dis- 
appointment of that hope; and it was no 
doubt by working on the reaction of this 
powerful feeling that the Sanhedrin were 
able so suddenly, and, it almost appears, 
so entirely, to change the prevailing sen- 
timent. Whatever the proverbial versa- 
tility of the popular mind, there must have 
been some chord strung to the most sen- 
sitive pitch, the slightest touch of which 
would vibrate through the whole frame of 
society, and madden at least a command- 
ing majority to their blind concurrence in 
this revolting iniquity. Thus in the Jew- 
ish nation, but more especially in the 
prime movers, the rulers and the heads 
of the Pharisaic party, the murder of 
Jesus was an act of unmitigated cruelty ; 
but, as we have said, it arose out of the 
generally fierce and bigoted spirit which 
morally incapacitated the whole people 
from discerning the evidence of his mis- 
sion from heaven, in his acts of Divine 
goodness as well as of Divine power. It 
was an act of religious fanaticism ; they 
thought, in the language of Jesus himself, 
that they were “ doing God service” when 
they slew the Master, as much as after- 
ward when they persecuted his followers. 

When, however, the last, and, as far as 
the existence of the nation, the most fatal 
display of this fanaticism took place, it 
was accidentally allied with nobler mo- 
tives, with generous impatience of op- 
pression, and the patriotic desire of na- 
tional independence. However desperate 
and frantic the struggle against such irre- 
sistible power, the unprecedented tyranny 
of the later Roman procurators, Festus, 
Albinus, and Florus, might almost have 
justified the prudence of manly and reso- 
lute insurrection. Yet in its spirit and 
origin it was the same; and it is well 
known that even to the last, during the 
most sanguinary and licentious tumults 
in the Temple as well as the city, they 
never entirely lost sight of a deliverance 
from Heaven: God, they yet thought, 
would interpose in behalf of his chosen 
people. In short, the same moral state 
of the people (for the rulers, for obvious 
reasons, were less forward in the resist- 
ance to the Romans), the same tempera- 
ment and disposition, now led them to re- 
ject Jesus and demand the release of 
Barabbas, which, forty years later, pro- 
voked the unrelenting vengeance of Titus, 
and deluged the streets with the blood of 
their own citizens. Even after the death 
of Jesus this spirit might have been al- 
layed, but only by a complete abandon- 
ment of all the motives which led to his 
crucifixion—by the general reception of 


130 


Christianity in all its meekness, humility, 
and purity—by the tardy substitution of 
the hope of a moral for that of temporal 
dominion. This, unhappily, was not the 
case: but it must be left to Jewish history 
to relate how the circumstances of the 
times, instead of assuaging or subduing, 
exasperated the people into madness ; in- 
stead of predisposing to Christianity, con- 
firmed the inveterate Judaism, and led at 
length to the accomplishment of their an- 
ticipated doom. 

Altogether, then, it is evident that it 
was this brooding hope of sovereignty, at 
least of political independence, moulded 
up with religious enthusiasm, and lurk- 
ing, as it were, in the very heart’s core 
of the people, which rendered it impossi- 
ble that the pure, the gentle, the humane, 
the unworldly and comprehensive doc- 
trines of Jesus should be generally re- 
ceived, or his character appreciated by a 
nation in that temper of mind; and the 
nation who could thus incur the guilt of 
his death were prepared to precipitate 
themselves to such a fate as at length it 
suffered. 

Hence political sagacity might perhaps 
have anticipated the crisis, which could 
only be averted by that which was mor- 


ally impossible, the simultaneous conver-: 


sion of the whole people to Christianity. 
Distinctness Yet the distinctness, the minute- 
with which ness, the circumstantial accura- 
Jesus prop: cy with which the prophetic out- 
of Jerusa- line of the siege and fall of Je- 
ae: rusalem is drawn, bear, perhaps, 
‘greater evidence of more than human fore- 
knowledge than any other in the sacred 
volume: and, in fact, this profound and 
far-sighted wisdom, this anticipation of 
the remote political consequences of the 
reception or rejection of his doctrines, 
supposing Jesus but an ordinary human 
being, would be scarcely less extraordi- 
nary than prophecy itself. 

Still, though determined, at all hazards, 
Embarrass: tO Suppress the growing party 
ment of the of Jesus, the Sanhedrin were 
Sanhedrin. sreatly embarrassed as to their 
course of proceeding. Jesus invariably 
passed the night without the walls, and 
only appeared during the daytime, though 
with the utmost publicity, in the Temple. 
His seizure in the Temple, especially du- 
ring the festival, would almost inevitably 
lead to tumult, and (since it was yet 
doubtful on which side the populace 
would array themselves) tumult as inev- 
itably to the prompt interference of the 
Roman authority. The procurator, on 
the slightest indication of disturbance, 

_ without inquiring into the guilt or inno- 


"ἢ 


"“ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


cence of either party, might coerce both 
with equal severity; or, even without 
farther examination, let loose the guard, 
always mounted in the gallery which con- 
nected the fortress of Antonia with the 
northwestern corner of the ‘Temple, to 
mow down both the conflicting parties in 
indiscriminate havoc. He might thus 
mingle the blood of all present, as he had 
done that of the Galileans, with the sacri- 
ficial offerings. To discover, then, where 
Jesus might be arrested without commo- 
tion or resistance from his followers, so 
reasonably to be apprehended, the treach- 
ery of one of his more immediate disci- 
ples was absolutely necessary ; yet this 
was an event, considering the command- 
ing influence possessed by Jesus over his 
followers, rather to be desired than ex- 
pected. 

On a sudden, however, appeared within 
their court one of the chosen Treachery 
Twelve, with a voluntary offer and 
of assisting them in the apprehension of 
his Master.* Much ingenuity has been 
displayed by some recent writers in at- 
tempting to palliate, or, rather, to account 
for, this extraordinary conduct of Judas ; 
but the language in which Jesus spake of 
the crime appears to confirm the common 
opinion of its enormity. It has been sug- 
gested, either that Judas might expect Je- 
sus to put forth his power, even after his. 
apprehension, to elude or to escape from 
his enemies, and thus his avarice might 
calculate on securing the reward without 
being an accomplice in absolute murder, 
at once betraying his Master and defraud- 
ing his employers. According to others, 
still higher motives may have motives of 
mingled with his love of gain: Judas. 
he may have supposed that, by thus in- 
volving Jesus in difficulties otherwise in- 
extricable, he would leave him only the 
alternative of declaring himself openly 
and authoritatively to be the Messiah, and 
so force him to the tardy accomplishment 
of the ambitious visions of his partisans. 
It is possible that the traitor may not 
have contemplated, or may not have per- 
mitted himself clearly to contemplate, the 
ultimate consequences of his crime: he 
may have indulged the vague hope, that, 
if Jesus were really the Messiah, he bore, 
if we may venture the expression, “a 
charmed life,” and was safe in his inhe- 
rent immortality (a notion, in all likeli- 
hood, inseparable from that of the Deliv- 
erer) from the malice of his enemies. If 
he were not, the crime of his betrayal 


* Matt., xxvi., 14-16. Mark, xiv., 10-11. 


Luke, 
xxii., 2-6. p 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


would not be of very great importance. 
There were other motives which would 
concur with the avarice of Judas: the re- 
buke which he had received when he ex- 
postulated about the waste of the oint- 
ment, if it had not excited any feeling of 
exasperation against his Master, at least 
showed that his character was fully un- 
derstood by him. He must have felt him- 
self out of his element among the more 
honest and sincere disciples ; nor can he 
have been actuated by any real or pro- 
found veneration for the exquisite perfec- 
tion of a character so opposite to his own : 
and, thus insincere and doubting, he may 
have shrunk from the approaching crisis, 
and, as he would seize any means of ex- 
tricating himself from that cause which 
had now become so full of danger, his 
covetousness would direct him to those 
means which would at once secure his 
own personal safety, and obtain the price, 
the thirty pieces of silver,* set by public 
proclamation on the head of Jesus. 

Nor is the desperate access of remorse, 
which led to the public restitution of the 
reward and to the suicide of the traitor, 
irreconcilable with the unmitigated hei- 
nousness of the treachery. Men meditate 
a crime, of which the actual perpretation 
overwhelms them with horror. The gen- 
eral detestation, of which, no doubt, Judas 
could not but be conscious, not merely 
among his former companions, the follow- 
ers of Jesus, but even among the multitude ; 
the supercilious coldness of the Sanhedrin, 
who, having employed him as their instru- 
ment, treat his recantation with the most 
contemptuous indifference, might over- 
Strain the firmest, and work upon the 
basest mind; and even the unexampled 
sufferings and tranquil endurance of Jesus, 
however he may have calmly surveyed 
them when distant, and softened and sub- 
dued by his imagination, when present to 
his mind in their fearful reality, forced by 
the busy tongue of rumour upon his ears, 


* The thirty pieces of silver (shekels) are esti- 


mated at 3]. 10s. 8d. of our present money. It 
was the sum named in the law (Exod., xxi, 32) as 
the value of the life of a slave; and it has been 
supposed that the Sanhedrin were desirous of 
showing their contempt for Jesus by the mean 
price that they offered for his head. | 

Perhaps, when we are embarrassed at the small- 
ness of the sum covenanted for and received by 
Judas, we are imperceptibly influenced by our own 
sense of the incalculable importance of those con- 
sequences which arose out of the treachery of Ju- 
das. The service which he performed for this 
sun was, after all, no more than giving informa- 
tion as to the time and place in which Jesus might 


be seized among a few disciples without fear of 


popular tumult, conducting their officers to the 
spot where he might be found, and designating his 
person when they arrived at that spot. 


131 


perhaps not concealed from his sight, 
might drive him to desperation little short 
of insanity.* 

_ It was on the last evening} but one be- 
fore the death of Jesus that the 

fatal compact was made: the TM Passover. 
next day, the last of his life, Jesus deter- 
mines on returning to the city to celebrate 
the Feast of the Passover: his disciples 
are sent to occupy a room prepared for 
the purpose.{ His conduct and language 
before and during the whole repast clear- 
ly indicate his preparation for inevitable 
death.§ His washing the feet of his dis- 
ciples, his prediction of his betrayal, his 
intimation to Judas that he is fully aware 
of his design, his quiet dismissal of the 
traitor from the assembly, his institution 
of the second characteristic ordinance of 
the new religion, his allusions in he Last 
that rite to the breaking of his Supper. 
body and the pouring forth of his blood, 
his prediction of the denial of Peter, his 
final address to his followers, and his 
prayer before he left the chamber, are all 
deeply impregnated with the solemn mel- 
ancholy, yet calm and unalterable com- 
posure, with which he looks forward to 
all the terrible details of his approaching, 
his almost immediate sufferings. To his 
followers he makes, as it were, the vale- 
dictory promise, that his religion would 
not expire at his death; that his place 
would be filled by a mysterious Comforter, 
who was to teach, to guide, to console. 

This calm assurance of approaching 

death in Jesus is the, more striking when 
contrasted with the inveterately Jewish 
notions of the Messiah’s kingdom, which . 


* Matt., xxvi., 17-29. Mark, xiv., 12-25. Luke, 
vii., 38. John, xiii., to end of xvii. 

+ After two days was the Passover, in Jewish 
phraseology implies on the second day after. 

Τ All houses, according to Josephus, were freely 
open to strangers during the Passover; no payment 
was received for lodging. The Talmudic writings 
contirm this: ‘* The master of the family received 
the skins of sacrifices. It is a custom that a man 
leave his earthen jug, and also the skin of his sacri- 
fice, to his host.”—The Gloss. The inhabitants did 
not let out their houses at a price to them that came 
up to the feasts, but granted them to them gratis. — 
Lightfoot, vol. x., 44. 

ὁ Of all difficulties, that concerning which we 
arrive at the least satisfactory conclusion is the 
#pparent anticipation of the Passover by Christ. 
The fact is clear that Jesus celebrated the Pass- 
over on the Thursday, the leading Jews on the Fri- 
day ; the historical evidence of this in the Gospels 
is unanswerable, independent of all theological rea- 
soning. The reason of this difference is and must, 
we conceive, remaim undecided. Whether it was 
an act of supreme authority assumed by Jesus, 
whether there was any schism about the right day, 
whether that schism was between the Pharisaic 
and anti-Pharisaic party, or between the Jews and 
Galileans, all is purely conjectural. 


185." 


even yet possess the minds of the apostles. 
They are now fiercely contesting* for 
their superiority in that earthly dominion, 
which even yet they suppose on the eve 
of its commencement. Nor does Jesus 
at this time altogether correct these er- 
roneous notions, but in some degree falls 
into the prevailing language, to assure 
them of the distinguished reward which 
awaited his more faithful disciples. After 
inculeating the utmost humility by an al- 
lusion to the lowly fraternal service which 
he had just before performed in washing 
their feet, he describes the happiness and 
glory which they are at length to attain 
by the strong, and, no doubt, familiar 
imagery of their being seated on twelve 
thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. 

The festival was closed, according to 
the usage, with the second part of the 
Hallel,t the Psalms, from the 113th to the 
118th inclusive, of which the former were 
customarily sung at the commencement, 
the latter at the end of the paschal supper. 
Jesus, with his disciples, again departed 
from the room in the cityt where the feast 
had been held, probably down the street 
of the Temple, till they came to the valley: 
they crossed the brook of Kedron, and be- 
gan to ascend the slope of the Mount of 
Olives. Within the city no open space 
was left for gardens ;§ but the whole neigh- 
bourhood of Jerusalem was laid out in en- 
closures for the convenience and enjoy- 
ment of the inhabitants. The historian of 
the war relates, not without feelings of 
poignant sorrow, the havoc made among 
these peaceful retreats by the devastating 
approaches of the Roman army.|| Jesus 
Jesus in the turned aside into one of these 
garden ot —enclosures,§] which, it should 
Gethsemane. seem from the subsequent his- 
tory, was a place of customary retreat, 
well known to his immediate followers. 
‘The early hours of the night were passed 
by him in retired and devotional medita- 
tion, while the weary disciples are over- 
powered by involuntary slumber. Thrice 
Jesus returns to them, and each time he 
finds them sleeping. But to him it was 
no hour of quiet or repose. In the solitary 
garden of Gethsemane, Jesus, who in pub- 


* Luke, xxii., 24-30. 
Rs Buxtorf, Lex. Talmudica, p. 613. Lightfoot, in 
CO. 
1 Matt. xxvi., 30-56. Mark, xiv., 32-52, Luke, 
xxli., 39-53. John, xviii., 1. 
_ § Lightfoot’s derivations of some of the places 
on Mount Olivet are curious: Beth-hana, the place 
_ of dates; Beth-phage, the place of green figs; Geth- 
᾿ς semane, the place of oil-presses. 
τ ἢ] Hist. of the Jews, iii, 15. 
. “4 Matt., xxvi-, 36-46. Mark, xiv., 32-42. Luke, 
sxil., 41-46. John, xviii, 1. 


ZT : ” 


ἢ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ᾿ 


lic, though confronting danger and suffer- 
ing neither with stoical indifference, nor 
with the effort of a strong mind working 
itself up to the highest moral courage, but 
with a settled dignity, a calm and natural 
superiority, now, as it were, endured the 
last struggle of human nature. The whole 
scene of his approaching trial, his inevita- 
ble death, is present to his mind, and for 
an instant he prays to the Almighty Father 
to release him from the task, which, how- 
ever of such importance to the welfare ot 
mankind, is to be accomplished by such 
fearful means. The next instant, however, 
the momentary weakness is subdued, and 
though the agony is so severe that the 
sweat falls like large drops of blood to 
the ground, resigns himself at once to the 
will of God. Nothing can heighten the 
terrors of the coming scene so much as 
its effect, in anticipation, on the mind of 
Jesus himself. 

The devotions of Jesus and the slum- 
bers of his followers, as midnight petrayal 
approached, were rudely interrupt- of Jesus. 
ed.* Jesus had rejoined his now awaken- 
ed disciples for the last time; he had 
commanded them to rise, and be prepared 
for the terrible event. Still, no doubt, in- 
credulous of the sad predictions of their 
Master, still supposing that his unbounded 
power would secure him from any attempt 
of his enemies, they beheld the garden 
filled with armed men, and gleaming with 
lamps and torches. Judas advances and 
makes the signal which had been agreed 
on, saluting his Master with the customa- 
ry mark of respect, a kiss on the cheek, 
for which he receives the calm bunt severe 
rebuke of Jesus for thus treacherously 
abusing this mark of familiarity and at- 
tachment: “Judas, betrayest thou the 
Son of Man witha kiss?” ‘The tranquil 
dignity of Jesus overawed the soldiers 
who first approached; they were most 
likely ignorant of the service on which 
they were employed; and when Jesus an- 
nounces himself as the object of their 
search, they shrink back in astonishment, 
and fall to the earth. Jesus, however, 
covenanting only for the safe dismissal of 
his followers, readily surrenders himself 
to the guard. The fiery indignation of 
Peter, who had drawn his sword, and en- 
deavoured, at least by his example, to in- 
cite the few adherents of Jesus to resist- 
ance, is repressed by the command of his 
Master : his peaceful religion disclaims all 
alliance with the acts or the weapons of 
the violent. The mant whose ear had 


* Matt. xxvi, 47-56. Mark, xiv., 43-50. Luke, 
XXii., 47-53. John, xviii., 2-11. 
+ It is a curious observation of Semler, that St. 


. 


"HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


been struck off was instantaneously heal- 
Jesus lead 64: and Jesus, with no more than 
prisoner to a brief and calm remonstrance 
the cily. against this ignominious treat- 
ment, against this arrestation, not in the 
face of day, in the public Temple, but at 
night, and with arms in their hands, as 
though he had been a robber, allows him- 
self to be led back, without resistance, 
into the city. His panic-stricken follow- 
ers disperse on all sides, and Jesus is left, 
forsaken and alone, amid his mortal ene- 
mies. 

The caprice, the jealousy, or the pru- 
dence of the Roman government, we have 
before observed, had in no point so fre- 
quently violated the feelings of the subject 
The high- Nation as in the deposition of the 
priest. high-priest, and the appointment 
of a successor to the office, in whom they 
might hope to place more implicit confi- 
dence. ‘The stubbornness of the people, 
revolted by this wanton insult, persisted in 
honouring with the title those whom they 
could not maintain in the post of author- 
ity ; all who had borne the office retained, 
in common language, the appellation of 
high-priest, if indeed the appellation was 
not still more loosely applied. Probably 
the most influential man in Jerusalem at 
this time was Annas or Ananus, four of 
whose sons in turn either had been, or 
were subsequently, elevated to that high 
dignity, now filled by his son-in-law Cai- 
aphas. 

The house of Annas was the first place* 
House of to which Jesus was led, either that 
Annas. the guard might receive farther 
instructions, or perhaps as the place of 
the greatest security, while the Sanhedrin 
was hastily summoned to meet at that un- 
timely hour, towards midnight or soon af- 
ter, in the house of Caiaphas. Before the 
houses of the more wealthy in the East, 
or, rather, within the outer porch, there is 
usually a large square open court, in 
which public business is transacted, par- 
ticularly by those who fill official stations. 
Into such a court, before the palace of 
Caiaphas, Jesus was led by the soldiers ; 
and Peter, following unnoticed amid the 
throng, lingered before the porch until 
John, who happened to be familiarly known 
to some of the high-priest’s servants, ob- 
tained permission for his entrance.t 

The first process seems to have been 
a private examination,} perhaps while the 


John alone gives the name of the servant of the 
high-priest, Malchus; and John, it appears, was 
known to some of the household of the chief magis- 
trate. * John, xviii, 12-14. + Ibid., 15-19. 

1 Matt., xxvi., 57. Mark, xiv., 55-64. Luke, 
xxii, 54. - 


2 em, 


ed a tranquil and total silence. 


we 


133 


rest of the Sanhedrin were as- First; 

sembling, before the high-priest. rogutory. 
He demanded of Jesus the nature of his 
doctrines and the character of his disci- 
ples. Jesus appealed to the publicity of 
his teaching, and referred him to his hear- 
ers for an account of the tenets which he 
had advanced. He had no secret doc- 
trines, either of tumult or sedition; he had 
ever spoken “in public, in the synagogue 
or in the Temple.” And now the fearful 
scene of personal insult and violence be. 
gan. An officer of the high-priest, en 
raged at the calm composure with which 
Jesus answered the interrogatory, struck 
him on the mouth (beating on the mouth, 
sometimes with the hand, more often with 
a thong of leather or a slipper, is still a 
common act of violence in the East).* 
He bore the insult with the same equable 
placidity: “If I have spoken evil, bear 
witness of the evil; but if well, why 
smitest thou me?” The more formal ar- 
raignment began :+ and, howev- second more 
er hurried and tumultuous the public inter- 
meeting, the Sanhedrin, either "2°": 

desirous that their proceedings should be 
conducted with regularity, or, more likely, 
strictly fettered by the established rules 
of their court, perhaps by no means unan- 
imous in their sentiments, were, after all, 
in the utmost embarrassment how to ob- 
tain a legal capital conviction. Witnesses 
were summoned, but the immutable prin- 
ciples of the law, and the invariable prac- 
tice of the tribunal; required, on every case 
of. life and death, the agreement of two 
witnesses on some specific charge. Many 
were at hand, suborned by the enemies of 
Jesus, and hesitating at no falsehood ; but 
their testimony was so confused, or bore 
so little on any capital charge, that the 
court was still farther perplexed. At 
length two witnesses deposed to the mis- 
apprehended speech of Jesus, at his first 
visit to Jerusalem, relating to the destruc- | 
tion of the Temple. But even their dep- 
ositions were so contradictory, that it was 
scarcely possible to venture on a convic- 
tion upon such loose and incoherent state- 
ments. Jesus, in the mean time, preserv- 
He nei- 
ther interrupted nor questioned the wit- 
nesses ; he did not condescend to place 
himself upon his defence. Nothing, there- 
fore, remained{ but to question the pris- 


* John, xviii., 20-24. ὰ 

+ Matt., xxvi., 59-66. Mark, χίν., ὅ5-64. Luke, 
xxil., 66-71. John, xviii., 19-24. 

1 Some have supposed that there were two ex- - 
aminationsin different places before the Sanhedrin: 
one more private, in the house of Caiaphas ; anoth- 
er more public, in the Gazith, the chamber in the 


4 te 


134 


oner, and, if possible, to betray him into 
criminating himself. The high-priest, 
rising to give greater energy to his ad- 
dress, and adjuring him in the most solemn 
manner, in the name of God, to answer 
the truth, demands whether he is indeed 
the Messiah, the Christ, the Son of the 
Living God. Jesus at once answers in 
the affirmative, and adds a distinct allu- 
sion to the prediction of Daniel,* then uni- 
versally admitted to refer to the reign of 
the Messiah. His words may be thus 
Jesus ac. paraphrased: “Ye shall know 
knowledges Me for that mighty King descri- 
himself the hed by the prophet; ye shall 
Messiah. know me when my great, eternal, 
and imperishable kingdom shall be estab- 
lished on the ruins of your theocracy.” 

The secret joy of the high-priest, though 
Conduct of Perhaps his devout horror was 
the high- not altogether insincere, was 
yey disguised by the tone and ges- 
ture of religious indignation which he as- 
sumed. He rent his clothes; an act con- 
sidered indecorous, almost indecent, in the 
high-priest, unless justified by an outrage 
against the established religion so flagrant 
and offensive as this declaration of Jesus.t 
He pronounced his speech (strangely, in- 
deed, did its lofty tone contrast with the 
appearance of the prisoner) to be direct 
and treasonable blasphemy. The whole 
court, either sharing in the indignation, or 
hurried away by the vehement gesture and 
commanding influence of the high-priest, 
hastily passed the fatal sentence, and de- 
clared Jesus guilty of the capital crime. 

The insolent soldiery (as he was with- 
Jesus insult. drawn from the court) had now 
evap? full license, and perhaps more 

wy: than the license, of their supe- 

riors to indulge the brutality of their own 
dispositions. They began to spit on his 
face—in the East the most degrading in- 
sult; they blindfolded him, and struck 
him with the palms of their hands, and, in 
their miserable merriment, commanded 
him to display his prophetic knowledge by 
ESE EE Rielly he) 
Temple where the Sanhedrin usually sat. But the 
account of St. John, the most particular of the 
whole, says expressly (xviii,, 28) that he was car. 
ried directly from the house of Caiaphas to the 
Pretorium of Pilate. 

* The allusion to this 
14) is manifest. 

t+ They who judge a blasphemer first bid the 
witness to speak out plainly what he hath heard ; 
and when he speaks it, the judges, standing on their 
feet, rend their garments, and do not sew them up 
again.—Sanhed.,i.,7, 10, and Babyl. Gemar., in loc. 

The high-priest was forbidden to rend his gar- 
ments in the case of private mourning for the dead. 
—Lev., x.,6; xxi., 10. In the time of public ca- 
aed he did.—1 Mac., xi., 71. Joseph., B. J., ii., 

He 


prophecy (Dan., vii., 13, 


“HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. a 


ἐμ προς the hand that was raised against 
im. Ἢ ; ᾿ 
, The dismay, the despair which had 
seized upon his adherents is most strong- 
ly exemplified by the denial of Peter. 
The zealous disciple, after he had obtained 
admittance into the hall, stood warming 
himself, in the cool of the dawning morn- 
ing, probably by a kind of brazier.t He 
was first accosted by a female servant, 
who charged him with being an accom- 
plice of the prisoner: Peter de- Denial of 
nied the charge with vehemence, Peter. 
and retired to the portico or porch in front 
of the palace. A second time, another fe- 
male renewed the accusation: with still 
more angry protestations Peter disclaim- — 
ed all connexion with his master; and 
once, but unregarded, the cock crew. An 
hour afterward, probably about this time, 
after the formal condemnation, the charge 
was renewed by a relation of the man 
whose ear he had cut off. His harsh Gal- 
ilean pronunciation had betrayed him as 
coming from that province; but Peter now 
resolutely confirmed his denial with an 
oath. It was the usual time of the second 
cock-crowing, and again it was distinctly 
heard. Jesus, who was probably at that 
time in the outer hall or porch, in the 
midst of the insulting soldiery, turned his 
face towards Peter, who, overwhelmed 
with shame and distress, hastily retreated 
from the sight of his deserted master, and 
wept the bitter tears of self-reproach and 
humiliation. 

But, although the Sanhedrin had thus 
passed their sentence, there_remained a 
serious obstacle before it could be carried 
into execution. On the con- 
tested point, whether the Jews, 
under the Roman government, 
possessed the power of life and 
death, it is not easy to state the 
question with brevity and distinctness. 
Notwithstanding the apparently clear and 
distinct recognition of the Sanhedrin, that 
they had not authority to put any man to 
death ;§ notwithstanding the remarkable 
concurrence of rabbinical tradition with 
this declaration, which asserts that tlie na- 
tion had been deprived of the power of 
life and. death forty years before the de- 
struction of the city,|| many of the most 
~* Matt., xxviy 67, 68. Mark, xiv., 65. Luke, — 
xxii., 63, 65. . 

+ Matt., xxvi., 58, 69, 75. Mark, xiv., 54, 66,72. 
Luke, xxii., 54-62. John, xviii., 15, 16. 

+ The question is discussed in all the commen- 
tators.—See Lardner, Credib.,i, 2; Basnage, b. 
v.,c. 2; Biscoe on the Acts, c. 6; note to Law’s 
Theory, 147; but, above all, Krebs, Observat. in 
Nov. Test., 64-155; Rosenmiuller, and Kuinoel, in 
loc. § John, xviii, 31. 

|| Traditio est quadraginta annos ante excidium 


Question of 
the right of 
the Sanhe- 
drin to inflict 
capital pun- 
ishment. 


ΤΥ 


ate 


~~ 


& 
learned writers, some, indeed, of the ablest 
of the fathers,* from arguments arising out 
of the practice of Roman provincial juris- 
prudence, and from later facts in the evan- 
gelic history and that of the Jews, have 
supposed that, even if, as is doubtful, they 
were deprived of this power in civil, they 
retained it in religious cases. Some have 
added, that even in the latter, the ratifica- 
tion of the sentence by the Roman govern- 
or, or the permission to carry it into ex- 
ecution, was necessary. According to 
this view, the object of the Sanhedrin was 
to bring the case before Pilate as a civil 
charge: since the assumption of a royal 
title and authority implied a design to cast 
off the Roman yoke. Or, if they retained 


τ 


τς the right of capital punishment in religious 


cases, it was contrary to usage, in the pro- 
ceedings of the Sanhedrin, as sacred as 
law itself, to order an execution on the day 
of preparation for the Passover. As, then, 
they dared not violate that usage, and as 
delay was in every way dangerous, either 
from the fickleness of the people, who, 
having been momentarily wrought up to a 
pitch of deadly animosity against Jesus, 
might again, by some act of power or 
goodness on his part, be carried away back 
to his side; or,in case of tumult, from the 
unsolicited intervention of the Romans, 
their plainest course was to obtain, if pos- 
sible, the immediate support and assist- 
ance of the government. 

In my own opinion, formed upon the 
Real rela- Study of the contemporary Jew- 
som ine ish history, the power of the San- 

edrin - > Ἢ ἔξ 
tothegov- hedrin, at this period of political 
ernment. change and confusion, on this, as 
well as on other points, was altogether un- 
defined. Under the Asmonean princes, 
the sovereign, uniting the civil and reli- 
gious supremacy, the high-priesthood with 
the royal power, exercised, with the San- 
hedrin as his council, the highest political 
and civil jurisdiction. Herod, whose au- 
thority depended on the protection of 
Rome, and was maintained by his wealth, 


templi, ablatum fuisse jus vite et mortis.—Hieros. 


Sanhed., fol. 18, 1;-ib., fol. 242. Quadraginta an- 
nis ante vastatum templum, ablata sunt judicia 
capitalia ab Israele. There is, however, some 


~» doubt about the reading and translation of this pas- 


gage. 


Wagenseil reads four for forty. Selden (De 
n.) insists that the judgments were not taken 
ay, but interrupted and disused. 

τς * Among the ancients, Chrysostom and Augus- 
tine; among the moderns, Lightfoot, Lardner, 
Krebs, Rosenmiuller, Kuinoel. The best disquisi- 
tion on that side of the question appears to me that 
of Krebs; on the other, that of Basnage. 

+ Cyril and Augustine, with whom Kuinoel is 
inclined to agree, interpret the words of St. John, 
“Tt is not lawful for us to put any man to death,” 
by subjoining, ‘‘ on the day of the Passover.” 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. — 


135 


and in part by foreign mercenaries, al- 
though he might leave to the Sanhe- 
drin, as the supreme tribunal, the judicial 
power, and, in ordinary religious cases, 
might admit their unlimited jurisdiction, 
yet no doubt watched and controlled 
their proceedings with the jealousy of 
an Asiatie despot, and practically, if not 
formally, subjected all their decrees to his 
revision; at least he would not have per- 
mitted any encroachment on his own su- 
preme authority. In fact, according to 
the general tradition of the Jews, he at 
one time put the whole Sanhedrin to 
death: and since, as his life advanced, his 
tyranny became more watchful and sus- 
picious, he was more likely to diminish 
than increase the powers of the national 
tribunal. In the short interval of little 
more than thirty years which had elapsed 
since the death of Herod, nearly ten had 
been occupied by the reign of Archelaus. 
On his deposal, the Sanhedrin had proba- 
bly extended or resumed its original func- 
tions, but still the supreme civil authority 
rested in the Roman procurator. All the 
commotions excited by the turbulent ad- 
venturers who infested the country, or by 
Judas the Galilean and his adherents, 
would fall under the cognizance of the 
civil governor, and were repressed by his 
direct interference. Nor can capital re- 
ligious offences have been of frequent oc- 
currence, since it is evident that the rigour 
of the Mosaic Law had been greatly re- 
laxed, partly by the tendency of the age, 
which ran in a counter direction to those 
acts of idolatry against which the Mosaic 
statutes were chiefly framed, and left few 
crimes obnoxious tv the extreme penalty. 
Nor, until the existence of their polity and 
religion was threatened, first by the prog- 
ress of Christ, and afterward of his reli- 
gion, would they have cared to be armed 
with an authority which it was rarely, if 
ever, necessary or expedient to put forth 
in its full force.* 


* It may be worth observing, that not merely 
were the Pharisaic and Sadducaic party at issue on 
the great question of the expediency of the severe 
administration of the law, which implied frequency 
of capital punishment, the latter party being noto- 
riously sanguinary in the execution of public jus- 
tice ; but even in the Pharisaic party one school, 
that of Hillel, was accused (Jost, Geschichte der 
Israeliter [and Algem. Geschichte der Jsraelitischen 


Volkes, ii. band, 5. 61, f.]) by the rival school of 


dangerous lenity in the administration of the law, 
and of culpable unwillingness to inflict the punish- 
ment of death. 

The authority of them, says Lightfoot (from the 
rabbins), was not taken away by the Romans, but 
rather relinquished by themselves. The slothful- 
ness of the council destroyed its own authcrity. 
Hear it justly upbraided in this matter: the coun- 


136 


This, then, may have been, strictly 
That of Je. speaking, a new case, the first 
ant ame. Which had occurred since the re- 
esdeuten duction of Judea to a Roman 
case. province. The Sanhedrin, from 
whom all jurisdiction in political cases 
was withdrawn, and who had no recent 
precedent for the infliction of capital pun- 
ishment on any religious charge, might 
think it more prudent (particularly during 
this hurried and tumultuous proceeding, 
which commenced at midnight, and must 
be despatched with the least possible de- 
lay) at once to disclaim any authority 
which, however the Roman governor 
seemed to attribute to them, he might at 
last prevent their carrying into execution. 
Motives of All the other motives then oper- 
the rulers in ating on their minds would con- 
disclaiming cyr in favour of this course of 
their power. 3 ὰ 5 

proceeding: their mistrust of 
the people, who might attempt a rescue 
from their feeble and unrespected officers, 
and could only, if they should fall off to 
the other side, be controlled by the dread 
of the Roman military; and the reluc- 
tance to profane so sacred a day by a pub- 
lic execution, of which the odium would 
thus be cast on their foreign rulers. It 
was clearly their policy, at any cost, to 
secure the intervention of Pilate, as well 
to ensure the destruction of their victim 
as. to shift the responsibility from their 
own head upon that of the Romans. 
They might, not unreasonably, suppose 
that Pilate, whose relentless disposition 
had been shown in a recent instance, 
would not hesitate at once, and on their 
authority, on the first intimation of a dan- 
gerous and growing party, to act without 
farther examination or inquiry, and with- 
out scruple add one victim more to the 
robbers or turbulent insurgents who, it 
appears, were kept in prison, in order to 
be executed as a terrible example at that 
period of national concourse. 

It should seem that, while Jesus was 
Jesus before Sent in chains to the Pretorium 
Pilate. of Pilate, whether in the Anto- 
nia, the fortress adjacent to the Temple, 
or in part of Herod’s palace, which was 
connected with the mountain of the Tem- 
ple by a bridge over the Tyropeon, the 
council adjourned to their usual place of 
assemblage, the chamber called Gazith, 
within the Temple. A deputation only 
accompanied the prisoner, to explain and 
support the charge; and here probably it 
was that, in his agony of remorse, Judas 


cil which puts one to death in seven years is called 
“destructive.” R. Lazar Ben Azariah said, which 
puts one to death in seventy years.—Lightfoot, in loc. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


brought back the reward that he Remorse 
had received ;* and when the as- and death 
sembly, to his confession of his ο΄ 7.688, 
crime in betraying the innocent blood, re- 
plied with cold and contumelious uncon- 
cern, he cast down the money on the 
pavement, and rushed away to close his 
miserable life. Nor must the character- 
istic incident be omitted, the Sanhedrin, 
who had not hesitated to reward the ba- 
sest treachery, probably out of the Temple 
funds, scruple to receive back and replace 
in the sacred treasury the price of blood. 
The sum, therefore, is set apart for the 
purchase of a field for the burial of stran- 
gers, long known by the name of Acel- 
dama, the field of blood.t| Such is ever 
the absurdity, as well as the heinousness, 
of crimes committed in the name of reli- 
gion. ᾿ 

The first emotion of Pilate at this 
strange accusation from the great stonish- 
tribunal of the nation, however ment of 
rumours of the name and influ- Pate 
ence of Jesus had no doubt reached his 
ears, must have been the utmost astonish- 
ment. To the Roman mind the Jewish 
character was ever an inexplicable prob- 
lem. But if so when they were se 
scattered about and mingled with the 
countless diversities of races of discord- 
ant habits, usages, and religions which 
thronged to the metropolis of the world, 
or were dispersed through the principal 
cities of the empire; in their own coun- 
try, where there was, as it were, a con- 
centration of all their extraordinary na- 
tional propensities, they must have ap- 
peared in still stronger opposition to the 
rest of mankind. ‘lo the loose manner 
in which religious belief hung on the 
greater part of the subjects of the Roman 
empire, their recluse and uncompromising 
attachment to the faith of their ancestors 
offered the most singular contrast. Every- 
where else the temples were open, the 
rites free to the stranger by race or coun- 
try, who rarely scrupled to do homage to 
the tutelar deity of the place. The Jewish 
Temple alone received, indeed, but with a 
kind of jealous condescension, the offer- 
ings even of the emperor. ‘Throughout 
the rest of the world religious enthusiasm 
might not be uncommon, here and there, 
in individual cases, particularly in the 


* Matt., xxvii., 3-10. 

+ The sum appears extremely small for the pur- 
chase of a field, even should we adopt the very 
probable suggestion of Kuionel, that it was a field 
in which the fuller’s earth had been worked out, 
and which was therefore entirely barren and un- 
productive.—Kuionel, in loc. Matt., xxvii, 2-14, 
Mark, xiv., 1-5. Luke, xxiii., 1-6. John, xviii, 
28-38. 


~ 


7 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


East: the priests of some of the mystic 
religions at times excited a considerable 
body of followers, and drove them blind- 
fold to the wildest acts of superstitious 
phrensy ; but the sudden access of reli- 
gious fervour was, in general, as transient 
as violent; the flame burned with rapid 
and irresistible fury, and went out of it- 
self. The Jews stood alone (according 
to the language and opinion of the Ro- 
man world) as a nation of religious fanat- 
ics ; and this fanaticism was a deep, a set- 
tled, a conscientious feeling, and formed— 
—an essential and inseparable part—the 
groundwork of their rigid and unsocial 
character. 

Yet even to one familiarized by a res- 
idence of several years with the Jewish 
nation, on the present occasion the con- 
duct of the Sanhedrin must have appear- 
ed utterly unaccountable. This senate, 
or municipal body, had left to the Roman 
governor to discover the danger and sup- 
press the turbulence of the robbers and 
insurgents against whom Pilate had taken 
such decisive measures. Now, however, 
they appear suddenly seized with an ac- 

‘the con. 6655 Of loyalty for the Roman 
duet of the authority, and a trembling appre- 
Sanhedr em: hension of the least invasion of 
the Roman title to supremacy. And 
against whom were they actuated by this 
unwonted caution, and burning with this 
unprecedented zeal? Against a man who, 
as far as he could discover, was a harm- 
less, peaceful, and benevolent enthusiast, 
who had persuaded many of the lower 
orders to believe in certain unintelligible 
doctrines, which seemed to have no rela- 
tion to the government of the country, 
and were, as yet, no way connected with 
insurreclionary movements. In fact, he 
could not but clearly see that they were 
enemies of the influence obtained by Je- 
sus over the populace; but whether Jesus 
or the Sanhedrin governed the religious 
feelings and practices of the people, was 
a matter of perfect indifference to the 
Roman supremacy. 

The vehemence with which they press- 
atthena- 66 the charge, and the charge it- 
ture of the self, were equally inexplicable. 
Charge. When Pilate referred back, as it 
were, the judgment to themselves, and of- 
ered to leave Jesus to be punished by the 
existing law; while they shrunk from that 
responsibility, and disclaimed, at least over 
such acase and at such a season, the pow- 
er of life and death, they did not in the 
least relax the vehement earnestness of 
their persecution. Jesus was accused of 


assuming the title of King of the Jews, 


and with an intention of throwing off the 
5 


137 


Roman yoke. But, however little Pilate 


may have heard or understood his doe- 


trines, the conduct and demeanour of 
Christ were so utterly at variance with 
such a charge; the only intelligible article 
in the accusation, his imputed prohibition 
of the payment of tribute, so unsupport- 
ed by proof, as to bear no weight. ‘This 
redoubted king had been seized by the 
emissaries of the Sanhedrin, perhaps Ro- 
man soldiers placed under their orders; 
had been conveyed without resistance 
through the city; his few adherents, 
mostly unarmed peasants, had fled at the 
instant of his capture; not the slightest 
tumultuary movement had taken place 
during his examination before the high- 
priest, and the popular feeling seemed 
rather at present incensed against him 
than inclined to take his part. 

To the mind of Pilate, indeed, accus- 
tomed to the disconnexion of 
religion and morality, the more 
striking contradiction in the 
conduct of the Jewish rulers 
may not have appeared alto- 
gether so extraordinary. At 
the moment when they were violating the 
great, eternal, and immutable principles 
of all religion, and infringing on one of the 
positive commandments of the law, by 
persecuting to death an innocent man, 
they were withholden by religious scruple 
from entering the dwelling of Pilate; they 
were endangering the success of their 
cause, lest this intercourse with the un- 
clean stranger should exclude them from 
the worship of their God: a worship for 
which they contracted no disqualifying 
defilement by this deed of blood. The 
deputation stood without the hall of Pilate ;* 
and not even their animosity against Jesus 
could induce them to depart from that 
superstitious usage, to lend the weight of 
their personal appearance to the solemn 
accusation, or, at all events, to deprive 
the hated object of their persecution of 
any advantage which he might receive 
from undergoing his examination without 
being confronted with his accusers. Pilate 
seems to have paid so much respect to 
their usages, that he went out to receive 
their charge, and to inquire the nature of 
the crime for which Jesus was denounced. 

The simple question put to Jesus, on 
his first interrogatory before Pi- Examination 
late, was whether he claimed before Pilate. 
the title of King of the Jews.t The an- 
swer of Jesus may be considered as an 
appeal to the justice and right feeling ot 
the governor. ‘As Roman prefect, have 


‘The deputa- 
tion refuse to 
communicate 
with Pilate, 
from fear of 
legal defile- 
ment. 


* John, xviii., 28. + Id., 33-37. 


138 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


you any cause for suspecting me of am-j perhaps increased by a greater number of 


bitious or insurrectionary designs? do you 
entertain the least apprehension of my 
seditious demeanour? or are you nct rather 
adopting the suggestions of my enemies, 
and lending yourself to their unwarranted 
animosity?” Pilate disclaims all com- 
munion with the passions or the preju- 
dices of the Jewish rulers ; but Jesus had 
been brought before him, denounced as a 
dangerous disturber of the public peace, 
and he was officially bound to take cog- 
nizance of such a charge. In the rest of 
the defence of Christ, the only part intel- 
ligible to Pilate would be the unanswer- 
able appeal to the peaceful conduct of his 
followers. When Jesus asserted that he 
was a king, yet evidently implied a moral 
or religious sense in his use of the term, 
Pilate might attribute a vague meaning to 
his language, from the Stoic axiom, I am 
a king when I rule myself,* and thus give 
a sense to that which otherwise would 
have sounded in his ears like unintelligi- 
ble mysticism. His perplexity, however, 
must have been greatly increased when 
Jesus, in this perilous hour, when his life 
trembled, as it were, on the balance, de- 
clared that the object of his birth and of 
his life was the establishment of “ the 
truth.” “ΤῸ this end was I born, and for 
this cause came I into the world, that I 
should bear witness to the truth. Every 
one that is of the truth heareth my voice.” 
That the peace of a nation or the life of an 
individual should be endangered on ac- 
count of the truth or falsehood of any sys- 
tem of speculative opinions, was so dia- 
metrically opposite to the general opinion 
and feeling of the Roman world, that Pi- 
late, either in contemptuous mockery, or 
with the merciful design of showing the | 
utter harmlessness and insignificance of 
such points, inquired what he meant by 
truth ; what truth had to do with the pres- 
ent question; with a question of life and 
death, with a capital charge brought by 
the national council before the supreme 
tribunal. Apparently despairing, on one 
side, of bringing him, whom he seems to 
have considered a blameless enthusiast, 
to his senses; on the other, unwilling to 
attach so much importance to what ap- 
peared to him in so different a light, he 
wished at once to put an end to the whole 
Pilateen- 2ffair. He abruptly left Jesus, 
deavours to and went out again to the Jew- 
save Jesus. ish deputation at the gate (now 


* Ad summum sapiens uno minor est Jove, dives 
Liber, honoratus, pulcher. Rex denique regum. 
Hor., Ep. ii., 1, 106. Comp. Sat. i., 3, 125. 
At pueri ludentes, rex eris, inquit, 
Si recte facies.—Epist. i., 1, 59. 


the Sanhedrin), and declared his conviction 
of the innocence of Jesus. ; 

At this unexpected turn, the Sanhedrin 
burst into a furious clamour, Ciamours of 
reiterated their vague, perhaps the accusers. 
contradictory, and, to the ears of Pilate, 
unintelligible or insignificant charges, and 
seemed determined to press the conviction 
with implacable animosity, Pilate turned 
to Jesus, who had been led out, to demand 
his answer to these charges. Jesus stood 
collected, but silent, and the astonishment 
of Pilate was still farther heightened. The 
only accusation which seemed to bear any 
meaning, imputed to Jesus the raising tu- 
multuous meetings of the people through- 
out the country, from Judea to Galile 
This incidental mention of Galilee, made, 
perhaps, with an invidious design of awa- 
kening in the mind of the governor the re- 
membrance of the turbulent character of 
that people, suggested to Pilate a course 
by which he might rid himself of the em- 
barrassment and responsibility of this 
strange transaction. It has been conjec- 
tured, not. without probability, that the 
massacre of Herod’s subjects was the 
cause of the enmity that existed between 
the tetrarch and- the Roman governor. 
Pilate had now an opportunity at once to 
avoid an occurrence of the same nature, 
in which he had no desire to be implicated, 
and to make overtures of reconciliation to 
the native sovereign. He was indifferent 
about the fate of Jesus, provided he could 
shake off all actual concern in his death; 
or he might suppose that Herod, uninfected 
with the inexplicable enmity of the chief 
priests, might be inclined to protect his 
innocent subject.t 

The fame of Jesus had already excited 
the curiosity of Herod, but his Jesus sent 
curiosity was rather that which to Herod. 
sought amusement or excitement from 
the powers of an extraordinary wonder- 
worker, than that which looked for infor- 
mation or improvement from a wise mor- 
al, or a divinely-commissioned religious 
teacher. The circumstances of the inter- 
view, which probably took place in the 
presence of the tetrarch and his courtiers, 
and into which none of the disciples of 
Jesus could find their way, are not rela- 
ted. The investigation was long; but Je- 
sus maintained his usual unruflled silence, 
and at the close of the examina- Jesus sent 
tion he was sent back to Pilate. back with 
By the murder of John, Herod i". 
had incurred deep and lasting unpopulari- 
ty ; he might be unwilling to increase his 


* Luke, xxiii., 5. + Id 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANIT yx. 


character for cruelty by the same conduct 
towards Jesus, against whom, as he had 
not the same private reasons for requiring 
his support, he had not the same bitter- 
ness of personal animosity ; nor was his 
sovereignty, as has before been observed, 
endangered in the same manner as that of 
the chief priests, by the progress of Jesus. 
Herod therefore might treat with derision 
what appeared ‘to him ἃ harmless assump- 
tion of royalty, and determine to effect, 
by contempt and contumely, that degrada- 
tion of Jesus in the estimation of the peo- 
ple which his more cruel measures in the 
ease of John had failed to accomplish. 
With his connivance, therefore, if not un- 
der his instructions, his soldiers (perhaps 
some of them, as those of his father had 
been, foreigners, Gaulish or Thracian bar- 
barians) were permitted or encouraged in 
every kind of cruel and wanton insult. 
They clothed him, in mockery of his roy- 
al title, in a purple robe, and so escorted 
him back to Pilate, who, if he occupied part 
of the Herodion, not the Antonia, was 
close at hand, only in a different quarter 
of the same extensive palace. 

The refusal of Herod to take cognizance 
of the charge renewed the embarrassment 
of Pilate, but a way yet seemed open to 
extricate himself from his difficulty. There 
was a custom, that, in honour of the great 
festival, the Passover, a prisoner should 
be set at liberty at the request of the peo- 
ple.* The multitude had already become 
clamorous for their annual privilege. 
Among the half-robbers, half-insurgents 
who had so long infested the province of 
Judza and the whole of Palestine, there 
was a celebrated bandit named 
Barabbas, who, probably in some 
insurrectionary tumult, had been guilty of 
murder. Of the extent of his crime we 
are ignorant; but Pilate, by selecting the 
worst case, that which the people could 
not but consider the most atrocious and 
offensive to the Roman government, might 
desire to force them, as it were, to demand 
the release of Jesus. Barabbas had been 
undeniably guilty of those overt acts of 
insubordination which they endeavoured 
to infer as necessary consequences of the 
teaching of Jesus. 

He came forth, therefore, to the outside 
of his pretorium, and, having declared 
that neither himself nor Herod could dis- 
cover any real guilt in the prisoner who 
had been brought before them, he appeal- 
ed to them to choose between the con- 
demned insurgent and murderer, and the 


Barabbas. 


* Matt., xxvii., 15-20. Mark, xv., 6-11. 
xxiii, 13-19. John, xviii, 39. 


Luke, 


139 


blameless prophet of Nazareth. The 
high-priests had now wrought the people 
to madness, and had most likely crowded 
the courts round Pilate’s quarters with 
their most zealous and devoted partisans. 
The voice of the governor was drowned 
with an instantaneous burst of acclama- 
tion, demanding the release of Barabbas. 
Pilate made yet another ineffectual at- 
tempt to save the life of the innocent 
man. He thought, by some punishment 
short of death, if not to awaken the com- 
passion, to satisfy the animosity of the 
people.* The person of Jesus was given 
up to the lictors, and scourging with rods, 
the common Roman punishment for minor 
offences, was inflicted with merciless se- 
verity. The soldiers platted a τρις crown- 
crown of thorns, or, as iS edwith thorns 
thought, of some prickly plant, and shown to 
as ity is scarcely conceivable ΠΤ ΡΟ 
that life could have endured if the temples 
had been deeply pierced by a circle of 
thorns.t In this pitiable state Jesus was 
again led forth, bleeding with the scourge, 
his brow throbbing with the pointed crown; 
and dressed in the purple robe of mock- 
ery, to make the last vain appeal to the 
compassion, the humanity of the people. 
The wild and furious cries of “ Crucify 
him, crucify him,” broke out on all sides. 
In vain Pilate commanded them to be the 
executioners of their own sentence, and 
reasserted his conviction of the innocence 
of Jesus. In vain he accompanied his as- 
sertion by the significant action of wash- 
ing his hands in the public view, as if to 
show that he would contract no guilt or 
defilement from the blood of a blameless 
man.t He was answered by the awful 
imprecation, “ His blood be upon ‘The people 
us and upon our children.” The demand his 
deputies of the Sanhedrin press- °T!#*!”- 
ed more earnestly the capital charge of 
blasphemy. ‘‘He had made himself the 
Son of God.”§ This inexplicable accusa- 
tion still more shook the resolution of 
Pilate, who, perhaps at this instant, was 
farther agitated by a message from his 
wife. Claudia Procula (the law fntercession 
which prohibited the wives of of Pilate’s 
the provincial rulers from ac- τος 
companying their husbands to the seat of 
their governments now having fallen into 
disuse) had been permitted to reside with 
her husband Pilate in Palestine. The 
* Luke, xxiil., 16. John, xix., 1-5. 

It should seem, says Grotius, that the mockery 
was more intended than the pain. Some suppose 
the plant, the naba or nabka of the Arabians, with 
many small and sharp spikes, which would be pain- 
ful, but not endanger life.— Hasselquist’s Travels. 

t Matt., xxvii., 24, 25. ὁ John, xix., 7. 
4 Matt., xvxii., 19-23. This law had fallen into 


140 


stern justice of the Romans had guarded 


by this law against the baneful effects of | 
In this instance, had 


female influence. 
Pilate listened to the humaner counsels 


of his wife, from what a load of guilt 


would he have delivered his own con- 
science and his province! Aware of the 
proceedings which had occupied Pilate 
during the whole night, perhaps in some 
way better acquainted with the character 
of Jesus, she had gone to rest; but her 
sleep, her morning slumbers, when vis- 
ions were supposed to be more than ordi- 
narily true, were disturbed by dreams of 
the innocence of Jesus, and the injustice 
and inhumanity to which her husband 
might lend his authority. 

‘rhe prisoner was withdrawn into the 
guardroom, and Pilate endeavoured to ob- 
tain some explanation of the meaning of 
this new charge from Jesus himself. He 
made no answer, and Pilate appealed to 
his fears, reminding him that his life and 
death depended on the power of the pre- 
fect. Jesus replied, that his life was only 
in the power of Divine Providence, by 
whose permission alone Pilate enjoyed a 
temporary authority.*» But touched, it 
may seem, by the exertions of Pilate to 
save him, with all his accustomed gentle- 
ness he declares Pilate guiltless of his 
Last inter. blood, in comparison with his be- 
rogatory of trayers and persecutors among his 
Jesus. own countrymen. ‘This speech 
still farther moved Pilate in his favour. 
But the justice and the compassion of the 
Romans gave way at once before the fear 
of weakening his interest or endangering 
his personal safety with his imperial mas- 
ter. He made one effort more to work on 
the implacable people; he was answered 
with the same furious exclamations, and 
with menaces of more alarming import. 
They accused him of indifference to the 
stability of the imperial power: “Thou 
art not Cesar’s friend :”} they threatened 
to report his conduct, in thus allowing the 
title of royalty to be assumed with impu- 
nity, to the reigning Cesar, That Ceasar 
was the dark and jealous Tiberius. Up to 
this period the Jewish nation, when they 
had complained of the tyranny oftheir na- 
tive sovereigns, had ever obtained a fa- 
vourable hearing at Rome. Even against 
Herod the Great their charges had been 
received ; they had been admitted to a pub- 
lic audience ; and though their claim to na- 
tional independence at the death of that 


neglect in the time of Augustus; during the reign 
of Tiberius it was openly infringed, and the motion 
of Cacina in the Senate to put it more strictly in 
force produced no effect.—Tac., Ann., iii., 33. 

* John, xix., 8-11. t Ibid., 12. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


sovereign had not been allowed, Archelaus 


had received his government with limited 


powers, and, Οἱ } the complaint of the peo- 
ple, had been removed from his throne. 
In short, the influence of that attachment 
to the Cesarean family,* which had ob- 
tained for the nation distinguished privi- 
leges both from Julius and Augustus, had 
not yet been effaced by that character of 
turbulence and insubordination which led 
to their final ruin. 

In what manner such a charge of not 
being “‘ Ceesar’s friend” might be misrepre- 
sented or aggravated, it was impossible to 
conjecture ; but the very strangeness of the 
accusation was likely to work on the 
gloomy and suspicious mind of Tiberius; 
and the frail tenure by which Pilate held 
his favour at Rome is shown by his igno- 
minious recall and banishment some years 
after, on the complaint of the Jewish people ; 
though not, it is true, for an act of indis- 
creet mercy, but one of unnecessary cru- 
elty. The latent and suspended decision 
of his character reappeared in all its cus- 
tomary recklessness. The life of one 
man, however blameless, was not for an 
instant to be considered when his own 
advancement, his personal safety, were in 
peril: his sterner nature resumed the as- 
cendant ; he mounted the tribunal, which 
was erected on a tesselated pavement near 
the pretorium,t and passed the solemn, 
the irrevocable sentence. It might Gonaem- 
almost seem that, in bitter mock- nation of 
ery, Pilate for the last time de- 1 "5: 
manded, “Shall I crucify your king?” 
“We have no king but Cesar,” was the 
answer of the chief priests. Pilate yielded 
up the contest; the murderer was com- 
manded to be set at liberty, the just man 
surrendered to crucifixion. : 

The remorseless soldiery were at hand, 
and instigated, no doubt, by the ΤΑΝΕ 
influence, by the bribes of the sus by the. 
Sanhedrin, carried the sentence populace and 
into effect with the most savage S!dery: 
and wanton insults. They dressed him 


* Compare Hist. of the Jews, il., 74, 

+ We should not notice the strange mistake of 
the learned German, Hug, on this subject, if it had 
not been adopted by a clever writer In a popular 
journal. Hug has supposed: the λιθόστρωτον (per- 
haps the tesselated) stone pavement on which Pi- 
late’s tribunal was erected, to be the same which 
was the scene of a remarkable incident mentioned 
by Josephus. During the siege of the Temple, a 
centurion, Julianus, charged on horseback, andé 
forced his way into the inner court of the Temple 
his horse stepped up on the pavement (A:Oéorpwrov), 
and he fell. It is scarcely credible that any writer 
acquainted with Jewish antiquities, or the structure 
of the Temple, could suppose that the Roman gov- 
ernor would raise his tribunal within the inviolable 
precincts of the inner court. 


4 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


up in all the mock semblance of royalty 
(he had already the purple robe and t 


crown) ; a reed was now placed in his’ 


hand for a sceptre; they paid him their 
insulting homage; struck him with the 
palms of their hands; spit upon him; and 
then stripping him of his splendid attire, 
dressed him again in his own simple rai- 
ment, and led him out to death.* 

The place of execution was without the 
gates. This was the case in most towns ; 
and in Jerusalem, which. according to tra- 
dition, always maintained a kind of re- 
semblance to the camp in the wilderness,t 
as criminal punishments were forbidden to 
defile the sacred precincts, a field beyond 
the walls was set apart and desecrated for 
this unhallowed purpose.f 

Hitherto we have been tempted into 
some detail, both by the desire of ascer- 
taining the state of the public mind, and 
the motives of the different actors in this 
unparalleled transaction, and by the ne- 
cessity of harmonizing the various circum- 
stances related in the four separate nar- 
ratives. As we approach the appalling 
close, we tremble lest the colder process 
of explanation should deaden the solemn 
and harrowing impression of the scene, or 
weaken the contrast between the wild and 
tumultuous uproar of the triumphant ene- 
mies and executioners of the Son of Man, 
with the deep and unuttered misery of the 
few faithful adherents who still followed 
his footsteps: and, far above all, his own 
serene, his more than human composure, 
the dignity of suffering, which casts so far 
into the shade every example of human 
Circumstan- heroism: Yet in the most tri- 
ces of the fling incidents there is so much 
crucifixion. 118 and reality, so remarkable an 
adherence to the usages of the time, and 
to the state of public feeling, that we can- 
not but point out the most striking of these 
particulars. For, in fact, there is no sin- 
gle circumstance, however minute, which 
does not add to the truth of the whole de- 
scription, so as to stamp it (we have hon- 
estly endeavoured to cunsider it with the 


* Matt., xxvii., 27-30. Mark, xv., 15-20. 

+ Numbers, xv, 35. 1 Kings, xxi., 13. 
brews, xiil., 12. Extra urbem, patibulum. 
tus. See Grotius. 

t It iscurious to trace on what uncertain grounds 
rest many of our established notions relating to in- 
cidents in the early history of our religion. No one 
scruples to speak in the popular language of ‘the 
Hill of Calvary ;” yet there appears no evidence, 
which is not purely legendary, for the assertion that 
Calvary was on a hill. The notion arose from the 
fanciful interpretation of the word Golgotha, the 
place of ἃ scull, which was thonght to imply some 
resemblance in its form to a human seul]; but it is 
far more probab!y derived from having been strewn 
with the remains of condemned malefactors. 


Plau- 


man. 


He- | 


141 


calmest impartiality) with an impression 


| of credibility, of certainty, equal to, if not ἡ 


urpassing, every event in the history of 
The inability of Jesus (exhausted 
by a sleepless night, by the length of the 
trial, by insults and bodily pain, by the 
scourging and blows) to bear his own cross 
(the constant practice of condemned crim- 
inals) ;* the seizure of a Cyrenian, from 


a province more numerously colonized by © 


Jews than any other, except Egypt and 
Babylonia, as he was entering the city, 
and, perhaps, was known to be an adherent 
of Jesus, to bear his cross ;f the customa- 
ry deadening potion of wine and myrrh, 
which was given to malefactors previous 
to their execution, but which Jesus, aware 
of its stupifying or inti erect and 
determined to preserve his firmness and 
self-command, but slightly touched with 
his lips; the title, the King} of the Jews, 
in three languages,|| so strictly in accord- 
ance with the public usage of the time; 
the division and casting lots for his gar- 
ments by the soldiers who executed him 
(those who suffered the ignominious pun- 
ishment of the cross being exposed en- 
tirely naked, or with nothing more than 
was necessary for decency) ;{ all these 
particulars, as well as the instrument of 
execution, the cross, are in strict unison 
with the well-known practice of Roman 
criminal jurisprudence. The execution of 
the two malefactors, one on each side of 
Jesus, is equally consonant with their or- 
dinary administration of justice, particu- 
larly in this ill-fated province. Probably 
before, unquestionably at a later period, 
Jerusalem was doomed to behold the long 
line of crosses on which her sons were left 
by the relentless Roman authorities to 
struggle with slow and agonizing death. 
In other circumstances, the Jewish na- 
tional character is equally conspicuous. 
This appears even in the conduct of the 
malefactors. The fanatical Juda- 186 two 
ism of one. not improbably a fo]- malefac- 
lower, or infected with the doc- ‘™ 
trines of the Gaulonite, even in his last ag- 
ony has strength enough to insult the 
pretender to the name of a Messiah who 


* Hence the common term ‘‘ furcifer” Patibu- 
lum ferat per urbem, deinde affigatur cruci.—Plauti, 
frag. + Mark, xv., 21. Luke, xxiii, 26. 

1 Matt., xxvii.,34. Mark, xv., 23. ‘The rabbins 
say, wine with frankincense. This. potion was 
given by the Jews out of compassion to criminals. 

ἧ Luke, xxiii.. 38. John, xix., 19, 20. ih 

The inscriptions on the palisades which divided 
tbe part of the Temple court which might be entered 
by the Gentiles from that which was oper only to 
the Jews, were written, with the Roman sanction, 
in the three languages, Hebrew, Greek, aud Latin. 

4 Matt., xxvii..35. Mark, xv.,24. Luke, xxii. 
34. John, xix., 23, 24. 


142 . 


yet has not the power to release himself 
and his fellow-sufferers from death. The 
other, of milder disposition, yet in death in- 
clines to believe in Jesus, and, when he re- 
turns to assume his kingdom, would hope 
to share in its blessings. To him Jesus, 
speaking in the current language, promises 
an immediate reward; he is to pass at 
once from life to happiness.* Besides 
this, how striking the triumph of his en- 
emies, as he seemed to surrender himself 
without resistance to the growing pangs 
Spectators of Of death; the assemblage, not 
the execution. only of the rude and ferocious 
populace, but of many of the most distin- 
guished rank, the members of the Sanhe- 
drin, to behold and to insult the last mo- 
ments of their once redoubted, but now 
despised adversary. And still every in- 
dication of approaching death seemed 
more and more to justify their rejection! 
still no sign of the mighty, the all-power- 
ful Messiah! ‘Their taunting allusions 
to his royal title, to his misapprehended 
speech, which rankled in their hearts, about 
the demolition and rebuilding of the Tem- 
ple ;f to his power of healing others and 
restoring life, a power in his own case so 
manifestly suspended or lost; the offer to 
acknowledge him as the Messiah if he 
would come down from the cross in the 
face of day ; the still more malignant re- 
proach, that he, who had boasted of the 
peculiar favour of God, was now s0 vis- 
ibly deserted and abandoned ; the Son of 
God, as he called himself, is left to perish, 
despised and disregarded by God; all this 
as strikingly accords with, and illustrates 
the state of, Jewish feeling, as the former 
circumstances of the Roman usages. 

And amid the whole wild and tumultu- 
bus scene there are some quiet gleams of 
pure Christianity, which contrast with and 
relieve the general darkness and horror: 
not merely the superhuman patience, with 
which insult, and pain, and ignominy are 
borne; not merely the self-command, 
which shows that the senses are not be- 
numbed or deadened by the intensity of 
suffering, but the slight incidental touches 
of gentleness and humanity.[ We cannot 
but indicate the answer to the afflicted 
women, who stood by the way weeping 
Conduct aS he passed on to Cavalry, and 
of Jesus. whom he commanded not “to weep 
for him,” but for the deeper sorrows to 
which themselves or their children were 
devoted; the notice of the group of his 
own kindred and followers who stood by 
the cross; his bequest of the support of 

* Luke, xxiii., 39-43. 

ἡ Matt., xxvii, 39-43. Mark, xv., 31,32. Luke, 
XXiii., 35. . 1 Luke, xxiii 27-31. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Ἂ 


his Virgin Mother to the beloved disciple ;* 
above all, that most affecting exemplifica- 
tion of his own tenets, the prayer for the 
pardon of his enemies, the palliation of 
their crime from their ignorance of its real 
enormity : “ Father, forgive them, for they 
know not what they do.”t ‘Yet so little 
are the evangelists studious of effect, that 
this incident of unrivalled moral sublimi- 
ty, even in the whole life of Christ, is but 
briefly, we might almost say® carelessly, 
noticed by St. Luke alone. 

From the sixth hour (noonday), writes 
the evangelist St. Matthew, preternatural 
there was darkness over all darkness. 
the land unto the ninth hour.t The whole 
earth (the phrase in the other evangelists) 
is no doubt used according to Jewish 
phraseology, in which Palestine, the sa- 
cred land, was emphatically the earth. 
This supernatural gloom appears to re- 
semble that terrific darkness which pre- 
cedes an earthquake. 

For these three hours Jesus had borne 
the excruciating anguish; his human na- 
ture begins to fail, and he complains of 
the burning thirst, the most painful, but 
usual aggravation of such a death. A 
compassionate by-stander filled a sponge 
with vinegar, fixed it on a long reed, and 
was about to lift it to hts lips, when the 
dying Jesus uttered his last words, those 
of the twenty-second Psalm, in which, in 
the bitterness of his heart, David had com- 
plained of the manifest desertion of his 
God, who had yielded him up to his ene- 
mies—the phrase had perhaps been in 
common use in extreme distress—HEli, Eli, 
lama Sabacthani !—My God, my God, why 
hast thou forsaken me?) The compas- 
sionate hand of the man raising the vine- 
gar was arrested by others, who—a few, 
perhaps, in trembling curiosity, but more 
in bitter mockery—supposing that he called 
not on God (Eli), but on Elias, commanded 
him to wait and see whether, even now, 
that great and certain sign of the Messiah, 
the appearance of Elijah, would at length 
take place. 

Their barbarous triumph was uninter- 
rupted; and he, who yet (his followers 
* John, xix., 25-27. + Luke, xxii, 34. 

+ Matt., xxvii, 45-52. Mark, xv., 33-38. Luke, 
xxiii., 44,45. John, xix., 28-30. 

Gibbon [vol. i., p. 288] has said, and truly, as re- 
gards all well-informed and sober interpreters of the 
sacred writings, that ‘the celebrated passage of 
Phlegon is now wisely abandoned.” It still main- 
tains its ground, however, with writers of a certain 
class, notwithstanding its irrelevancy has already 
been admitted by Origen, and its authority rejected 
by every writer who has the least pretensions to his- 
torical criticism. 

ὁ Matt., xxvii., 46. Mark, xv.,34-37. John, xix., 
28-30. . 


were not Pinout some lingering hope, 
and the more superstitious of his enemies 
not without some trembling apprehension) 
might awake all his terrible and pre- 
Death of Vailing majesty, had now mani- 
Jesus.  festly expired.* The Messiah, the 


» imperishable, the eternal Messiah, had 


quietly yielded up the ghost. 

Even the dreadful earthquake which 
followed seemed to pass away without 
appalling the enemies of Jesus. The rend- 
ing of the veil of the Temple from the top 
to the bottom, so strikingly significant of 
the approaching abolition of the local wor- 
ship, would either be concealed by the 
priesthood, or attributed as a natural effect 
to the convulsion of the earth. The 
same convulsion would displace the stones 
which covered the ancient tombs, and lay 
open many of the innumerable rock-hewn 
supulchres which perforated the hills on 
every side of the city, and expose the 
dead to public view. To the awestruck 
and depressed minds of the followers of 
Jesus, no doubt, were confined those vis- 
ionary appearances of the spirits of their 
deceased brethren, which are obscurely 
intimated in the rapid narratives of the 
evangelists. 

But these terrific appearances, which 
seem to have been lost on the infatuated 
Jews, were not without effect on the less 
prejudiced Roman soldiery ; they appear- 
ed to bear the testimony of Heaven to the 
innocence, to the Divine commission of 
the crucified Jesus. The centurion who 
guarded the spot, according to St. Luke, 
declared aloud his conviction that Jesus 
was a just man; according to St. Matthew, 
that he was the Son of God.f 

Secure now, by the visible marks of 
dissolution, by the piercing of his side, 
from which blood and water flowed out, 
that Jesus was actually dead; and still, 
even in their most irreligious acts of cruel- 


. ty and wickedness, punctiliously religious 


(since it was ἃ sin to leave the body of 


* Luke, xxill., 46. 

+ This is the probable and consistent view of 
Michaelis. Those who assert a supernatural eclipse 
of the sun rest on the most dubious and suspicious 


‘tradition; while those who look with jealousy on 


the introduction of natural causes, however so 
timed as in fact to be no less extraordinary than 
events altogether contrary to the course of nature, 
forget or despise the difficulty of accounting for the 
apparently slight sensation produced on the minds 
of the Jews, and the total silence of all other his- 
tory. Compare the very sensible note of M. Guizot 
on the latter part of Gibbon’s xvth chapter [p. 288]. 

1 Matt., xxvii, 54. Luke, xxiii.,47. Lightfoot 
supposes that by intercourse with the Jews he may 
have learned their phraseology: Grotius, that he 
had a general impression that Jesus was a superior 
being. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


143 


that blameless being on the cross during Ψ 
one day,* whom it had been no sin, but 
rather an act of the greatest virtue, to mur- 
der the day before), the Sanhedrin gave 
their consent to a wealthy adherent of Je- 
sus, Joseph, of the town of Arimathea, to 
ay the body. The sanction of Burial of 
ilate was easily obtained : it was Jesus. 

taken down from the cross, and consigned 
to the sepulchre prepared by Joseph for 
his own family, but in which no body had 
yet been laid.t| The sepulchre was at no 
great distance from the place of execution; 
the customary rites were performed: the 
body was wrapped in fine linen, and anoint- 
ed with a mixture of costly spice and 
myrrh, with which the remains of those 
who were held in respect by their kindred 
were usually preserved. As the Sabbath 
was drawing on, the work was performed 
with the utmost despatch, and Jesus was 
laid to rest in the grave of his faithful ad- 
herent. 

In that rock-hewn tomb might appear 
to be buried for ever both the pe seticion 
fears of his enemies and the apparently 
hopes of his followers. Though 2” end. 
some rumours of his predictions concern- 
ing his resurrection had crept abroad, suf- 
ficient to awaken the caution of the San- 
hedrin, and to cause them to seal the out- 
ward covering of the sepulchre, and, with 
the approbation of Pilate, to station a Ro- 
man guard upon the spot; yet, as far as 
the popular notion of the Messiah, nothing 
could be more entirely and absolutely de- 
structive of their hopes than the patient 
submission of Jesus to insult, to degrada- 
tion, to death. However, with some of 
milder nature, his exquisite sufferings 
might excite compassion; however the 
savage and implacable cruelty with which 
the rulers urged his fate might appear re- 
volting to the multitude, after their first ac- 
cess of religious indignation had passed 
away, and the recollection returned to the 
gentle demeanour and beneficent acts of 
Jesus; yet the hope of redemption, what- 
ever meaning they might attach to the 
term, whether deliverance from their ene- 
mies, or the restoration of their theocratic 
government, had set in utter darkness. 
However vague or contradictory this no- 
tion among the different sects or classes, 
with the mass of the people, nothing less 
than an immediate, instantaneous reap- 
pearance in some appalling or imposing 


* Deut., xxi., 23. The Jews usually buried ex- 
ecuted criminals ignominiously, but at the request 
of a family would permit a regular burial.—Light- 
foot, from Babyl. San. 

+ Matt, xxvii., 57-60. Mark, xv., 42-47. Luke, 
Exiij., 50-56. John, xix., 38-42. 


te 


»9 < 
os 


"144 


form could have reinstated Jesus in his 
high place in the popular expectation. 
Without this, his career was finally closed, 
and he would pass away at once, as one 
of the brief wonders of the time, his tem- 
‘porary claims to respect or attachment 


refuted altogether by the shame, by the 


ignominy of his death. His ostensible 
leading adherents were men of the hum- 
blest origin, and, as yet, of no distinguish- 
ed ability; men from whom little danger 
could be apprehended, and who might be 
treated with contemptuous neglect. No 
attempt appears to have been made to 
secure a single person, or to prevent their 
peaceful retreat to their native Galilee. 


“Ὁ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANIT 


= x bac th 


Ὅς e 


eo 


The pppoe relign centred in the person 
of Jesus, and in his death was apparently 
suppressed, crushed, extinguished for ever. 
After a few days, the Sanhedrin would 
dread nothing less than a new disturbance + 
from the same quarter; and Pilate, as the 
whole affair had passed off without tumult, ε 
would soon suppress the ματι ῤεαῖνε ἦν 

of his conscience at the sacrifice of an in- 
nocent life, since the public peace had 
been maintained, and, no doubt, his own 
popularity with the leading Jews consider- 
ably heightened, at so cheap a price. All 
then was at an end; yet after the death 
of Christ commences, strictly speaking 
the history of Christianity. be 


--. 
J 
΄ 


ἂ,, 


| 


? - 


CHAPTER I. 


THE RESURRECTION, AND FIRST PROMULGATION OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Tue resurrection of Jesus is the basis 
Uhristian of Christianity ; it is the ground- 
goctrine of work of the Christian doctrine 
talityofthe Of the immortality of the soul. 

_ soul. Henceforward that great truth 
_ begins to assume a new character, and to 
obtain an influence over the political and 
“social, as well as over the individual hap- 
piness of man, unknown in the former 
ages of the world.* It is no longer a fee- 
ble and uncertain instinct, nor a remote 
speculative opinion, obscured by the more 
pressipe necessities and cares of the pres- 
ent life, but the universal predominant sen- 
timent, constantly present to the thoughts, 
enwoven with the usages, and pervading 
‘the whole moral being of man. The dim 
and scattered rays, either of traditionary 
belief, of intuitive feeling, or of philo- 
sophic reasoning, were brought as it were 
to a focus, condensed and poured with an 
immeasurably stronger, an expanding, an 
all-permeating light upon the human soul.t 
Whatever its origin, whether in human 
nature or the aspirations of high-thought- 
ed individuals, propagated through their 
followers or in former revelation, it re- 
ceived such an impulse, and was so deeply 
and universally moulded up with the pop- 
“ular mind in all orders, that from this pe- 
riod may be dated the true era of its do- 
minion. If by no means new in its ele- 


" 


* Our Saviour assumes the doctrine of another 
life as the basis of his doctrines, because, in a cer- 
tain sense, it was already the popular belief among 
the Jews ; but it is very different with the apostles 

_ when they address the heathen, who formed far the 
"largest part of the converts to Christianity. a 
+ Lhave found some of these observations and 
even expressions anticipated by the striking re- 
marks of Lessing. Und so ward Christus der erste 

- guverlassige praktische Lehrer der Unsterblichkeit 
der Seele. Der erste zuverlissige Lehrer. Zuver- 
lassig durch seine Weissagungen, die in ihm erfiillt 
schienen: zuverlassig durch die Wunder die er ver- 
richtete: zuverlassig durch seine eigne Wieder- 
-belebung nach einem Tode, durch die er seine 
Lehre versiegelt hatte. Der erste praktische Leh- 
rer. Denn ein anders ist, die Unsterblichkeit der 
Seele, als eine philosophische Speculation, ver- 
muthen, wiinschen, glauben: ein anders seine in- 
nern und assern Handlungen darnach, einrichten,— 
Lessing, i ὩΣ ix., p. 63. ‘ 


a” 


| bondage of sin by the Gospel, Ε 
| lent, or almost silent, on the redemption from death. 


mentary principle, it was new in the degree 
and the extent to which it began to operate 
in the affairs of men.* 

The’calm inguirer into the history of hu- 
man nature, as displayed in’ the ggects or 
existing records of our race, if un- this doc- 
happily disinclined to receive the '""® 
Christian faith as a Divine revelation, 
must nevertheless behold in this point of 
time the crisis, and im this circumstance 
the governing principle, of the destinies of 
mankind during many centuries of their 


* The most remarkable evidence of the extent to 
which German speculation as wandered away 
from the first principles of Christianity is this; that 
one of the most religious writers, the one who has 
endeavoured with the most earnest sincerity to 
reconcile religious belief with the philosophy of the 
times, has actually represented Christianity with 
out, or almost without, the immortality of the soul ; 
and this the ardent and eloquent translator of Plato! 
Copious and full on the moral regeneration effected 
by Christ in this world, with the loftiest sentiments 
of the emancipation of the human soul from the 
chleiermacher is si- 


He pple Christ distinctly as bringing life, only 
vague 
light. Iacknowledge that I mistrusted the extent 


of my own acquaintance with the writings of — 


Schleiermacher and the accuracy with which I had 


read them (chiefly the Glaubenlehre and some of 


those sermons which were so highly admired at 
Berlin); but I have found my own conclusions con- 
firmed by an author whom I cannot suspect to be 
unacquainted with the writings, or unjust to the 
character, of one for whom he entertains the most 
profound respect. So geschah es, das dieser Glau- 
benslehre unter den Handen der Begriff des Hviles 


sich aus einem wesentlich jenseitigen in einem 


wesentlich diesseitigen verwandelte. . . . Hiermit ist 
nun aber die eigentliche Bedeutung des alten Glau- 
bengrundsatzes in der that verloren gegangen. 
Wo die aussicht auf eine dereinstige, aus dein dann 
in Schauen umgesetsten Glauben emporwachsende 
Seligkeit so, wie in Schleiermacher’s eigener Dar- 
stellung in den Hintergrund tritt, so ganz nur als 
eine beilaufige, in Bezug auf das Wie ganz und gar 
probiemaricen bleibende Folgerung, ja fast als eine 

ors d’euvre hinzugebracht wird: da wird auch 
demjenigen Bewusstsein welches seine diesseitige 
Befriedigung in dem Glauben an Christus gewon- 
nen hat, offenbar seine machtigste, ja seine einzige 
Waffe gegen alle die ihm die Wahrheit solcher 
Befriedigung bestreiten, oder bezweifeln, aus den 
Handen gerissen.—Weisse, Die Evangelische Ges- 
chichte, band. ii., p. 451. 


y and remotely as bringing immortality, ἴο 


- terests. 


? 


146 


most active and fertile development. A 
new race of passions was introduced into 
the political arena as well as into the in- 
dividual heart, or, rather, the natural and 
universal passions were enlisted in the ser- 
vice of more absorbing and momentous in- 
The fears and hopes by which 
man is governed took a wider range, em- 
bracing the future life in many respects 
with as much, or even stronger, energy 
and intenseness than the present. The stu- 
pendous dominion erected by the church, 
the great characteristic feature of modern 
history, rested almost entirely on this ba- 
sis; it ruled as possessing an inherent 
power over the destiny of the soul in a 
future world. It differed in this pfimary 
principle of its authority from the sacer- 
dotal castes of antiquity. The latter rest- 
ed their influence on hereditary claims to 
superiority over the rest of mankind ; and 
though they dealt sometimes, more or less 
largely, in the terrors and hopes of anoth- 


’ er state of being, especially in defence of 


their own power and privileges, theirs was 
a kind of mixed aristocracy of birth and 
priesteraft. But if this new and irresisti- 
ble power lent itself, in certain stages of 
society, to human ambition, and, as a stern 
and inflexible lictor, bowed down the 
whole mind of man to the fasces of a spir- 
itual tyranny, it must be likewise contem- 
plated in its far wider and more lasting, 
though perhaps less imposing character, 
as the parent of all which is purifying, en- 
nobling, unselfish in Christian civiliza- 
tion ; as a principle of every humanizing 
virtue which philosophy must ever want ; 
of self-sacrifice, to which the patriotism 
of antiquity shrinks into a narrow and na- 
tional feeling; and as introducing a doc- 
trine of equality as sublime, as it is with- 
out danger to the necessary gradations 
which must exist m human society. 
Since the promulgation of Christianity, 
the immortality of the soul, and its insep- 
arable consequence, future retribution, 
have not only been assumed by the legis- 
lator as the basis of all political institu- 
tions, but the general mind has been 
brought into such complete unison with 
the spirit of the laws so founded, that the 
ae a repugnance to the principle has 
been constantly overborne by the general 
predominant sentiment. In some periods 
it has seemed to survive the religion on 
which it was founded. Wherever, at all 
events, it operates upon the individual or 


_ social mind, wherever it is even tacitly ad- 


mitted and assented to by the prevalent 
feeling of mankind, it must be traced to 
the profound influence which Christianity 
has at least at one time, exercised over 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ὖ 


‘By, . 
τ “ἀν ᾿ : 

‘ ba 

the inner nature of man. This was the 

moral revolution which set into activity, 


before unprecedented, and endowed with 
vitality, till then unknown, this great ruling 


agent in the history of the world. . 


Still, however, as though almost un- 
conscious of the future effects style of the 
of this event, the narratives of Seal angelists. 


> 
a 
” 


"1 


Π 


λ 


the evangelists, as they approach this eri 


sis in their own, as well as in the destinies 
of man, preserve their serene and unim- 
passioned flow. Each follows his own 
course, with precisely that discrepance 
which might be expected among inartifi- 
cial writers relating the same event, with- 
out any mutual understanding or refer- 
ence to each other’s work, but all with 
the same equable and unexalted tone. 
The Sabbath passed away without dis- 
turbance or commotion. ‘The profound 
quiet which prevailed in the crowded 
capital of Judea on the seventh day, at 
these times of rigid ceremonial observ- 
ance, was unbroken by the partisans of 
Jesus. Yet even the Sabbath did not re- 
strain the leading members of the Sanhe- 
drin from taking the necessary precau- 
tions to guard the body of their victim : 
their hostile jealousy, as has been before 
observed, was more alive to the predic- 
tions of the resurrection than the attach- 
ment of the disciples. To prevent any 
secret or tumultuous attempt of the fol- 
lowers to possess themselves of the re- 
mains of their Master, they caused a seal 
to be attached to the stone which formed 
the door to the sepulchral enclosure, and 
stationed the guard, which was at their 
disposal, probably for the preservation of 
the public peace, in the garden around the 
tomb. The guard being Roman, might 
exercise their military functions on the 


sacred day. The disciples were no doubt 


restrained by the sanctity of the Sabbath, 
as well as by their apprehensions of re- 
awakening the popular indignation, ever 
from approaching the burial-place of their — 
Master. The religion of the day lulled 
alike the passions of the ruiers, the popu- 
lar tumult, the fears and the sorrows of 
the disciples. 

It was not till the early dawn of the fol- 
lowing morning* that some Of The women 
the women set out to pay the last at the sepul- 
melancholy honours at the sep- τ 
ulchre. They had bought some of those 
precious drugs which were used for the 
preservation of the remains of the more 
opulent on the evening of the crucifix- 
ion; and, though the body had been 
anointed and wrapped in spices in the 


* Matt., xxviii. “Mark, xvi. Luke, xiv. John, xx. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 147 
discovered that the body was no longer 
there. At this sight Mary Magdalene ap- 
pears to have hurried back to the city, 
to give information to Peter and John. 
These disciples, it may be remembered, 
were the only two who followed Jesus to 
his trial; and it is likely that they were 
together in some part of the city while 
the rest were scattered in different quar- 


customary manner previously to the buri- 
al, this farther mark of respect was strict- 
ly according to usage. But this circum- 

» stance, thus casually mentioned, clearly 

- shows that the women, at least, had no 
__ hope whatever of any change which could 
* take place as to the body of Jesus.* The 
~ | party of women consisted of Mary of 
᾿ Magdala, a town near the Lake of Tibe- 


Trias ; Mary, the wife of Alpheus, mother 
of James and Joses; Joanna, wife of 
Chuza, Herod’s steward; and Salome, 
“the mother of Zebedee’s children.” 
They were all Galileans, and from the 
same neighbourhood ; all faithful attend- 
ants on Jesus, and related to some of the 
leading disciples. They set out very ear- 
ly; and as, perhaps, they had to meet 
from different quarters, some not unlike- 
ly from Bethany, the sun was rising be- 
fore they reached the garden. Before 
their arrival, the earthquake or atmospher- 
ic commotionf had taken place; the tomb 
had burst open, and the terrified guard 
had fled to the city. Of the sealing of 
the stone and the placing of the guard 
they appear to have been ignorant, as, in 
the most natural manner, they seem sud- 
denly to remember the difficulty of re- 
moving the ponderous stone which closed 
the sepulchre, and which would require 
the strength of several men to raise it 
-from its place. Sepulchres in the East, 
those at least belonging to men of rank 
and opulence, were formed of an outward 
small court or enclosure, the entrance to 
which was covered by a huge stone; and 
within were cells or chambers, often hewn 
in the solid rock, for the deposite of the 
dead. As the women drew near, they 
saw that the stone had been removed, and 
ὦ the first glance into the open sepulchre 


* In a prolusion of Griesbach, De fontibus unde 
Evangeliste suas de resurrectione Domini narra- 
᾿ς tiones hauserint, it is observed, that the evangelists 
seem to have dwelt on those particular points in 
which they were personally concerned. This ap- 
‘pears to furnish a very simple key to their apparent 
discrepances. John, who received his first intelli- 
gence from Mary Magdalene, makes her the prin- 
cipal person in his narrative, while Matthew, who, 
with the rest of the disciples, derived his informa- 
ion from the other women, gives their relation, and 
omits the appearance of Jesus to the Magdalene. 
St. Mark gives a few additional minute particulars, 
but the narrative of St. Luke is altogether more 
vague and general. He blends together, as a later 
historian, studious of compression, the two separate 
transactions ; he ascribes to the women collectively 
chiPecentotiication of the intelligence to the as- 
sembled body of the apostles which appears to have 
been made separately to two distinct parties; and 
disregarding the order of time, he after that reverts 
to the visit of St. Peter to the sepulchre. ἢ 
t Σεισμος is rather an ambiguous term, though it 
usually means an earthquake. Ἂ" 


~~ + Mark, xvi., 9-11, 


ters, or, perhaps, had retired to Bethany. 
During the absence of Mary, the other 
women made a closer inspection; they 
entered the inner chamber; they saw the 
grave-clothes lying in an orderly manner, 
the bandage or covering of the head rolled 
up and placed on one side; this circum- 
stance would appear incompatible with 
the haste of a surreptitious, or the care- 
lessness of a violent removal. ‘To their 
minds, thus highly excited, and bewildered 
with astonishment, with terror, and with 
grief, appeared what is described by the 
evangelist as “ἃ vision of angels.” One 
or more beings in human form seated in 
the shadowy twilight within the sepul- 
chre, and addressing them with human 
voices, told them that their Master had 
risen from the grave; that he was to go 
before them into Galitee. They had de- 
parted to communicate these wonderful 
tidings to the other disciples before the 
two summoned by Mary Magdalene had 
arrived ; of these the younger and arrivalof 
more active, John, outran the old- Peter and 
er, Peter. But he only entered J"- 

the outer chamber, from whence he could 
see the state in which the grave-clothes 
were lying; but, before he entered the in- 
ner chamber, he awaited the arrival of his 
companion. Peter went in first, and af- 
terward John, who, as he states, not till 
then believed that the body had been ta- 
ken away ; for up to that time the apos- 
tles themselves had no thought or expec- 
tation of the resurrection.* These two 
apostles returned home, leaving Mary 
Magdalene, who, probably wearied by her 
walk to the city and her return, had not 
come up with them till they had comple- 
ted their search. The other women, 
meantime, had fled in haste, and in the 
silence of terror, through the hostile city ; 
and until, later in the day, they found the 
apostles assembled together, did not unbur- 
den their hearts of this extraordinary se- 
cret. Mary Magdalenet was left ποι appear- 


alone; she had seen and heard anceofJesus 


nothing of the angelic vision ‘ Mary 
which had appeared to the oth- gg 
ers; but, on looking down into the sepul- 


» 


* John, xx., 8-9. Re 
John, xx., 11-18. 


148 


chre, she saw the same vision which had 
appeared to the others, and was in her 
turn addressed by the angels; and it 
seems that her feelings were those of un- 
mitigated sorrow. She stood near the 
sepulchre, weeping. ΤῸ her Jesus then 
first appeared. So little was she pre- 
pared for his presence, that she at first 
mistook him for the person who had the 
charge of the garden. Her language is 
that of grief, because unfriendly hands 
have removed the body, and carried it 
away to some unknown place. Nor was 
it till he again addressed her that she rec- 
ognised his familiar form and voice. 

The second* appearance of Jesus was 
Laterap- to the other party of women, as 
pearances. they returned to the city, and, 
perhaps, separated to find out the different 
apostles, to whom, when assembled, they 
related the whole of their adventure. In 
the mean time, a third appearance} had 
taken place to two disciples who had 
made an excursion to Emmaus, a village 
between seven and eight miles from Jeru- 
salem: a fourth to the apostle Peter; this 
apparition is not noticed by the evange- 
lists; it rests on the authority of St. 
Paul.t The intelligence of the women 
had been received with the utmost incre- 
dulity by the assembled apostles. The 
arrival of the two disciples from Emmaus, 
with their more particular relation of his 
conversing with them, his explaining the 
Scriptures, his breaking bread with them, 
made a deeper impression. Still mistrust 
seems to have predominated ; and when 
Jesus appeared in the chamber, the doors 
of which had been closed from fear lest 
their meeting should be interrupted by the 
hostile rulers, the first sensation was ter- 
ror rather than joy. It was not till Jesus 
conversed with them, and permitted them 
to ascertain by actual touch the identity 
of his body, that they yielded to emotions 
of gladness. Jesus appeared a second 
time, eight days after,} in the public as- 
sembly of the disciples, and condescended 
to remove the doubts of one apostle, who 
had not been present at the former meet- 
ing, by permitting him to inspect and touch 
his wounds. 

This incredulity of the apostles, related 
with so much simplicity, is, on many ac- 


* Matt., xxviii., 9, 10. 

+ Mark, xvi., 12,13. Luke, xxiv., 13-32. 

} It does not appear possible that Peter could be 
one of the disciples near Emmaus. — It would har- 
monize the accounts if we could suppose that St. 
Paul (1 Cor, xv., 5) originally dictated Κλέοπα, 
which was changed for the more familiar name 
Kida. 

§ Matt., xvi., 14-18. 


Luke, xxiv., 36-49, John, 
xx., 19-29, , 


¢ 
Py At 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


counts, most remarkable, COnN- jnereaulity of 
sidering the apparent distinct- the apostles; 
ness with which Jesus appears 15 cause. 

to have predicted both his death and res- 
urrection, and the rumour which put the 
Sanhedrin on their guard against any 
clandestine removal of the body. The 
key to this difficulty is to be sought in the 
opinions of the time. The notion of a res- 
urrection was intimately connected with 
the coming of a Messiah, but that resur- 
rection was of a character very different 
from the secret, the peaceful, the unim- 
posing reappearance of Jesus after his 
death. It was an integral, an essential 
part of that splendid vision, which repre- 
sented the Messiah as summoning all the 
fathers of the chosen race from their 
graves to share in the glories of his king- 
dom.* Even after the resurrection, the 
bewildered apostles inquire whether that 
kingdom, the only sovereignty of which 
they yet dreamed, was about to com- 
mence.t The death of Jesus, notwith- 
standing his care to prepare their minds 
for that appalling event, took them by sur- 
prise: they seem to have been stunned 
and confounded. It had shaken their faith 
by its utter incongruity with their precon- 
ceived notions, rather than confirmed it 
by its accordance with his own predic- 
tions ; and in this perplexed and darkling 
State the resurrection came upon them, 
not less strangely at issue with their con- 
ceptions of the manner in which the Mes- 
siah would return to the world. When 
Jesus had alluded, with more or less pro- 
phetic distinctness, to that event, their 
minds had no doubt reverted to their 
rooted opinions on the subject, and mould- 
ed up the plain sense of his words with 
some vague and confused interpretation 
framed out of their own traditions; the 
latter so far predominating that their 
memory retained scarcely a vestige of 
the simpler truth, until it was forcibly re- 
awakened by its complete fulfilment in the 
resurrection of their Lord. 

Excepting among the immediate dis- 
ciples, the intelligence of the resurrection 
remained, it is probable, a profound secret, 
or, at all events, little more than vague 
and feeble rumours would reach the ear 
of the Sanhedrin, For, though Christ had 
taken the first step to reorganize his reli- 
gion, by his solemn commission to the 
apostles at his first appearance in their 
assembly, it was not till after pet οἵ 
the return to Galilee, more par- the apostles 
ticularly during one ‘interview ‘° Galilee. 


* See ch. ii,, p. 47. ake 
t Acts, i, 6. Compare Luke, xxiv., 21, 


7, 


& 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


near the Lake of Gennesareth, that he in- 
vested Peter, and with him the rest of the 
apostles, with the pastoral charge over his 
new community. For, according to their 
custom, the Galilean apostles had returned 
to their homes during the interval be- 
tween the Passover and the Pentecost, 
and there, among the former scenes of 
his beneficent labours, on more than one 
occasion, the living Jesus had appeared, 
and conversed familiarly with them.* 

Forty days after the crucifixion, and ten 
Aposties before the Pentecost, the apostles 
inJudea. were again assembled at their 
usual place of resort, in the neighbourhood 
of Jerusalem, the village of Bethany. It 
was here, on the slope of the Mount of 
Olives, that, in the language of St. Luke, 
πα ea “he was parted from them ;” “he 

sion was taken up, and a cloud re- 
ceived him out of their sight.”} 

During the interval between the Ascen- 
sion and the day of Pentecost, the apostles 
regularly performed their devotions in the 
Temple, but they may have been lost and 
unobserved among the thousands who 
either returned to Jerusalem for the sec- 
ond great annual festival, or, if from more 


‘remote parts, remained, as was customary, 


* Matt., xxviii., 16-20. John, xxi., 1-23. Mark, 
in his brief and summary account, omits the journey 
to Galilee. Luke, xxiv., 49, seems to intimate the 
contrary, as if he had known nothing of this retreat. 
This verse, however, may be a kind of continuation 
of verse 47, and is not to be taken in this strict 
sense, so as positively to exclude an intermediate 
journey to Galilee. 

+ Neander has closed his life of Christ with some 
forcible observations on the Ascension, to which it 
has been objected, that St. Luke alone, though in 
two places, Gosp., xxiv., 50-51 ; Acts, i., 9-11, men- 
tions this most extraordinary event. ‘ How could 
the resurrection of Christ have been to the disciples 
the groundwork of their belief in everlasting life, if 
it had been again followed by his death? With the 
death of Christ, the faith, especially in his resurrec- 
tion and reappearance, must again, of necessity, 
have sunk away. Christ would again have ap- 
peared to them an ordinary man ; their belief in him, 
as the Messiah, would have suffered a violent shock. 
How inthis manner could that conviction of the 
exaltation of Christ have formed itself within them, 
which we find expressed in their writings with so 
much force and precision? Though the fact of his 
ascension, as visible to the senses, is witnessed ex- 
pressly only by St. Luke, the language of St. John 
concerning his ascent to the Father, the declarations 
of all the apostles concerning his exaltation to heav- 
en (see especially the strong expression of St. Mark, 
xvi., 19, H. M.), presuppose their conviction of his 
stipernatural elevation from the earth. since the no- 
tion of his departure from this earthly life in the 
ordinary manner is thereby altogether excluded. 
Even if none of the apostolic writers had mentioned 
this visible and real fact, we might have safely in- 
ferred from all which they say of Christ that in 
some form or other they presupposed a supernatural 
exaltation of Christ from this visible earthly world. 
Leben Jesu, p. 655. 


ἐφ 


149 


in the capital from the Passover to the 
Pentecost. The election of a fection ofa 
new apostle to fill the mysteri- new apostle. 
ous number of twelve, a number hallowed 
to Jewish feeling as that of the tribes of 
their ancestors, shows that they now look- 
ed upon themselves again as a permanent 
body, united by a federal principle, and 
destined for some ulterior purpose ; and 
it is possible that they might look with 
eager hope to the feast of Pentecost, the 
celebration of the delivery of the law on 
Mount Sinai ;* the birthday, as it were, of 
the religious constitution of the Jews, as 
an epoch peculiarly suited for the reorgan- 
ization and reconstruction of the new king- 
dom of the Messiah. 

The Sanhedrin doubtless expected any- 
thing rather than the revival of the religion 
of Jesus. The guards, who had fled from 
the sepulchre, had been bribed to counter- 
act any rumour of the resurrection by 
charging the disciples with the clandestine 
removal of the body. The city had been 
restored to peace, as if no extraordinary 
event had taken place. The Galileans, 
the followers of Jesus among the rest, had 
retired to their native province. In the 
popular estimation, the claims of Jesus to 
the Messiahship were altogether extin- 
guished by his death. The attempt to re- 
instate him who had been condemned by 
the Sanhedrin, and crucified by the Ro- 
mans, in publie reverence and belief, as 
the promised Redeemer, might have ap- 
peared a proceeding so desperate as could 
not enter into the most enthusiastic mind. 
The character of the disciples of Jesus 
was as little calculated to awaken appre- 
hension. The few richer or more influ- 
ential persons who had been inclined to 
embrace his cause, even during his life- 
time, had maintained their obnoxious 
opinions in secret. The ostensible lead- 
ers were men of low birth, humble occu- 
pations, deficient education, and—no un- 
important objection in the mind of the 
Jews—Galileans. Never, indeed, was sect 
so completely centred in the person of its 
founder: the whole rested on his personal 
authority, emanated from his personal 
teaching; and, howeverit might be thought 
that some of his sayings might be treas- 
ured in the minds of his blind and infatu- 
ated adherents—however they might re- 
fuse to abandon the hope that he would 
appear again as the Messiah—all this de- 
lusion would gradually die away, from the 
want of any leader qualified to take up 
and maintain a cause so lost and hopeless. 
ARO), SS Se 

* See the traditions on this subject in Meuschen 
N. T., a Talmude illustratum, p. 740. 


ἥϊ 


150 


Great must have been their astonishment 
at the intelligence that the religion of Je- 

Reappearance SUS had reappeared in a new, 1n 
of the religion ἃ more attractive form ; that on 
ofJesus. the feast day which next fol- 
lowed their total dispersion, those humble, 
ignorant, and despised Galileans were 
making converts by thousands at the 
very gates, even perhaps within the pre- 
cincts of the Temple. The more visible 
circumstances of the miracle which took 
place on the day of Pentecost, the descent 
of the Holy Ghost, under the appearance 
of fiery tongues, in the private assembly 
of the Christians, might not reach their 
ears; but they could not long remain ig- 
norant of this strange and alarming fact, 

that these uneducated men, apparently re- 
organized, and acting with the most fear- 
less freedom, were familiarly conversing 
with, and inculcating the belief in the res- 
urrection of Jesus, on strangers from 
every quarter of the world, in all their 
various languages or dialects.* 

The Jews whose families had been long 
domiciliated in the different provinces of 
the Roman and the Parthian dominions, 
gradually lost, or had never learned, the 
vernacular tongue of Palestine; they 
adopted the language of the surrounding 
people. The original sacred Hebrew was 
understood only by the learned. How 
far, on one side the Greek, on the oth- 
er the Babylonian Chaldaic, which was 
nearly allied to the vernacular Aramaic, 
were admitted into the religious services 
of the synagogue, appears uncertain; but 
the different synagogues in Jerusalem were 
appropriated to the different races of Jews. 
Those from Alexandrea, from Cyrene, the 
Libertines, descended from freed slaves at 
Rome, perhaps therefore speaking Latin, 
the Cilicians, and Asiatics, had their sep- 
arate places of assembly ;+ so, probably, 
those who came from more remote quar- 
ters, where Greek, the universal medium 
of communication in great part of the Ro- 
man empire, was less known, as in Ara- 
bia, Mesopotamia, and beyond the Eu- 
phrates. 

The scene of this extraordinary incident 
Disciples near MUSt have been some place of 
the Temple. general resort, yet scarcely 
Giftoftongues: within the Temple, where, 
though there were many chambers set 
apart for instruction in the law and other 
devotional purposes, the apostles were 
not likely to have obtained admittance to 
one of these, or to have been permitted to 


* Kuinoel (in loc. Act.) gives a lucid view of the 
various rationalist and anti-rationalist interpreta- 
tions of this miracle. t Acts, vi. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


carry on their teaching without interrup- 


tion. If conjecture might be hazarded, 
we should venture to place their house of 
assembly in one of the streets leading to 
the Temple; that, perhaps, which, descend- 
ing the slope of the hill, led to the Mount 
of Olives and to the village of Bethany. 
The time, the third hour, nine in the morn- 
ing, was that of public prayer in the Tem- 
ple; multitudes, therefore, would throng 
all the avenues to the Temple, and would 
be arrested on their way by the extraordi- 
nary sight of Peter and his colleagues thus 
addressing the various classes in their dif- 
ferent dialects; asserting openly the res- 


- of SS Syed 
urrection of Jesus; arraigning the injus- 


tice of his judicial murder; and re-estab- 
lishing his claim to be received as the 
Messiah. 

These submissive, timid, and seattered 
followers of Jesus thus burst upon the 
public attention, suddenly invested with 
courage, endowed with commanding elo- 
quence, in the very scene of their Mas- 
ter’s cruel apprehension and execution, as- 
serting his Messiahship in a form as ir- 
reconcilable with their own preconceived 
notions as with those of the rest of the 
people ; arraigning the rulers, and by im- 
plication, if not as yet in distinct words, 
the whole nation, of the most heinous act 
of impiety as well as barbarity, the rejec- 
tion of the Messiah ; proclaiming the res- 
urrection, and defying investigation. The 
whole speech of Peter clashed with speech 
the strongest prejudices of those of Peter. 
who had so short a time before given such 
fearful evidence of their animosity and re- 
morselessness. It proclaimed that “the 
last days,” the days of the Messiah, the 
days of prophecy and wonder, had already 
begun. It placed the Being whom but 
forty days before they had seen helplessly 
expiring upon the cross, far above the 
pride, almost the idol of the nation, King 
David. The ashes ofthe king had long 
reposed in the tomb which was before 
their eyes ; but the tomb could not confine 


Jesus; death had no power over his re- | 


mains. Nor was his resurrection all: the 
crucified Jesus was now “on the right 
hand of God:” he had assumed that last, 
the highest distinction of the Messiah— 
the superhuman majesty; that intimate 
relation with the Deity, which, however 
vaguely and indistinctly shadowed out in 
the Jewish notion of the Messiah, was, as 
it were, the crowning glory, the ultimate 
height to which the devout hopes of the 
most strongly excited of the Jews follow- 
ed up the promised Redeemer: “ There- 


fore let all the house of Israel know as- 
suredly that God hath made that same Je- _ 


% 


"Ὥς ας 


‘a 


_ 


» 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


sus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord 
and Christ.”* 

Three thousand declared converts were 
the result of this first appeal to the Jewish 
multitude: the religion thus reappeared, 
in a form new, complete, and more deci- 
dedly hostile to the prevailing creed and 
dominant sentiments of the nation. From 
this time the Christian community as- 
sumed its separate and organized exist- 
ence, united by the federal rite of baptism ; 
and the popular mind was deeply impress- 
ed by the preternatural powers exercised 
by its leading followers. Many of the con- 
verts threw their property, or part of it, 
into a common stock; now become ne- 
cessary, as the teachers of Christianity 
had to take up their permanent residence 
in Jerusalem, at a distance from their 
homes and the scenes of their humble la- 
bours. The religion spread, of course, 
with the greatest rapidity among the lower 
orders. Assistance in their wants and 
protection against the hostility, or, at least, 
the coldness and estrangement, of the 
powerful and opulent, were necessary to 
hold together the young society. Such 
was the general ardour, that many did not 
hesitate to sell their landed property, the 
tenure of which, however loosened by 
time and by the successive changes in the 
political state of the country, probably, at 
this period of the Messiah’s expected com- 
ing, assumed a new value. ‘This, there- 
fore, was no easy triumph over Jewish 
feeling. Yet nothing like an Es- 


Common Ξ é 

fund, not senian conimunity of goods ever 
community . i H 

of goods, 2Ppears to have prevailed in the 


Christian community; such a 
system, however favourable to the main- 
tenance of certain usages or opinions with- 
in a narrow sphere, would have been fatal 
to the aggressive and comprehensive spirit 
of Christianity ; the vital and conservative 
principle of a sect, it was inconsistent with 
a universal religion; and we cannot but 
admire the wisdom which avoided a pre- 
cedent so attractive, as conducting to the 
immediate prosperity, yet so dangerous to 
the ultimate progress of the religion.f 
The Sanhedrin at first stood aloof; 
Conduct of Whether from awe, or miscalcu- 
the Sanhe- Jating contempt, or, it is possible, 
a from internal dissension. It was 
not till they were assailed, as it were, in 


* Acts, ii., 36. 

+ Mosheim appears to me to have proved this 
point conclusively [Dissertt. ad Hist. Eccl. perti- 
nentes, vol. i., diss. 1.1. At a later period, every ex- 

rtation to almsgiving, and every sentence which 
alludes to distinctions of rich and poor in the Chris- 
jan community, is decisive against the community 


~*~ 


δὲ ᾿ οἵ goods. 
ἊΨ 
= * . ἷ 
μὰ ἣν ν | ν". . 
Yo Sa Η 


2 Ὲ 


the heart of their own territory ; 
the miracle of healing the lame ma 
the Beautiful gate of the Temple (this 5 
opened into the inner court of the ‘Temple, 
and, from the richness of its architecture, 
had received that name), and the public 
proclamation of the resurrection, in the 
midst of the assembled worshippers, in the 
second recorded speech of Peter, had 
secured five thousand converts, that at 
length the authorities found it necessary 
to interfere, and to arrest, if possible, the 
rapid progress of the faith. The secona 

second speech of the apostle* was speech of 
in a somewhat more calm and con- ° 

ciliating tone than the former: it dwelt 


less on the crime of the crucifixion than | 


on the advantages of belief in Jesus as the 
Messiah. It did not shrink, indeed, from 
reasserting the guilt of the death of the 
Just One; yet it palliated the ignorance 
through which the people, and even the 
rulers, had rejected Jesus, and stained the 
city with his blood. It called upon them 
to repent of this national crime; and, as if 
even yet Peter himself was not disencum- 
bered of that Jewish notion, it seemed to 
intimate the possibility of an immediate 
reappearance of Christ,t to fulfil to the 
Jewish people all that they hoped from 
this greater than Moses, this accomplisher 
of the sublime promise made to their Fa- 
ther Abraham. To the Sanhedrin, the 
speech was, no doubt, but vaguely report- 
ed; but any speech delivered by such men, 
in such a place, and on such a subject, de- 
manded their interference. Obtaining the 
assistance of the commander of the Ro- 
man guard, mounted, as has been said, in 
the gallery leading to the Antonia, they 
seized and imprisoned the apostles. The 
next morning they were brought up for 
examination. The boldness of the apos- 
tles, who asserted their doctrines with 
calm resolution, avowed and enforced their 
belief in the resurrection and Messiahship 
of the erucified Jesus, as well as the pres- 
ence of the man who had been healed, 
perplexed the council. After a private 
conference, they determined to try the ef- 
fect of severe threatenings, and authorita- 
tively commanded them to desist from 
disseminating their obnoxious opinions. 
The apostles answered by an appeal to a 
higher power: ‘“ Whether it be right in the 


* Acts, lii,, 12-26. 

+ V. 20, 21; “The time of refreshing; when he 
shall send Jesus Christ, which before was preached 
unto you: whom the heavens must receive until 
the times of the restitution of all things.” This 
restitution of all things, in the common Jewish be- 
lief, was to be almost simultaneous with, or to fol- 
low very closely the appearance of, the Messiah. 


—— 
ate 


ee 4 
; 


™% 
4 


Ὃν» 


“th Ἢ 


w,  % 


w 


sight of God tc ‘hegre 


than unto God, judge ye. For we cannot 
but speak the things which we have seen 


and heard.”* 6 
~ Aremarkable revolution had taken place, 


Sadducees €ither in the internal politics of 


predomi the Sanhedrin, or in sees sen 
Rant inthe ing sentiments towards Christi- 
Wea Abity, Up to the death of Jesus, 
the Pharisees were his chief opponents ; 
against their authority he seemed chiefly 
‘to direct his rebukes ; and by their jealous 
animosity he was watched, criminated, 
and at length put to death. Now, in their 
turn, the Sadduceest take the lead; either 
because the doctrine of the resurrection 
struck more directly at the root of their 
system, or, otherwise, because their influ- 
ence had gained a temporary ascendancy 
in the great council. But this predomi- 
nance of the unpopular Sadducean party 
on the throne of the high-priest and in the 
council, if it increased their danger from 
the well-known severity with which that 
faction administered the law, on the other 
hand, it powerfully contributed to that re- 
action of popular favour, which again 
overawed the hostile Sanhedrin.{. This 
triumph over their adversaries ; this reso- 
lute determination to maintain their cause 
at all hazards (sanctioned, as it seemed, by 
the manifest approval of the. Almighty) ; 
the rapid increase in their possessions, 
which enabled them to protect all the 
poorer classes who joined their ranks; the 
awful death of Ananias and Sapphira,} into 
the circumstances of which their enemies 
ventured no inquiry; the miracles of a 
gentler and more beneficent character 
which they performed in public; the con- 
course from the neighbourhood of Jerusa- 
jem to partake in their powers of healing, 
and to hear their doctrines; the manifest 
superiority, in short, which Christianity 
was gaining over the established Judaism, 
determined the Sanhedrin, after a short 
time, to make another effort to suppress 
their growing power. The apostles were 
seized, and cast ignominiously into the 
common prison. In the morning they 


* Acts, iv., 19, 20. 

+ Acts, iv.,1. Annas is mentioned as the high- 
priest, and then Caiaphas, who, it appears from the 
Gospels and from Josephus (Ant.. xviii., 2, 2, 4, 3), 
was not deposed till a later period. The interpre- 
tation of Krebs (Observationes in N. T., e Josepho, 
p. 177) appears to me the best. Annas was the sec. 
ond high-priest, or deputy; but is named first, as 
dhe head of the family in which the high-priest- 

ood. was vested, being father-in-law to Caiaphas, 
The rest were the assessors of the high-priest. 

Τ “They let them go, finding nothing how they 
might punish them, because of the people: for ail 
men glorified God for that which was done.”—Acts, 
iv., 21. § Acts, v. 


᾿ς ὁ 
-᾿ 


unto you more 


ὉΠ 
‘ Wes / 
152 Wy ἊΝ 2 οὖς ἬΙΒΤΟΕΥ OF CHRISTIANITY. 


were sought in vain: the doors were found 
closed, but the prisoners had disappeared ; 
and the dismayed Sanhedrin received in- 
telligence that they had taken up their 
customary station in the Temple. Even 
the Roman officer despatched to secure 
their persons found it necessary to act 
with caution and gentleness ; for the mul- 
titude were ready to undertake their de- 
fence, even against the armed soldiery ; 
and stones were always at hand in the 
neighbourhood or precincts of the Tem- 
ple for any tumultuary resist- πη 
ance. The apostles, however, before the 
peaceably obeyed the citation of Sanhedrin. 
the Sanhedrin; but the language of Peter 
was now even more bold and resolute 
than before: he openly proclaimed, in the 
face of the astonished council, the cruci- 
fied Jesus to be the Prince and the Sav- 
iour, and asserted the inspiration of him- 
self and his companions by the Spirit of 
God.* ΕΝ 

The Sadducaie faction were wrought to 
the highest pitch of phrensy; they were 
eager to press the capital charge. But 
the Pharisaic. party endeavoured, not with- 
out success, to mijfigate the sentence. 
The perpetual rivalry of the two sects, and 
the general leniency of the Pharisaic ad- 
ministration of the law, may have concur- 
red, with the moderation and judgment of 
the individual, to induce Gamaliel 
to interpose the weight of his own ΜΕΝ 
personal authority and that of his party. 
Gamaliel does not appear himself to have’ 
been inclined to Christianity: he was 
most likely the same who is distinguished 
in Jewish tradition as president of the San- 
hedrin (though the high-priest, being now 
present, would take the chief place), and 
as the master under whom St. Paul had 
studied the law. The speech of Gamaliel, 
with singular address, confounded the new 
sect with those of two adventurers, Judas” 
the Galilean, and Theudas, whose insur- 
rections had excited great expectation, but 
gradually died away. With these, affairs 
were left to take their course; against 
their pretensions God had decided by their 
failure: leave, then, to the same unerring 
Judge the present decision. q 

To this temporizing policy the majority 
of the council assented; part probably 
considering that either the sect would, af- 
ter all, die away, without establishing any 
permanent influence, or, liké some of those 
parties mentioned by Gamaliel, run into 
wild excess, and so provoke the Roman 
government to suppress them by force; 
others from mere party spirit, to coun-— 
URL: as ath VARMA he he 

* Acts, v.; 32, 


Gamaliel. 


. 


Penis 


4 


”" 


a 


teract the power of the opposite faction; 
some from more humane principles and 
kindlier motives ; others from perplexity ; 
some, perhaps, from awe, which, though 
it had not yet led to belief, had led to hes- 
itation; some from sincere piety; as, in 
fact, expecting that an event of such im- 
portance would be decided by some mani- 
fest interposition, or overruling influence 
at least, of the Almighty. The majority 
were anxious, from these different mo- 
tives, to escape the perilous responsibility 
of decision. The less violent course was 
therefore followed; after the apostles had 
suffered the milder punishment of scour- 
ging—a punishment inflicted with great 
frequency among the Jews, yet ignomin- 
ious to the sufferer—the persecution for 
the present ceased: the apostles again 
appeared in public; they attended in the 
Temple; but how long this period of se- 
curity lasted, from the uncertain chronol- 
ogy of the early Christian history,* it is 
impossible to decide. Yet,as the jealous- 
ies which appear to have arisen in the in- 
fant community would require some time 
to mature and -grow to a head, we should 
interpose two or three years between this 
collision with the authorities and the next, 
which first imbrued the soil of Jerusa- 
lem with the blood of a Christian martyr. 
Nor would the peaceful policy adopted 
through the authority of Gamaliel have 
had a fair trial in a shorter period of time; 


it would scarcely have been overborne at 


once and immediately by the more violent 
party. 
The first converts to Christianity were 


* There is no certain date in the Acts of the 
Apostles, except that of the death of Herod, A.D. 
44, even if that is certain. Nothing can be more 
easy than to array against each other the names of 
the most learned authorities, who from the earliest 
days have laboured to build a durable edifice out of 
the insufficient materials in their power. Perhaps 
from Jerome to Dr. Burton and Mr. Greswell, no 
two systemsagree. The passage in St. Paul, Gal., 
ii., 1, which might be expected to throw light on 
this difficult subject, involves it in still greater in- 
-tricacy. In the first place, the reading, fourteen 
years, as Grotius and many others have shown, not 

_ without MS. authority, is by no means certain. 
Then, from whence is this period to be calculated? 
from the conversion, with Pearson and many mod- 
ern writers? or from the first visit of St. Paul to 
Jerusalem, with others? All is doubtful, contest- 
ed, conjectural. The only plan, therefore, is to 
adopt, and uniformly adhere to, some one system. 
In fact, the cardinal point of the whole calculation, 
the year of our Saviour’s death, being as uncertain 
as the rest, we shall state that we assume that to 
have been A.D. 31. From thence we shall proceed 
to affix our dates according to our own view, with- 
out involving our readers in the inextricable laby- 
rinth to which we are convinced that there is no 

certain or satisfactory clew. If we notice any argu- 
ments, peg alt be chiefly of an historical nature. 


i, 
΄ 
Ἵ 


> 


. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, a a 
; ro sa , 


» 
ἐμ 
j 


φ 


168. 


“A , . * 
Jews,* but of two distinet classes : 1. The 
natives of Palestine, who spoke the Syrian 
dialect, and among whom, perhaps, were 
included the Jews from the East; 2. The 
Western Jews, who, having been settled in 
the different provinces of the Roman em- 
pire, generally spoke Greek. This class 
may likewise have comprehended prose- 
lytes to Judaism. Jealousies arose be- 
tween these two parties. The Greeks 
complained that the distribution of the 
general charitable fund was ‘conducted 
with partiality, that their “widows were 
neglected.” The dispute led to the estab- 
lishment of a new order in the communi- 
ty. The apostles withdrew from the labo- 
rious, it might be the invidious, {ustitution 
office ; and seven disciples, from. οἵ deacons. 
whose names we may conjecture that they 
were chosen from the Grecian party, were 
invested by a solemn ceremony, the impo- 
sition of hands, as deacons or ministers, 
‘with the superintendence of the general 
funds. 

It was in the synagogues of the foreign, 
the African and Asiatic Jews, that~ ae 
the success of Stephen, one οἵ #454 
these deacons, excited the most Violent 
hostility. The indignant people found that 
not even the priesthood was a security 
against this spreading apostacy: many of 
that order enrolled themselves among the 
disciples of Christ.t Whether the execu- 
tion of this first martyr to Christianity was 
a legal or tumultuary proceeding—wheth- 
er it was a solemn act of the Sanhedrin, 
the supreme judicial as well as civil tribu- 
nal of the nation, n outbreak of popu- 
lar indignation and resentment—the pre- 
liminary steps, at least, appear ἴο. Bike 
been conducted with regularity. He was 
formally arraigned before the Sanhedrin 
of blasphemy, as asserting the future de- , 
struction of the Temple, and the abroga-. 
tion of the law. This accusation, al- 
though the witnesses are said to, have been 


= a 
> 


false and suborned, seems to intimate that _ 


in those Hellenistic congregations Chris- 
tianity had already assumed a bolder and 
more independent tone ; that it had thrown 
aside some of the peculiar character which 
adhered to.it in the other communities ; 
that it already aspired to be a universal, 
not a national religion; and one destined 
to survive the local worship in Jerusalem, 
and the abolition of the Mosaic institutes. 


* Acts, vi. + Acts, Vi., 7. ’ 

t Stephen has been called by some modern wri- 
ters the forerunner of St. Paul.—See Neander, Ges- 
chichte der Pflanzung der Christlichen Kirche, p. 
41; a work which 1 had not the advantage of con- 
sulting when this part of the present volume was 
written. 


κ᾿ 


‘e- 


- 


᾿ 


oe. 


5 


ἐς 


s 
a 


t. 
Ἔ 


* De tis 


om 


- 
yh 


164 καὶ 


Whether inflamed by these popular topics 
of accusation, which struck at the vital 
principles of their religious influence, or 
again taking alarm at the progress of 
Christianity, the Pharisaic party, which we 
found after the resurrection had lost their 
supremacy in the council, appear, from the 
active concurrence of Saul and from the 
reawakened hostility of the multitude, 
over whom the Sadducees had no com- 
manding influence, to have reunited them- 
- selves to the more violent enemies of the 


faith. The defence of Stephen recapitu- 
 Jated in bold language the chief points of 


the national history, the privileges and the 
crimes of the race of Israel, which grad- 
ually led to this final consummation of 
thee impiety and guilt, the rejection of the 
Messiah, the murder of the Just One. It 
is evidently incomplete ; it was interrupt- 
ed by the fury of his opponents, who took 
fire at his arraigning them, not merely of 


the death of Jesus, but of this perpetual 


violation of the law; “ who have received 
the Jaw by the disposition of angels, and 
have not kept it.”* This charge struck 
directly at the Pharisaic party ; the popu- 
lace, ever under their control, either aban- 
doned the Christians to their fate, or join- 
ed in the hasty and ruthless vengeance. 
The murmurs, the gestures of the indig- 
nant Sanhedrin, and of others, perhaps, 
who witnessed the trial, betrayed their im- 
patience and indignation: they gnashed 
their teeth; and Stephen, breaking off, 
or unable to pursue his continuous dis- 
course, in a kind of prophetic ecstasy de- 


clared that at that instant he beheld the 


Son of Man standing at the right hand of 
Death of the @Od. Whether legal or tumul- 
proto-mar- tuary, the execution of Stephen 
tyr. AD.34. was conducted with so much 
attention to form that he was first carried 
beyond the walls of the city ;* the wit- 
nesses, whose office it was to cast the first 
‘stone,} put off their clothes, and perhaps 
observed the other forms peculiar to this 
mode of execution. He died as a true 
follower of Jesus, praying the Divine mer- 
cy upon his barbarous persecutors ; but 
neither the sight of his sufferings nor the 
‘beauty of his dying words allayed the ex- 
citement which had now united the con- 
flicting parties of the Jews in their com- 
mon league against Christianity. Yet the 
mere profession of Christianity did not 
necessarily involve any capital charge; or 
if it did, the Jews wanted power to carry 


* Acts, vil., 53. 

+ In one instance, it may be remembered, the 
multitude was so excited as to attempt to stone our 
Saviour within the precincts of the Temple. 

1 Deut., xvii., 7. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the sentence of death into execution on a 
general scale.* Though, then, they had 
either deliberately ventured, or yielded to 
a violent impulse of fury, on this occasion, 
their vengeance in other cases was con- 
fined to those subordinate punishments 
which were left under their jurisdiction : 
imprisonment, public scourging in the 
synagogue, and that which, of course, be- 
gan to lose its terrors as soon as the Chris- 
tians formed separate and independent 
communities, the once awful excommu- 
nication. 

The martyrdom of Stephen led to the 
most important results, not merely as first 
revealing that great lesson which mankind 
has been so slow to learn, that religious 
persecution which stops short of exter- 
mination always advances the cause 
which it endeavours to repress. It show- 


ed that Christian faith was stronger than * 


death, the last resort of human cruelty. 
Thenceforth its triumph was secure. For 
every death, courageously, calmly, cheer- 
fully endured, where it appalled one das- 


tard into apostacy, made, or prepared the — 


minds of a hundred proselytes. To the 
Jew, ready himself to lay down his life in © 
defence of his Temple, this self-devotion, 
though an undeniable test of sincerity in 
the belief of facts of recent occurrence, 
was less extraordinary; to the heathen it 
showed a determined assurance of immor- 
tality, not less new as an active and gen- 
eral principle, than attractive and enno- 
bling. 

The more immediate consequences of 
the persecution were no less favourable to 
the progress of Christianity. The Chris- 
tians were driven out of Jerusalem, where 
the apostles alone remained firm at their 
posts. Scattered through the whole re- 
gion, if not beyond the precincts of Pales- 
tine, they bore with them the seed of the 
religion. The most important progress 
was made in Samaria; but the extent of 
their success in this region, and the oppo- 
sition they encountered among this peo- 
ple, deeply tinged with Oriental opinion, 

* Michaelis, followed by Eichhorn, | as argued, 
with considerable plausibilege that τ ρὲ ’ 
measures would scarcely have been ventured by the 
Jews under the rigorous administration. of Pilate. 
Vitellius, on the other hand, by whom Pilate was 
sent in disgrace to Rome A.D. 36, visited Jerusa- 
lem A.D. 37, was received with great honours, and 
seems to have treated the Jewish authorities with 
the utmost respect. On these grounds he places 
this persecution as late as the year 37. Yet the 
government of Pilate appears to have been capri- 
ciously, rather than systematically severe. The 
immediate occasion of his recall was his tyrannical 
conduct to the Samaritans. It may have been his 
policy, while his administration was drawing toa 
close, to court the ruling authorities of the Jews. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


will be related in another part of this 
work. Philip, one of the most active of 
the deacons, made another convert of rank 
and importance, an officer* who held the 
highest station and influence with Can- 
dace, the queen of the Ethiopians. The 
name of Candacet was the hereditary ap- 
pellation of the queens of Merve, as Pha- 
raoh of the older, and Ptolemy of the later 
Egyptian kings. The Jews had spread in 
great numbers to that region; and the re- 
turn of a person of such influence, a de- 
clared convert to the new religion, can 
scarcely have been without consequences, 
of which, unhappily, we have no record. 
But far the most important result of the 
Paul of death of Stephen was its connex- 
Tarsus. jon with the conversion of St. Paul. 
To propagate Christianity in the enlight- 
ened West, where its most extensive, at 
least most permanent conquests were to 


be made, to emancipate it from the tram-. 


mels of Judaism, a man was wanting of 
larger and more comprehensive views, of 
higher education and more liberal accom- 


155 


mind so capable, unless blinded by zeal, 
of appreciating its moral sublimity. The 
commission from the Sanhedrin, to bring 
in safe custody to Jerusalem such of the 
Jews of Damascus as had embraced Chris- 
tianity, implies their unabated. reliance 
on his fidelity. The national confidence 
which invested him in this important of- 
fice, the unhesitating readiness with which 
he appears to have assumed it, in a man 


of his apparently severe integrity and un- | 


shaken sense of duty, imply, in all ordi- 
nary human estimation, that he had in no 
degree relaxed from that zeal which in- 
duced him to witness the execution of Ste- 
phen, if not with stern satisfaction, yet 
without commiseration. Even then, if the 
mind of Paul was in any degree prepared, 
by the noble manner in which Stephen had 
endured death, to yield to the miraculous 
interposition which occurred on the road 
to Damascus, nothing less than some oc- 
currence of the most extraordinary and 
unprecedented character could have ar- 
rested so suddenly, and diverted so com- 


% 


τ΄ plishments. Such an instrument for its 
J -momentous scheme of benevolence to the 
_ human race Divine Providence found in 


pletely from its settled purpose, a mind of 


imagination, to all appearance very supe- 


so much strength, and however of vivid __ 


» 


Saul of Tarsus. Born in the Grecian and 
commercial town of Tarsus, where he 
had acquired no inconsiderable acquaint- 
ance with Grecian letters and philosophy, 
but brought up in the most celebrated 
school of Pharisaic learning, that of Ga- 
mailiel, for which purpose he had probably 
resided long in Jerusalem ; having inher- 
ited, probably from the domiciliation of his 
family in Tarsus,{ the valuable privilege 
of Roman citizenship, yet with his Juda- 
ism in no degree weakened by his Grecian 
culture, Saul stood, as it were, on the con- 
fines of both regions, qualified beyond all 
men to develop a system which should 
unite Jew and Gentile under one more har- 
monious and comprehensive faith. The 
zeal with which Saul urged on the subse- 
quent persecution showed that the death 
of Stephen had made, as might have been 
expected, no influential impression upon a 


‘ 


* The word “eunuch” may be here used in its 
primary sense (cubicularius), without any allusion 
to its later meaning; as, according to the strict rites 
of the law, a Jewish eunuch was disqualified from 
appearing at the public assemblies. 

+ Regnare feminam Candacen, quod nomen mul- 
tis jam annis ad reginas transilt.—-Plin, vi., 29. 
Conf. Strabo, xvii., p. 1175. Dio Cass., liv. 

+ Compare Strabo’s account of Tarsus. The 
natives of this city were remarkably addicted to 
philosophical studies, but in general travelled and 
settled in foreign countries : Οὐδ᾽ αὐτοὶ οὗτοι μέ- 
νουσιν αὐτόθι, ἀλλὰ καὶ τελειοῦνται ἐκδημοῦντες, 
καὶ τελειωθέντες ξενιτεύουσιν ἠδεὼς, κατέρχονται 
ὁ᾽ dAtyot.—Strabo, lib. xiv., p. 673. 


rior to popular superstition. Saul set 
forth from Jerusalem, according to the 
narrative of the Acts, with his mind 
wrought up to the most violent animosity 
against these apostates from the faith of 
their ancestors.* He set forth, thus man- 
ifestly inveterate in his prejudices, un- 
shaken in his ardent attachment to the re- 
ligion of Moses, the immutability and per- 
petuity of which he considered it treason- 
able and impious to question, with an aus- 
tere and indignant sense of duty, fully au- 
thorized by the direct testimony of the 
law to exterminate all renegades from 
the severest Judaism. The ruling Jews 
must have heard with the utmost amaze- 
ment, that the persecuting zealot who had 
voluntarily demanded the commission of 
the high-priest to repress the growing sect 
of the Christians had arrived at Damas- 
cus, blinded for a time, humbled, and that 
his first step had been openly to join him- 
self to that party which he had threatened 
to exterminate. 

The Christians, far from welcoming so 
distinguished a proselyte, looked on him 
at first with natural mistrust and suspi- 
cion. And although at Damascus this 
jealousy was speedily allayed by the inter- 
position of Ananias, a leading Christian, 
to whom his conversion had been reveal- 
ed by a vision, at Jerusalem his former 
SE ES a eee TS 

* « Breathing threatenings and slaughter against 
the disciples of the Lord.”—Acts, ix., 1-22. 


a 


156 


hostile violence had made so deep an im- 
pression, that, three years after his con- 
version, even the apostles stood aloof, and 
with reluctance admitted a proselyte of 
such importance, yet whose conversion to 
them still appeared so highly improbable. 
No event in Christian history, from this 
improbability, as well as its influence on 
the progress of the religion, would so de- 
mand, if the expression may be used, the 
Divine intervention as the conversion of 
St. Paul. Paul was essentially necessa- 
ry to the development of the Christian 
scheme. Neither the self-suggested work- 
ings of the imagination, even if coincident 
with some extraordinary but fortuitous at- 
mospheric phenomena; nor any worldly 
notion of aggrandizement, as the head of a 
new and powerful sect; nor that more 
noble ambition, which might anticipate the 
moral and social blessings of Christianity, 
and, once conceived, would strike reso- 
lutely into the scheme for their advance- 
ment, furnish even a plausible theory for 
the total change of such a man, at such a 
time, and under such circumstances. The 
minute investigation of this much-agitated 
question could scarcely be in its place in 
the present work. But to doubt, in what- 
ever manner it took place, the Divine mis- 
sion of Paul, would be to discard all prov- 
idential interposition in the design and 
propagation of Christianity. 
Unquestionably it is remarkable how 
little encouragement Paul Seems at first 
to have received from the party, to join 
which he had sacrificed all his popularity 
with his countrymen, the favour of the 
supreme magistracy, and a charge, if of 
severe and cruel, yet of an important char- 
acter; all, indeed, which hitherto appeared 
the ruling objects pf his life. Instead of 
assuming at once, as his abilities and char- 
acter might seem to command, a distin- 
guished place in the new community into 
which he had been received; instead of 
being hailed, as renegades from the oppo- 
site faction usually are, by a weak and 
persecuted party, his early course is lost 
m obscurity. He passes several years in 
_ exile, as it were, from both parties; he 
emerges by slow degrees into eminence, 
-and hardly wins his way into the reluc- 
- tant confidence of the Christians ; who, 
_ however they might at first be startled by 
‘the improbability of the fact, yet felt such 
_reliance in the power of their Lord and Re- 
-deemer as scarcely, we should have con- 
-eeived, to be affected by lasting wonder at 
the conversion of any unbeliever. 
Part of the three years which elapsed 
between the conversion of Paul and his 
first visit to Jerusalem was passed in 


de ν 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Arabia.* The cause of this retirement 
into a foreign region, and the part of the 
extensive country, which was then called 
Arabia, in which he resided, are altogether 
unknown. It is possible, indeed, that he 
may have sought refuge from the Jews of 
Damascus, or employed himself in the 
conversion of the Jews who were scatter- 
ed in great numbers in every part pau! in 
of Arabia. The frontiers of the Arabia. 
Arabian king bordered closely on the ter- 
ritory of Damascus, and Paul may have 
retired but a short distance from that city. 
During this interval Aretas, whose hostile 
intentions against Herod, the tetrarch of 
Galilee, Vitellius, the prefect of Syria, had 
made preparations to repress, had the bold- 
ness to invade the Syrian prefecture, and 
to seize the important city,of Damascus. 
It is difficult to conceive this act of aggres- 
sion to have been hazarded unless at some 
period of public confusion, such as took 
place at the death of Tiberius. Accord- 
ing to. Josephus, Vitellius, who had: col- 
lected a great force to invest Petra, the 
capital of the Arabian king, on the first 
tidings of that event instantly suspended 
his operations and withdrew his troops 
into their winter-quarters. At all events, 
at the close of these three years Damas- 
cus was in the power of Aretas. The 
Jews, who probably were under the -au- 
thority of an ethnarch of their own people, 
obtained sufficient influence with the Ara- 
bian governor to carry into effect their de- 
signs against the life of Paul.t His sud- 
den apostacy from their cause, his extra- 
ordinary powers, his ardent zeal, his un- 
exampled success, had wrought their ani- 
mosity to this deadly height; and Paul 
was with difficulty withdrawn from their 
fury by being let down from the walls in 
a basket, the gates being carefully guard- 
ed by the command of the Arabian gov- 
ernor. 

Among the most distinguished of the 
first converts was Barnabas, a native of 
Cyprus, who had contributed largely from 
his possessions in that island to the com- 
mon fund, and whose commanding char- 
acter and abilities gave him great in- 
fluence. When Paul, after his escape 
from Damascus, arrived at Jerusalem, so 
imperfect appears to have been the cor- 
respondence between the more remote 
members of the Christian community (pos- 
sibly from Damascus and its neighbour- 


* The time of St. Paul’s residence in Arabia is 
generally assumed to have been one whole year, 
and part of the preceding and the following. The 


-| expression in the Epistle to the Galatians (i., 17, 


18) appears to me by no means to require this ar- 
rangement. } Acts in 723; 


> 
we 


HISTORY OF — 


hood having been the seat of war, or be- 
cause Paul had passed considerable part of 
the three years in almost total seclusion), 
at all events, such was the obscurity of 


the whole transaction, that no certain in- 


telligence of so extraordinary an event as 
his conversion had reached the apostolic 
body, or rather Peter and James, the only 
apostles then resident in Jerusalem.* Bar- 
nabas alone espoused his cause, removed 
the timid suspicions of the apostles, and 
Paul was admitted into the reluctant Chris- 
tian community. As peculiarly skilled in 
the Greek language, his exertions to ad- 
vanee Christianity were particularly ad- 
dressed to those of the Jews to whom 
Greek was vernacular. But a new con- 
spiracy again endangering his life, he was 
carried away by the care of his friends to 
Cesarea, and thence proceeded to his na- 
tive city of Tarsus.f 

About this time a more urgent and im- 
Persecution Mediate danger than the prog- 
of the Jews ress of Christianity occupied 
by Caligula. the mind of the Jewish people. 
The very existence of their religion was 
threatened, for the frantic Caligula had is- 
sued orders to place his statue in the Tem- 
ple at Jerusalem. The historian of the 
Jews must relate the negotiations, the pe- 
titions, the artful and humane delays in- 
terposed by the prefect Petronius, and all 
the incidents which show how deeply and 
universally the nation was absorbed by 
this appalling subject.— It caused, no 
doubt, as it were,a diversion in favour of 
the Christians; and the temporary peace 
enjoyed by the churches is attributed, with 
great probability, rather to the fears of the 
Jews for their own religious independence, 
than to the relaxation of their hostility 
against the Christians.§ 

This peace was undisturbed for about 
three years.||_ The apostles pur- 
sued their office of disseminating 

the Gospel in every part of Judea until 
Herod Agrippa took possession of the he- 
reditary dominions, which had been partly 
granted by the favour of Caligula, and 
were secured by the gratitude of Claudi- 
us. Herod Agrippa affected the splendour 
of his grandfather, the first Herod; but, 
unlike him, he attempted to ingratiate 
himself with his subjects by the strictest 
profession of Judaism.4 His power ap- 


A.D. 39-41. 


* Acts, ix., 26. + Acts, ix., 30. 

t Joseph., Ant., xviii., 8. History of the Jews, 
ii., 178, 186. er 

§ Benson (Hist. of first planting of Christianity) 
and Lardner take this view. ; 

|| Acts, ix., 31. From 39 to 41, the year of Calig- 
ula’s death. 

q Hist. of Jews, ii., 192, 196. 


157 


Φ ὦ... ; 

pears to have been as despotic as that of 
his ancestor; and, at the instigation, no 
doubt, of the leading Jews, he determined 
to take vigorous means for the suppres- 
sion of Christianity. James, the Death of 
brother of St. John, was the first James. 
victim. He appears to have been summa- 
rily put to death by the military mandate 
of the king, without any process of the 
Jewish law.* The Jews rejoiced, no 
doubt, that the uncontrolled power of life 
and death was again restored to one who 
assumed the character of a national king. 
They were no longer restrained by the 
caprice, the justice, or the humanity of a 
Roman prefect, who might treat their in- 
tolerance with contempt or displeasure ; 
and they were encouraged in the hope 
that, at the same great festival, during 
which, some years before, they had extort- 
ed the death of Jesus from the reluctant 
Pilate, their new king would more readily — 
lend himself to their revenge against his 
most active and powerful follower. Peter 
was cast into prison, perhaps with the in- 
tention of putting him to death before the 
departure of Herod from the capital. He 
was delivered from his bondage by super- 
natural intervention.| If the author of 
the Acts has preserved the order of time, 
two other of the most important adherents 
of Christianity ran considerable danger. 
The famine predicted by Agabus at Anti- 
och commenced in Judea in the fourth 
year of Claudius, the last of Herod 
Agrippa. If, then, Barnabas and 
Paul proceeded to Jerusalem on their 
charitable mission to bear the contribu- 
tions of the Christians in Antioch to their 
poorer brethren in Judea,t they must have« 
arrived there during the height of the per- 
secution. Either they remained in con- 
cealment, or the extraordinary circum- 
stances of the escape of Peter from prison 
so confounded the king and his advisers, 
notwithstanding their attempt to prove the 
connivance of the guards, to which the 
lives of the miserable men were sacri- 
ficed, that for a time the violence of the 
persecution was suspended, and those who. 
would inevitably have been its next vic- 


A.D. 44. 


tims obtained, as it were, a temporary — 


respite. 
The death of Herod during the same 


year delivered the Christians from Death of . 
In its Herod. 


their determined enemy. 
terrific and repulsive circumstances they — 


could not but behold the hand of their pro- © 


* Blasphemy was the only crime of which he 
could be accused, and stoning was the ordinary 
mode of execution for that offence. James wascut 
off by the sword. . 


t Acts, xii., 1-23, } Acts, xi., 30. 


, 


εἴ 
4 


“ 


4 


158 


the Jewish and the Christian historian, Jo- 
sephus and the writer of the Acts. In the 
appalling suddenness of his seizure, in the 


ae CHRISTIANITY. 
tecting God. In this respect alone differ 


be 
midst of his splendour and the impious ad- 
ulations of his court, and in the loathsome 
nature of the disease, their accounts fully 
coincide. 


CHAPTER Il. °. | 


CHRISTIANITY 


Ὁ (ἐν 


Ls 


Curistianiry had now made rapid and 
Progress of eXtensive progress throughout 
Christianity. the Jewish world. The death 
and resurrection of Jesus; the rise of a 
new religious community, which proclaim- 
ed the Son of Mary to be the Messiah, 
taking place on a scene so public as the 

* metropolis, and at the period of the gen- 
eral concourse of the nation, must have 
been rumoured, more or less obscurely, in 
the most remote parts of the Roman em- 
pire, and eastward as far as the extreme 
settlements of the Jews. If the religion 
may not have been actually embraced by. 
any of those pilgrims from the more dis- 
tant provinces who happened to be pres- 
ent during the great festivals, yet its seeds 
may have been already widely scattered. 
The dispersion of the community during 
the persecution after the death of Stephen 
carried many zealous and ardent converts 
into the adjacent regions of Syria and the 
island of Cyprus. It had obtained a per- 
manent establishment at Antioch, where 
the community first received the distinct- 
ive appellation of Christians. 

Christianity, however, as yet, was but 
an expanded Judaism ; it was preached by 
Jews, it was addressed to Jews. It was 
limited, national, exclusive. The race of 
Israel gradually recognising in Jesus of 
Nazareth the promised Messiah ; superin- 
ducing, as it were, the exquisite purity of 

-evangelic morality upon the strict per- 
formance of the moral law; redeemed 
_from the sins of their fathers and from 
their own by Christ; assured of the res- 


ts urrection to eternal life, the children of 


Abraham wefe still to stand alone and sep- 
arate from the rest of mankind, sole pos- 
sessors of the Divine favour, sole inherit- 
ors of God’s everlasting promises. There 
can be no doubt that they still looked for 
the speedy, if not the immediate, consum- 
mation of all things; the Messiah had as 
yet performed but part of his office; he 
was to come again, at no distant period, 
to accomplish all which was wanting to 
the established belief in his mission. His 
visible, his worldly kingdom was to com- 
mence ; he had passed his ordeal of trial, 


AND JUDAISM. yaad 
: é ἌΓ 
of suffering, and of sacrifice ; the e 


age and the same people were to behold 
him in his triumph, in his glory, and even, 
some self-deemed and self-named Chris- 
tians would not hesitate to aver, in his re- 
venge. At the head of his elect of Israel 
he was to assume his dominion; and if 
his dominion was tobe founded upon a 
still more rigid principle of exclusion than 
that of one favoured race, it entered not 
into the most remote expectation that it 
could be formed on a wider plan, unless, 
perhaps, in favour of the few who should 
previously have acknowledged the Divine 
legislation of Moses, and sued for and ob- 
tained admission among the hereditary 
descendants of Abraham. Nothing is 
more remarkable than to see the horizon 
of the apostles gradually receding, and, in- 
stead of resting on the borders of the Holy 
Land, comprehending at length the whole 
world; barrier after barrier fall- g,,aua1 en- 
ing down before the superior largement of 
wisdom which was infused into {he views of 
their minds ; first the proselytes Pee 
of the gate, the foreign conformists to Ju- 
daism, and, ere long, the Gentiles them- 
selves admitted within the pale; until 
Christianity stood forth, demanded the 
homage, and promised its rewards to the 
faith of the whole human race; proclaim- 
ed itself in language which the world had 


as yet never heard, the one, true, univer- 


sal religion. 


As a universal religion, aspiring to the 


complete moral conquest of the cnristianity, 
world, Christianity had to en- a universal 
counter three antagonists, Juda- Télision. 

ism, Paganism, and Orientalism. Itis our 
design successively to exhibit the conflict 
with these opposing forces; its final tri- 
umph, not without detriment to its own na- 
tive purity and its divine simplicity, from 
the interworking of the yet unsubdued el- 
ements of the former systems into the 
Christian mind; until each, at success- 
ive periods and in different parts of the 
world, formed a modification of Christian- 
ity equally removed from its unmingled 
and unsullied original: the Judzo-Chris- 
tianity of Palestine, of which the Ebion- 


- 


-«-΄-- 


~ 


~ HISTORY OF CHRI 


ites appear to have been the last represent- 
atives; the Platonic Christianity of Al- 
exandrea, as, at least at this early period, 
the new religion could coalesce only with 
the sublimer and more philosophical prin- 
ciples of p ism ; and, lastly, the Gnos- 


- tie Christianity of the East. 


With Judaism Christianity had to main- 
External con. “#1 a double conflict : one ex- 
flict of Chris. ternal, with the Judaism of the 
tianity with Temple, the Synagogue, the 
€ * Sanhedrin ; a contest of author- 
ity on one side, and the irrepressible spirit 
of moral and religious liberty on the other ; 
of fierce intolerance against the stubborn 
endurance of conscientious faith; of re- 
lentless persecution against the calm and 
death-despising, or often death-seeking, 
heroism of martyrdom : the oth- 
er, more dangerous and destruc- 
tive, the Judaism of the infant Church; the 
old prejudices and opinions, which even 
Christianity could not altogether extirpate 
or correct in the earlier Jewish proselytes; 
the perpetual tendency to contract again 
the expanding circle ; the enslavement of 
Christianity to the provisions of the Mo- 
saic law, and the spirit of the antiquated 
religion of Palestine. Until the first steps 
were taken to throw open the new reli- 
gion to mankind at large; until Christian- 
ity, it may be said without disparagement, 
from a Jewish sect assumed the dignity of 
an independent religion, even the external 
animosity of Judaism had not reached its 
height. But the successive admission of 
the Proselytes of the Gate, and at length 
of the idolatrous Gentiles, into an equal 
participation in the privileges of the faith, 
showed that the breach was altogether 
irreparable. From that period the two 
systems stood in direct and irreconcilable 
opposition. To the eye of the Jew the 
Christian became, from a rebellious and 
heretical son, an irreclaimable apostate ; 


and internal. 


and to the Christian, the temporary desig- 
~ nation of Jesus as the Messiah of the Jews 


was merged in the more sublime title, the 
Redeemer of the world. 

The same measures rendered the inter- 
nal conflict with the lingering Judaism 
within the Church more violent and des- 
perate. Its dying struggles, as it were, to 
maintain its ground, rent for some time 
the infant community with civil divisions. 
But the predominant influx of Gentile con- 
verts gradually obtained the ascendancy ; 
Judaism slowly died out in the great body 
of the Church, and the Judzo-Christian 
sects in the East languished, and at length 
expired in obscurity. 

Divine Providence had armed the reli- 
gion of Christ with new powers, adapted 


TIANITY. 


159 


, the 


enrolment of Barnabas and Paul pPaui and — 


in the apostolic body, showed that Barnabas. 
for the comprehensive system about to be 
developed instruments were wanting of a 
different character from the humble and 
uninstructed peasants of Galilee. How- 
ever extraordinary the change wrought in 
the minds of the earlier apostles by the 
spirit of Christianity; however some of 
them, especially Peter and John, may 
have extended their labours beyond the 
precincts of Palestine, yet Paul appears to 
have exercised by far the greatest influ- 
ence, not merely in the conversion of the 
Gentiles, but in emancipating the Christi- 
anity of the Jewish converts from the in- 
veterate influence of their old religion. 
Yet the first step towards the more com- 
prehensive system was made pjfterences 


by Peter. Samaria, indeed, had heviecn Jow 
iv. 4... 8η entile 
already received the new reli- Αγαγ ab- 


gion to a great extent; an inno- rogated by 
vation upon Jewish prejudice Peter. 
remarkable both in itself and its results. 
The most important circumstance in that 
transaction, the collision with Simon the 
magician, will be considered in a future 
chapter, that which describes the conflict 
of Christianity with Orientalism. The 
vision of Peter, which seemed by the Di- 
vine sanction to annul the distinction of 
meats, of itself threw down one of those 
barriers which separated the Jews from 
the rest of mankind.* 
prohibited not merely all social’ inter- 
course, but all close or domestic commu- 
nication with other races. But the figu- 
rative instruction which the apostle infer- 
red from this abrogation of all distinction 
between clean and unclean animals was 
of still greater importance. The Prose- 
lytes of the Gate, that is, those heathens 
who, without submitting to circumcisioh, 
or acknowledging the claims of the whole 
law to their obedience, had embraced the 
main principles of Judaism, more particu- 
larly the unity of God, were at once ad- 
mitted into the Christian comMU- gorelius, 
nity. Cornelius was, as it were, 


Vice) Plea Ss 


* Acts, x., 11 to 21. 


This sacred usage _ 


τ mission, to induce the Christians of Jeru- 


160 


the representative of his class ; his admis- 
sion by the federal rite of baptism into the 
Christian community, the public sanction 
of the Almighty to this step by “ the pour- 
ing out of the Holy Ghost” upon the Gen- 
tiles, decided this part of the question.* 
Still the admission into Christianity was 
It required all the influ- 
ence of the apostle, and his distinct as- 


through Judaism. 
severation that he acted by Divine com- 


salem to admit Gentiles imperfectly Juda- 


d, and uninitiated by the national rite 
@Peirenmcision into the race of Israel, to 


* It is disputed whether Comelius was in fact 
a Proselyte of the Gate.—(See, on one side, Lord 
Barrington’s Works, vol. i, p. 128, and Bensori’s 


9 History of Christianity; on the other, Kuinoel, in 


* synagogues were open 


loco.) He is called εὐσεδὴς and φοδοῦμενος τὸν Θεὸν, 
the usual appellation of proselytes; he bestowed 
alms on the Jewish people; he observed the Jew- 
ish hours of prayer; he was evidently familiar with 
the Jewish belief in angels, and not unversed in the 
Jewish Scriptures. Yet, on the other hand, the ob- 
jections are not without weight. The whole diffi- 
culty appears to arise from not considering how 
vaguely the term of “ Proselyte of the Gate” must, 
from the nature of things, have been applied, and 
the different feelings entertained towards such con- 
verts by the different classes of the Jews. While 
the proselytes, properly so called—those who were 
identified with the Jews by circumcision—were a 
distinct and definite class, the Proselytes of the 
Gate must have comprehended all who made the 
least advances towards Judaism, from those who 
regularly attended on the services of the synagogue, 
and conformed in all respects, except circumcision, 
with the ceremonial law, down, through the count- 
less shades of opinion, to those who merely admit: 
ted the first principle of Judaism—the Unity of 
God ; were occasional attendants in the synagogue ; 
and had only, as it were, ascended the first steps on 
the threshold of conversion. ‘The more rigid Jews 
looked with jealousy even on the circumcised pros- 
elytes ; the terms of admission were made as diffi- 
cult and repulsive as possible; on the imperfect, 
they looked with still greater suspicion, and were 
rather jealous of communicating their exclusive 
privileges than eager to extend the influence of 
their opinions. But the more liberal must have 
acted on diffe principles; they must have en- 
couraged the advances of incipient proselytes; the 
y ghout the Roman em. 
pire, and many who, like Horace, “ went to scoff,” 
may “‘ have remained to pray.” As, then, the Chris- 
tian apostles always commenced their labours in 
the synagogue of their countrymen, among all who 
might assemble there from regular habit or acci- 
dental curiosity, they would address heathen minds 
in every gradation of Jewish belief, from the prose- 
lyte who only wanted circumcision, to the Gentile 
who had only qog. began to discover the superior 
re@tsonableness of the Jewish theism. Hence the 
step from the conversion of imperfect proselytes to 
that of real Gentiles must have been impercepti- 
ble; or, rather, even with the Gentile convert, that 
which was the 

in one God, was an 


dispensable preliminary to his 
admission of Ch 


anity.” The one great decisive 


change was from the decree of the apostolic coun- | 


cil (Acts, xiv.), obviously intended for real taough 
imperfect proselytes, to the total abrogation 
daism by the doctrines of St. Paul. 


inciple of Judaism, the belief 


=| 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


a pore in the kingdom of the Mes- 
siah. 

To this subject we must, however, re- 
vert when we attempt more fully to de- 
velop the internal conflict of Christianity 
with Judaism. ri 

The conversion of Cornelius took place 
before the persecution of Herod Agrippa, 
down to which period our history has 
traced the external conflict maintained by 
Christianity against the dominant Juda- 
ism. On the death of Herod, his son 
Agrippa being a minor and educated at 
Rome, a Roman prefect resumed the pro- 
vincial government of Judea. He state of 
ruled almost always with a stern, Judea. 
sometimes with an iron hand, and the 
gradually increasing turbulence of the 
province led to severity ; severity with a 
profligate and tyrannical ruler degenerated 
into oppression; until the systematic cru- 
elty of Florus maddened the nation into 
the last fatal insurrection. The Sanhedrin 
appear at no time to have possessed suf- 
ficient influence with the prefect p,. curator 
to be permitted to take violent of Judea. 
measures against the Christians. 4-D- 4 
With Cuspius Fadus, who had transferred 
the custody of the high-priest’s robes into 
the Antonia, they were on no amicable 
terms. Tiberius Alexander, an peo 
apostate from Judaism, was little ; 
likely to lend himself to any acts of bigot- 
ry or persecution. During the prefecture 
of Cumanus, the massacre in the , 5 yg 
Temple, the sanguinary feuds be- ~~ 
tween the J 
the public Oe it was a period of politi 
cal disorder and confusion, which contin- 
ued for a considerable time. 

The commencement of the administra- 
tion of the whole province by the inte 
corrupt and dissolute Felix, the in- ~~~ 
surrection of Theudas, the reappearance 
of the sons of the Galilean Judas, the in- 
cursions Of the predatory bands which 
rose in all quarters, would divert the atten- 
tion of the ruler from a peaceful sect, who, 
to his apprehension, differed from their 
countrymen only in some harmless specu- 
lative opinions, and in their orderly and 
quiet conduct. If the Christians were 
thus secure in their peacefulness and ob- 
scurity from the hostility of the Roman 
rulers, the native Jewish authorities, grad- 
ually more and more in collision with their 
foreign masters, would not possess the 
power of conducting persecution to any 
extent. Instead of influencing the coun- 
sels of the prefect, the high-priest was ei- 
ther a mere instrument appointed by his 
caprice, or, if he aspired to independent au- 
thority, in direct opposition to his tyran- 


s and Samaritans, occupied 


4 
τ 


δ ae 


HiSTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


nous master. The native authorities 
were, in fact, continually in collision with 
High-priest, the foreign ruler; one, Ananias, 
A.D. 46 to 49. had been sent in chains to Rome 
as accessary to the tumults which had aris- 
en between the Jews and the Samaritans; 
High-priest. his successor, Jonathan, fell by 
A.D. 49. -the hand of an assassin, in the 
employ, or at least with the connivance, 
of the Roman governor. On his acquittal 
at Rome Ananias returned to Jerusalem 
and reassumed the vacant pontificate ; and 
it was during this period that Christianity, 
in the person of Paul, came again into 
conflict with the constituted authorities 
as well as with the popular hostility. The 
prompt and decisive interference of the 
Roman guard; the protection and even 
the favour shown to Paul, directly as it 
was discovered that he was not identified 
with any of the insurgent robbers ; the ad- 
journment of the cause to the tribunal of 
Felix at Cesarea, show how little weight 
or power was permitted either to the high- 
priest or the Sanhedrm, and the slight re- 
spect paid to the religious feelings of the 
people. 

The details of this remarkabie transac- 
tion will command our notice, in the order 
of time, when we have traced the pro- 
ceedings of Paul and his fellow-missiona- 
ries among the Jews beyond the borders 
of Palestine, and exhibited the conflict 
which they maintained with Judaism in 
foreign countries. ‘The new opening, as 


_it were, for the extension of Christianity 


e conversion of Cornelius, directed 
attention of Barnabas to Saul, who, 
ince his flight from Jerusalem, had re- 
‘Mained in secure retirement at Tarsus. 
From thence he was summoned by Barna- 
bas to Antioch.* Antioch, where the 
body of believers assumed the name of 
Christians, became, as it were, the head- 
quarters of the foreign operations of Chris- 
Pant ana tianity.f After the mission of Paul 
Barnabas and Barnabas to Jerusalem during 
apostles. the famine (either about the time 
or soon after the Herodian persecution), 
these two distinguished teachers of the 
Gospel were invested, with the Divine 
sanction, in the apostolic office.= But 


® Acts, xi.,25. + Acts, xi., 26. £ Acts, xiii, 2." 


* [The Holy Ghost sgid, Separate me Barnabas and 
Saul, for the work whereunto 1 have called them. “If 
there be any reference to a past fact in these words, itis 
probably to some revelation personally made to Paul and 
Barnabas, to signify that they should take a journey into 
several countries of Asia Minor, to preach the Gospel 
there. But that they were now invested with the apos- 
tolic office by these inferior ministers (though expressly 
asserted by Clarius and many others), is a thing neither 
credible in itself, nor consistent with what Paul himself 
says, Gal.,i., 1. And that they now received a power be- 


fore unknown in the Church, of preaching to the idolatrous 
εν . “ 


ὡ j | 
a9 ‘a 
Vis ie, ὁ 


101. 


these foreign operations were at first alto- 
gether confined to the Jewish population, 
which was scattered throughout the whole 
of Syriaand Asia Minor. On their arrival 
ina am which they had not visited before, 
they of course sought a hospitable recep- 
tion among their countrymen; the first 
scene of their labours was the synagogue.* 
In the Island of Cyprus, the native ας 
country of Barnabas, a considera- ~~" 
ble part of the population must have been 
of Jewish descent.— Both at Salamis at 
the eastern, and at Paphos on the weste 
extremity, and probably in other places. 
during their journey through the whol 
length of the island, they found flourishing 
communities of their countrymen. To 
the governor, a man of inquiring and sergius 
philosophic mind,{ the simple prin- Paulus. 
ciples of Judaism could not be unknown ; 
and perhaps the contrast between the 
chaste, and simple, and rational worship 
of the synagogue, and the proverbially 
sensual rites of heathenism, for which 
Paphos was renowned, may have height- 
ened his respect for, or increased his in- 
clination to, the purer faith. The arrival 
of two new teachers among the Jews of 
the city could not but reach the ears of 
Sergius Paulus; the sensation they ex- 
cited among their countrymen awoke his 
curiosity. He had already encouraged 
the familiar attendance of a Jewish won- 
der-worker, a man who probably misused 
some skill in natural science for purposes 
of fraud and gain. Bar-Jesus (the son of 
Jesus or Joshua) was probably less actu- 
ated in his opinions to the apostles by 
Jewish bigotry than by the apprehension 
of losing his influence with the governor. 
He saw, no doubt, in the apostles, adven- 
turers like himself. The miraculous blind- 
ness with which the magician was struck 
convinced the governor of the superior 
claims of the apostles; the beauty of the 
Christian doctrines filled him with as- 
tonishment; a h yan proconsul, 
though not united by baptism to the Chris- 


ἜΣ ΩΝ . c 


* Acts, xiii., 4-12. _ . = . 

+ Hist. of the Jews, iii., 95. In the fatal insur- 
rection during the - Μὰ of Hadrian, they are said 
to have massacred 24.000 of the Grecian inhabi- - 
tants, and obtained temporary possession of the 15}- 
and. gt 
+ The remarkable accuracy of St. Luke in na- 
ming the governor proconsul has been frequently ob- 
served. ‘The provincial governors appointed by the 
emperors were called propretors, those by the sen- 
ate proconsuls. That of Cyprus was properly in 
the nomination of the emperor, but Augustus trans- 
ferred his right, as to Cyprus and Narbonese Gaul, 
to the senate.—Dion Cassius, |. liv., p. 523 


Gentiles, is inconsistent with Acts, xi., 20, 21, and upon 
many other considerations, to! be proposed elsewhere, ap- 
pears to me absolutely incredible.”—Doddridge, in locum.t 


. 162 


δε 


tian community, must nevertheless have 
added great weight, by his acknowledged 
support, to the cause of Christianity in 
Cyprus.* 

From Cyprus they crossed to the south- 
Jews in the €rn shore of Asia Minor, landed 
cities of | at Perga in Pamphylia, and pass- 
Asia Minor. 64 through the chief cities of that 
region. In the more flourishing towns 
they found a considerable Jewish popula- 
tion, and the synagogue of the Jews ap- 
pears to have been attended by great num- 
bers of Gentiles, more or less disposed to 
embrace the tenets of Judaism. Every- 
where the more rigid Jews met them with 
fierce and resentful opposition ; but among 
the less bigoted of their countrymen and 
this more unprejudiced class of proselytes 
they made great progress. At the first 
considerable city in which they appeared, 
Antioch in Pisidia, the opposition of the 
Jews seems to have been so general, and 
the favolgable disposition of their Gentile 
hearers so decided, that the apostles avow- 
edly disclaimed all farther connexion with 
the more violent party, and united them- 
selves to the Gentile believers. Either 
from the number or the influence of the 
Jews in Antioch, the public interest in that 
dispute, instead of being confined within 
the synagogue, prevailed through the 
whole city; but the Jews had so much 
weight, especially with some of the women 
of rank, that they at length obtained the 
expulsion of the apostles from the city by 
the ruling authorities. At Iconium, to 
which city they retired, the opposition was 
‘Still more violent; the populace was ex- 
‘cited; and here many of the Gentiles 
uniting with the Jews against them, they 
were constrained to fly for their lives into 
the barbarous district of Lyeaonia. Lystra 
and Derbe appear to have been almost en- 
tirely heathen towns. The remarkable 
collision of the apostles with paganism in 
the former of these places will hereafter 
be considered. To Lystra the hostility 
of the Jews pursued them, where, by some 
strange revulsion of popular feeling, Paul, 
a short time before worshipped as a god, 
was cast out of the city half dead. They 
proceeded to Derbe, and thence returned 
through the same cities to Antioch in 
Syria. The ordination of “elders”} to 
preside over the Christian communities 
implies their secession from the syna- 
gogues of their country. In Jerusalem, 
from the multitude ‘of synagogues, which 
belonged to the different races of foreign 


* Had he thus become altogether Christian, his 
‘baptism would assuredly have been mentioned by 
the sacred writer. ι ¢ Acts, xiv., 23. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Jews, another might arise, or one of those 
usually occupied by the Galileans might 
pass into the separate possession of the 
Christians, without exciting much notice, 
particularly as great part of the public de- 
votions of all classes were performed in 
the Temple, where the Christians were 
still regular attendants. Most likely the 
first distinct community which met in a 
chamber or place of assemblage of their 
own, the first Church, was formed at Anti- 
och. To the heathen this would appear 
nothing more than the establishment of a 
new Jewish synagogue ; an event, when- 
ever their numbers were considerable, of 
common occurrence. ‘To the Jew alone it 
assumed the appearance of a dangerous 
and formidable apostacy from the religion 
of his ancestors. 

The barrier was now thrown down, but 
Judaism rallied, as it were, for nara 
a last effort behind its ruins. It iachmentto 
was now manifest that Christi- the law. 
anity would no longer endure the 
rigid nationalism of the Jew, who demand- 
ed that every proselyte to his faith should 
be enrolled as a member of his race. Cir- 
cumcision could no longer be maintained 
as the seal of conversion ;* but still the 
total abrogation of the Mosaic law, the ex- 
tinction of all their privileges of descent, 
the substitution of a purely religious for a 
national community, to the Christianized 
Jew appeared, as it were, a kind of trea- 
son against the religious majesty of their 
ancestors: a conference became necessa- 
ry between the leaders of the Christian 
community to avert an inevitable colli- 
sion, which might be fatal to the progress 
of the religion. Already the peace of the 
flourishing community at Antiocht had 
been disturbed by some of the more zeal- ᾿ 
ous converts from Jerusalem, who still as- 
serted the indispensable necessity of cir- 
cumcision. Paul and Barnabas proceeded 
as delegates from the community at Anti- — 
och; and what is calledf the council of Je- 


* The adherence, even of those Jews who might 
here be expected to be less bigoted to their institu- 
tions, to this distinctive rite of their religion, is 
illustrated by many curious particulars in the histo- 
ty. Two foreign princes, Aziz king of Hmesa, and 
Polemo king of Cilla sis to circumcision, 
an indispensable stipulation, in order to obtain in 
marriage, the former Drusilla, the latter Berenice, 
princesses of the Herodian family. On one occa- 
sion the alliance of some foreign troops was reject- 
ed, unless they would first qualify themselves. in 
this mamner for the distinction of Peaocitindteith 
the Jews. + Acts, xv., 1. 

+ It is uncertain whether the James who presi- 
ded in this assembly was either of the two Jameses 
included among the twelve apostles, or a distinct 
person, a relative of Jesus. The latter opinion rests 
on the authority of Eusebius. — 


“ee 4 
« al 
o 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Council of TUSalem, a full assembly of all the 
Jerusalem. apostles [‘‘and elders, with the 
AD. 49. whole church”] then present in 
the metropolis solemnly debated this 
great question. How far the earlier apos- 
tles were themselves emancipated from 
the inveterate Judaism does not distinctly 
appear, but the situation of affairs re- 
quired the most nicely-balanced judgment, 
united with the utmost moderation of tem- 
per. On one side a Pharisaic party had 
brought into Christianity a rigorous and 
passionate attachment to the Mosaic insti- 
tutes, in their strictest and most minute 
provisions. On the other hand, beyond 
the borders of Palestine, far the greater 
number of converts had been formed from 
that intermediate class which stood be- 
tween heathenism and Judaism. There 
might seem, then, no alternative but to 
estrange one party by the abrogation of 
the law, or the other by the strict enforce- 
ment of all its provisions. Each party 
might appeal to the Divine sanction. To 
the eternal, the irrepealable sanctity of the 
law, the God of their fathers, according to 
the Jewish opinion, was solemnly pledg- 
ed; while the vision of Peter, which au- 
- thorized the admission of the Gentiles into 
Christianity—still more, the success of 
Paul and Barnabas in proselyting the hea- 
then, accompanied by undeniable manifes- 
tations of Divine favour, seemed irresisti- 
ble evidence of the Divine sanction to the 
abrogation of the law, as far as concerned 
the Gentile proselytes. The influence of 
James effected a discreet and temperate 
compromise : Judaism, as it were, capitu- 
lated on honourable terms. The Christians 
were to be left to that freedom enjoyed by 
the Proselytes of the Gate, but they were 
enjoined to pay so much respect to those 
with whom they were associated in reli- 
gious worship as to abstain from those 
practices which were most offensive to 
_ their habits.* The partaking of the sacri- 
ficial feasts in the idolatrous temples was 
so plainly repugnant to the first principles, 
either of the Jewish or the Christian the- 
ism, as to be altogether irreconcilable 
with the professed opinions of a proselyte 
to either. The using things strangled, and 


= The reason assi ned for these regulations ap- 
pears to infer that et the Christians, in general, 
met in the same places of religious assemblage with 
the Jews; at least, this view gives a clear and sim- 
ple sense to a much-contested passage. These 
provisions were necessary, because the Mosaic law 
was universally read and from immemorial usage in 
the synagogues. The direct violation of its most 
vital principles by any of those who joined in the 
common worship would be incongruous, and, of 
course, highly offensive to the more zealous Mo- 
saists, ς ἢ ἢ 


x Π 
- 


. 
105. 


blood, for food appears to have been the 
most revolting to Jewish feeling ; and per- 
haps, among the dietetic regulations of the 
Mosaic law, none, in a southern climate, 
was more conducive to health. The last 
article in this celebrated decree was a. 
moral prohibition, but not improbably di- 
rected more particularly against the disso- 
lute rites of those Syrian and Asiatic reli 
gions, in which prostitution formed an es- 
sential part, and which prevailed to a great 
extent in the countries bordering upon 
Palestine.* 

The second journeyt of Paul brought 
him more immediately into con- second jour- 
tact with paganism. Though, ney of Paul. 
no doubt, in every city there 
were resident Jews, with whom he took 
up his abode, and his first’ public appear- 
ance was in the synagogue of his country 
men, yet he is now more frequently ex. 
tending, as it were, his aggressiv opera- 
tions into the dominions of heeiiouicn. 
If he found hospitality, no doubt he en- 
countered either violent or secret hostility 
from his brethren. Few circumstances, 
however, occur which belong more espe- 
cially to the conflict between Judaism and 
Christianity. 

Paul and Barnabas set out together on 
this more extensive journey, but on some 
dispute as to the companions who were to 
attend upon them, Barnabas turned aside 
with Mark to his native country of Cy- 
prus; while Paul, accompanied by Silas, 
revisited those cities in Syria and Cilicia 
where they had already established Chris- — 
tian communities. 

At Lystra Paul showed his deference to 
Jewish opinion by permitting a useful dis- 
ciple, named Timothy, to be cireumcised.} 
But this case was peculiar, as Timothy, 
by his mother’s side, was a Jew; and 
though, by a connexion with a man of 
Greek race, she had,forfeited, both for her- 
self and her offspring, the privileges of 
Jewish descent, the circumcision of the 
son might in a great degree remove the 
stigma which attached to his birth, and 
which would render him less acceptable 
among his Jewish brethren. Having left 
this region, he ranged northward through 
Phrygia, Galatia, and Mysia; but, instead 


* It should be remembered that as yet Christian- 
ity had only spread into countries where this reli- 
gious πορνεία chiefly prevailed, into Syria and Cy- 
pius. Of the first we may form a fair notion from 
! ucian’s Treatise de Ded Syrid, and the Daphne of 
Antioch had no doubt already obtained its volup- 
tuouscelebrity ; the latter, particularly Paphos, can 
require no illustration. Bentley’s ingenious read- 
ing of χοιρεια, swine’s flesh, wants the indispensa- 
ble authority of manuscripts. : 

+ Acts, xvi., 1, to xviii, 22. 1 Acts, xvi., ἃ 


164 


of continuing his course towards the shore 
of the Black Sea to Bithynia, admonished 
by a vision, he passed to Europe, and at 
Neapolis, in Macedonia,* landed the ob- 
scure and unregarded individual to whom 
. Europe, in Christianity, owes the great 
principle of her civilization, the predomi- 
nant 5 ai in her superiority over the 
more barbarous and unenlightened quar- 
ters of the world. At Philippi, the Jews, 
being few in number, appear only to have 
had a proseucha, a smaller place of pub- 
lic worship, as usual, near the seaside; at 
Thessalonica they were more numerous, 
and had a synagogue ;+ at Berea they ap- 
pear likewise to have formed a flourishing 
community ; even at Athens the Jews had 
made many proselytes. Corinth, a new 
colony of settlers from all quarters, a cen- 
tral mercantile mart, through which pass- 
eda great part of the commerce between 
the East and West, offered a still more el- 
igible residence for the Jews, who, no 
doubt, had already become traders to a 
considerable extent.{ Their numbers had 
been lately increased by their expulsion 
from Rome under the Emperor Claudius.§ 
This edict is attributed by Suetonius to the 
tumults excited by the mutual hostility be- 
tween the Jews and Christians. Christi- 
anity, therefore, must thus early have 
made considerable progress in Rome. 
The scenes of riot were probably either 
like those which took place in the Asiatic 


* Actsyxvi., ‘11, 12. 

+ Acts, xvii, 1. Thessalonica is a city where 
the Jews have perhaps resided for a longer period 
in considerable numbers than in any other, at least 
in Europe. When the Jews fled from Christian 
persecution to the milder oppression of the Turks, 
vast numbers settled at Thessalonica.—Hist. Jews, 
iui. [p. 301]. Von Hammer states the present popu- 
lation of Thessalonica (Salonichi) at 16,000 Greeks, 
12,000 Jews, and 50,000 Turks.—Osmanische Ges- 
chichte, 1., 442. 

1 Corinth, since its demolition by Mummius, had 
Jain in ruins till the time of Julius Cesar, who es- 
tablished a colony on its site. From the advan- 
tages of its situation, the connecting link, as it were, 
between Italy, the north of Greece, and Asia, it 
grew up rapidly to all its former wealth and splen- 
dour. 

§ The manner in which this event is related by 
the epigrammatic biographer, even the mistakes 
in his account, are remarkably characteristic. Ju- 
dzos, Chresto duce, assidue tumultuantes Roma 
expulit, The confusion between the religion and 
its founder, and the substitution of the word Chres- 
tos, a good man, which would bear an intelligible 
sense to a heathen, for Christos (the anointed), 
which would only convey any distinct notion to a 
Jew, illustrate the state of things. Cum perperam 
Chrestianus pronuntiatur a vobis (namnec nominis 
est certa notitia penes vos) de suavitate vel benig- 
hitate compositum est.—Tert., Apolog.,c.3. Sed 
exponenda hujus nominis ratio est propter ignoran- 
tium errorem, qui eum immutata liter Chrestum 
solent dicere.—Lact., Inst., 4, 7, 5. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


. ‘a 


cities, Where the Jews attempted to use 
violence against the Christians, or, as in 
Corinth itself, where the tribunal of the 


‘magistrate was disturbed by fierce, and, to 


him, unintelligible disputes, as he su pposed, 
between two Jewish factions. With two 
of the exiles, Aquila and Priscilla, Paul, 
as practising the same trade, that of tent- 
makers,* made a more intimate connex- 
ion, residing with them, and pursuing their 
craft in common.f At Corinth, possibly 
for the first time, the Christians openly se- 
ceded from the Jews, and obtained a sep- 
arate school of public instruction; even 
the chief ruler of the synagogue, Crispus, 
became a convert. But the consequence 
of this secession was the more declared 
and open animosity of the Jewish party, 
which ended in an appeal to the public tri- 
bunal of the governor. The result of the 
trial before the judgment-seat of Gallio, 
the proconsul of Achaia, appears to have 
been an ebullition of popular indignation 
in favour of the Christians, as another of 
the chief rulers of the synagogue, proba- 
bly the prosecutor of the Christians, un- 
derwent the punishment of scourging be- 
fore the tribunal. 

From Corintht Paul returned by sea to 
Cesarea,§ and from thence to Antioch. 

The third journey of St. Paull] belongs 
still more exclusively to the con- Third jour- 
flict of Christianity with pagan- ey of Paul. 
ism. At Ephesus alone, where he ar- 


* The Jews thought it right that every one, even 
the learned, should know some art or trade. Sa- 
pientes plurimi artem aliquam fecerunt ne aliorum 
beneficentia indigerent.—Maimonides. See Light- 
foot, iii., 227. 

+ There was a coarse stuff called Cilicium, made 
of goats’ hair, manufactured in the native country 
of Paul, and used for the purpose of portable tents, 
which it is ingeniously conjectured may have been 
the art practised by Paul. 

{ From Corinth, after he had been rejoined by 
Silas (Silvanus) and Timotheus, was most probably 
written the first epistle to the Thessalonians. ‘This 
epistle is full of allusions to his recent journey. On 
his arrival at Athens he had sent back Timotheus 
to ascertain the state of the infant Church. Subse- 
quently it appears that the more Jewish op ion of 
the immediate reappearance of the Messiah to judg- 
ment had gained great ground in the community. 
It is slightly alluded to in the first epistle, v., 2, 3. 
The second seems to have been written expressly 
to counteract this notion. 

§ We make no observation on the vow made at 
Cenchrea, as we follow the natural construction of 
the words. The Vulgate, St. Chrysostom, and 
many more commentators attribute the vow, what 
ever it was, to Aquila, not to Paul. 

There is great doubt as to the authenticity of the 
clause, verse 21 (‘I must by all means keep this 
feast that cometh in Jerusalem”). Those whosup- 
pose it to be genuine explain the ἀναθας in the next 
verse as going up to Jerusalem; but, on the whole, 
I am inclined to doubt any such visit. 

|| Acts, xviii., 23, to Xx1,6. 4 Acts, xviil., 24. 


4 


? 


rived after a circuit through Phrygia and 
Galatia, he encountered some wandering 
wonder-working sons of a certain Sceva, 
a Jew, who attempted to imitate the mi- 
raculous cures which he wrought. The 
failure of the exorcism, which they en- 
deavoured to perform by the name of Je- 
sus, and which only increased the violence 
of the lunatic, made a deep impression on 
the whole Jewish population. His circuit 
through Macedonia, Greece, back to Phi- 
lippi, down the Aigean to Miletus, by Cos, 
Rhodes, Patara to Tyre, and thence to 
Cesarea, brought him again near to Jeru- 
salem, where he had determined to appear 
at the feast of Pentecost. Notwithstand- 
ing the remonstrances of his friends and 
the prophetic denunciation of his impris- 
onment by a certain Agabus, he adhered to 
his resolution of confronting the whole 
hostile nation at their great concourse. 
For not only would the Jews, but per- 
haps the Jewish Christians likewise, in 
the headquarters of Judaism, confederate 
against this renegade, who not only as- 
serted Jesus to be the Messiah, but had 
avowedly raised the uncircumcised Gen- 
tiles to the level of, if not to a superority 
over, the descendant of Israel. Yet of 
Paulin Je- the real nature of St. Paul’s 
rusalem. Christianity they were still sin- 
gularly yet characteristically ignorant ; 
their Temple was still, as it were, the ves- 

tibule to the Divine favour; and, 
‘ having no notion that the Gentile 
converts to Christianity would be alto- 
gether indifferent as to the local sanctity 
of any edifice, they appear to have appre- 
hended an invasion, or, at least, a secret 
attempt to introduce the uncircumcised to 
the privilege of worship within the hallow- 
ed precincts. The motive of Paul in vis- 
iting Jerusalem was probably to allay the 
jealousy of his countrymen; the period 
selected for his visit was, as it were, the 
birthday of the Law ;* the solemnity which 
commemorated the Divine enactment of 
that code which every Jew considered of 
eternal and irreversible authority. Nor 
did he lay aside his customary prudence. 
He complied with the advice of his friends ; 
Paulinthe and, instead of appearing in the 
Temple. Temple as an ordinary worship- 
per, that he might show his own personal 
reverence for the usages of his ancestors 
he united himself to four persons who had 
taken upon them a vow, a deliberate ac- 
_ knowledgment, not merely of respect for, 
but of zeal beyond, the law.t His person, 


A.D. 58. 


* The ceasing to attend at the Passover, after, in 
his own language, ‘the great Passover had been 
sacrificed,” is a circumstance by no means unwor- 
. thy of notice. ες ἢ Acts, xxi., 17-26. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


< 
165 
however, was too well known to the Asi- 


atic Jews not to be recognised; a sudden 
outery was raised against him; he was 


‘eharged with having violated the sanc- 


tity of the holy precincts by introducing 
uncircumcised strangers, Trophimus an 
Ephesian, with whom he had been famil- 
iarly conversing in the city, within those 
pillars or palisades which, in the three 
predominant languages of the time, He- 
brew, Greek, and Latin, forbade the ad- 
vance of any who were not of pure Jew- 
ish descent. He was dragged out, no 
doubt, into the Court of the Gentiles, the 
doors closed, and, but for the prompt inter- 
ference of the Roman guard, which was 
always mounted, particularly during the 
days of festival, he would have fallen a vie- 
tim to the popular fury. For, while the 
unconverted Jews would pursue his life 
with implacable indignation, he could, at 


best, expect no assistance from the Jew- 


ish Christians. The interposi- Apprehension 
tion of the Roman commander ° Paul. 

in Jerusalem was called forth rather to 
suppress a dangerous riot than to rescue 
an innocent victim from the tumultuous 
violence of the populace. Lysias at first 
supposed Paul to be one of the insurgent 
chieftains who had disturbed the public 
peace during the whole administration of 
Felix. His fears identified him with a 
Jew of Egyptian birth, who a short time 
before had appeared on the Mount of Ol- 
ives at the head of above 30,000 fanatic 
followers ; and, though his partisans were 
scattered by the decisive measures of Fe- 
lix, had contrived to make his escape.* 
The impression that his insurrection had 
made on the minds of the Romans is 
shown by the terror of his appearance, 
which seems to have haunted the mind of 
Lysias. The ease and purity with which 
Paul addressed him in Greek, as these 
insurgents probably communicated with 
their followers only in the dialect of the 
country ; the commanding serenity of his 
demeanour, and the declaration that he was 
a citizen of an Asiatic town, not a native 
of Palestine, so far influenced Lysias in 
his favour as to permit him to address the 
multitude. Jt was probably from the flight 
of steps which led from the outer court of 
the Temple up into the Antonia that Paul 
commenced his harangue. He spoke in 
the vernacular language of the country, 
and was heard in silence as far as his ac- 
count of his conversion to a new religion ; 
but, directly as he touched on the danger- 
ous subject of the admission of the Gen- 
tiles to the privileges of Christianity, the 


* Hist. of Jews, ii, 173. 


- 


i, 


ἡ 


166 


popular phrensy broke out again with such 
violence as scarcely to be controlled by 
the Roman military. Paul was led away 
into the court of the fortress, and the 


commander, who probably understood no-_ 


thing of his address, but only saw that, in- 
stead of allaying, it increased the turbu- 
lence of the people (for, with the charac- 
teristic violence of an Asiatic mob, they 
are described as casting off their clothes 
and throwing dust into the air), gave or- 
ders that he should suffer the usual pun- 
ishment of scourging with rods, in order 
that he might be forced to confess the 
real origin of the disturbance. But this 
proceeding was arrested by Paul’s claim- 
ing the privilege of a Roman citizen, whom 
it was treason against the majesty of the 
Roman people to expose to such indigni- 
ty.* The soldiers or lictors engaged in 
scourging him recoiled in terror. The re- 
spect of Lysias himself for his prisoner 
rose to more than its former height: for, 
having himself purchased this valuable 
privilege at a high price, one who had in- 
herited the same right appeared an impor- 
tant personage in his estimation. 

The next morning the Sanhedrin was 
convened, and Paul was again brought into 
the Temple, to the Gazith, the chamber 
where the Sanhedrin held its judicial 
Paul before Meetings. Ananias presided in 


the Sanbe- the assembly as high-priest, an 


ain. office which he possessed rather 


by usurpation than iegitimate authority. 
After the tumults between the Samaritans 
and the Jews, during the administration of 
Cumanus, Ananias had, as was before 
briefly stated, been sent as a prisoner to 
Rome, to answer for the charges against 


_ his nation.t After two years he had been 


released by the interest of Agrippa, and 
allowed to return to Jerusalem. In the 
mean time the high-priesthood had been 
filled by Jonathan, who was murdered by 
assassins in the Temple, employed, or, at 
least, connived at by the governor.{ An- 
anias appears to have resumed the vacant 
authority until the appointment of Ismael, 
son of Fabi, by Agrippa. Ananias was 
of the Sadducaic party, a man harsh, ve- 
nal, and ambitious. Faction most proba- 
bly ran very high in the national council; 
we are inclined to suppose, from the fa- 
vourable expressions of Josephus, that the 
murdered Jonathan was of the Pharisaic 
sect; and his recent death, and the usur- 
pation of the office by Ananias, would in- 
cline the Pharisaic faction to resist all 


* Acts, xxii, 24, 29. 
+ Joseph., Ant., xx., 6, 2. 1 Ibid., 8, 5. 
§ A.D. 56. Joseph., Ant., xx., 8, 8. 


“ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ὺ 


measures proposed by their adversaries. 
Of this state of things Paul seems to have 
been fully aware. He commenced with 
a solemn protestation of his innocence, 
which so excited the indignation of Ana- 
nias that he commanded him to be struck 
over the mouth, a common punishment in 
the East for language which may dis- 
please those in power.* The answer of 


‘St. Paul to this arbitrary violation of the 


law, for by the Jewish course of justice 
no punishment could be inflicted without 
a formal sentence, was in a tone of vehe- 
ment indignation: “ God shall smite thee, 
thou whited wall; for sittest thou to 
judge me after the law, and commandest 
me to be smitten contrary to the law ?” 
Rebuked for thus disrespectfully answer- 
ing the high-priest, Paul answered that he 
did not know that there was any one at 
that time lawfully exercising the office of 
high-priest,f an office which he was bound, 
by the strict letter of the sacred writings, 
to treat with profound respect. He pro- 


ceeded without scruple to avail himself 


of the dissensions of the court; for by 
resting his defence on his belief in the res- 
urrection he irritated more violently the 
Sadducaic party, but threw that of the 
Pharisees on his own side. The angry 
discussion was terminated by the interpo- 
sition of the Roman commander, who 
again withdrew Paul into the citadel. Yet 
his life was not secure even there. The 
crime of assassination had become fear- 
fully frequent in Jerusalem. Neither the 
sanctity of the Temple protected the un- 
suspicious worshipper from the secret 
dagger, nor, as we have seen, did the 
majesty of the high-priest’s office secure” 
the first religious and civil magistrate ¢ 
the nation from the same ignoble fate. A 
conspiracy was formed by some of thes 
fanatic zealots against the life of Paul;_ 
but the plot being discovered by one of his 
relatives, a sister’s son, he was sent un- 
der a strong guard to Cesarea, Paul sent 
the residence of the Roman pro- t Czsarea. 
vincial governor, the dissolute and tyran- 
nical Felix. 

The Sanhedrin pursued their hated ad- 
versary to the tribunal of the Paul before 
governor, but with Felix they Felix. 
possessed no commanding influence. A 
hired orator, whom from his name we may 
conjecture to have been a Roman, em- 
ployed, perhaps, according to the usage, _ 
which provided that all legal proceedings — 


τὰ 
* Acts, xxiii, 2, 3. ; 
+ “1 wist not that there was ἃ high-priest ;” such 
appears to be the translation of this passage, sug- 
gested by Mr. Greswell, most agreeable to the 


sense. 
{ 


+ 


» 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 167 
¢ 

should be conducted in the Latin language, | himself have investigated the case at Ces- 

appeared as their advocate before the tri- | area, on his return he proposed that Paul 

bunal.* But the defence of Paul against | should undergo a public examination at 


the charge of sedition, of innovation, and 
the profanation of the Temple, was equally 
successful with Felix, who was well ac- 
quainted with the Jewish character, and 
by no means disposed to lend himself to 
their passions and animosities. The 
charge therefore was dismissed. Paul, 
though not set at liberty, was allowed free 
intercourse with his Christian brethren; 
Felix himself even condescended to hear, 
and heard not without emotion, the high 
moral doctrines of St. Paul, which were 
so much at variance with his unjust and 
adulterous life. But it was not so much 
the virtue as the rapacity of Felix which 
thus inclined him to look with favour upon 
the apostle: knowing, probably, the pro- 
fuse iberality of the Christians, and their 
zealous attachment to their teacher, he 
expected that the liberty of Paul would 
be purchased at any price he might de- 
mand. For the last two years, therefore, 
Paul in Of the administration of Felix, Paul 
prison at remained a prisoner; and Felix, 
Cesarea. at his departure, well aware that 
accusations were lodged against him by 
the representatives of the Jewish nation, 
endeavoured to propitiate their favour by 
leaving him still in custody.t Nor had 
the Jews lost sight of this great object of 
animosity. Before the new governor, 
Porcius Festus, a man of rigid justice, and 
less acquainted with the Jewish character, 
their charges were renewed with the ut- 
aD.59, most acrimony. On his first visit 
τ to Jerusalem, the high-priest de- 


‘manded that Paul should be sent back for 


trial before the Sanhedrin; and though 


Festus refused the petition till he should 


* Acts, xxiv., 1-26. 
_+ There is great chronological difficulty in ar- 
ranging this part of the administration of Felix. 
But the difficulty arises, not so much in harmoni- 
zing the narrative of the Acts with the historians of 
the period, as in reconciling Josephus with Tacitus. 
Taking the account of Josephus, it is impossible to 
compress all the events of that part of the adminis- 
tration of Felix which he places after the acces- 
sion of Nero into’a single year. Yet he states 
that on the recall of Felix he only escaped pun- 
ishment for his crimes through the interest of his 
brother Pallas. Yet, according to Tacitus, the in- 
fluence of Pallas with Nero ceased in the second 
year of his reign, and he was deposed from all his 
offices. In the third he was indicted of lése majes- 
té, and his acquittal was far Bot acceptable to the 


emperor. In the fourth year his protectress Agrip-— 


pina was discarded for Poppza; in the next sh 
was put to death. the ninth of Nero’s reign 
Pallas himself, though charged with no new crime, 
was poisoned. The question therefore is, whether, 
in any intermediate period, he could have regained, 
by any intrigue, sufficient influence to shield his 
brother from the prosecution of the Jews. 


Jerusalem in his own presence. The de- 
sign of the Jews was to surprise and as- 
sassinate the prisoner ; and Paul, probably 
informed of their secret intentions, per- 
sisted in his appeal to Cesar. ‘To this ap- 
peal from a Roman citizen the governor 
could not refuse his assent. ‘The younger 
Agrippa had now returned from Rome, 
where he had resided during his minority. 
He had succeeded to part only of his fa- 
ther’s dominions; he was in possession 
of the Asmonean palace at Jerusalem, and 
had the right of appointing the high-priest, 
which he exercised apparently with all the 
capricious despotism of a Roman govern- 
or. He appeared in great pomp at Casa- 
rea, with his sister Berenice, on a visit to 
Festus. ‘lhe Roman governor appears to 
have consulted him, as a man of modera- 
tion and knowledge of the Jewish law, 
upon the case of Paul. The paul before 
apostle was summoned before Agrippa. 
him. ‘The defence of Paul made a strong 
impression upon Agrippa, who, though not 
a convert, was probably, from that time, 
favourably disposed to Christianity. The 
appeal of Paul to the emperor was irrevo- 
cable by an inferior authority ; whether he 
would have preferred remaining in Judea 
after an acquittal from Festus, and perhaps 
under the protection of Agrippa, or wheth- 
er to his own mind Rome offered a more 
noble and promising field for his Christian 
zeal, Paul, setting forth on his voy- Paul sent 
age, left probably for ever the land ‘ Rome. 
of his forefathers; that land beyond all 
others inhospitable to the religion of 
Christ ; that land which Paul, perhaps al- 
most alone of Jewish descent, had ceased 
to consider the one narrow portion of | 
habitable world which the love of the 
Universal Father had sanctified as the 
chosen dwelling of his people, as the fu- 
ture seat of dominion, glory, and bliss. 
The great object of Jewish animosity 
had escaped the hostility of the Sanhedrin; 
but an opportunity soon occurred of wreak- 
ing their baffled vengeance on another vic- 
tim, far less obnoxious to the general feel- 
ings even of the more bigoted among the 
Jews. The head of the Christian com- 
munity in Jerusalem was James, whom 
Josephus himself, if the expression in that 
ecualtk rkable passage be genuine (which is 
difficult to believe), dignifies with the ap- 
pellation of the brother of Jesus. On the 
death of Festus, and before the arrival of 
his successor Albinus, the high-priesthood 
was in the hands of Annas or Ananus, the 
last of five sons of the former Annas who 


6. 


- 


we 


a 


truth. 


‘gm 


168 


had held that rank. Annas was the head 
of the Sadducaic party, and seized the op- 
portunity of this suspension of the Roman 
authority to reassert the power of the 
Sanhedrin over life and death. Many per- 
sons, whom it is impossible not to sup- 
pose Christians, were executed by the 
legal punishment of stoning. Among 
these, the head of the community 
A.D. 62. as the most exposed to the ani- 
mosity of the government, and, therefore, 
least likely to escape in the day of tempo- 
rary power. ‘The fact of the murder of 
Martyrdom St. James, at least of certain sup- 
of James. posed offenders against the law, 
whom it is difficult not to identify with 
the Christians,* rests on the authority of 
the Jewish historian :t in the details which 
are related on the still more questionable 
testimony of Hegesippus.t we feel that 


* Connecting this narrative of Josephus, even 
without admitting the authenticity of the passage 
about St. James, with the proceedings against St. 
Paul as related in the Acts, it appears to me highly 
improbable that, if Ananus put any persons to death 
for crimes against religion, they should have been 
any other than Christians. Who but Christians 
would be obnoxious to capital punishment? and 
against whom but them would a legal conviction 
be obtained? Certainly not against the Pharisees, 
who went beyond the law, or the zealots and fol- 
lowers of Judas the Galilean, whose fate would have 
excited little commiseration or regret among the 
moderate and peaceful part of the community. 

_ Lardner therefore appears to me in error in admit- 
ting the prosecutions of Ananus, but disconnecting 
them from the Christian history. : 

+ Joseph., Ant., xx., 8, 1. Lardner’s Jewish 
Testimonies, vol. ili., p. 342, 4to edit. 

+ This narrative of Hegesippus has undergone 
the searching criticism of Scaliger in Chron. Eu- 
seb., and Le Clerc, Hist. Eccles. and Ars Critica ; it 
has been feebly defended by Petavius, and zealously 
by Tillemont. Heinichen, the recent editor of Eu- 

_ sebius, seems desirous to trace some vestiges of 
r In these early forgeries it is not only inter- 
_ esting and important to ascertain the truth or false- 


‘ to of the traditions themselves, but the design 


nd the authors of such pious frauds. This legend 
“seems imagined in a spirit of Christian asceticism, 
endeavouring to conform itself to Jewish usage, of 
which, nevertheless, it betrays remarkable igno- 
rance, It attributes to the Christian bishop the 
Nazaritish abstinence from the time of his birth, 
not only from wine, but, in the spirit of Buddhism, 
from everything which had life; the self-denial of 
the luxury of anointment with oil, with a monkish 
abhorrence of ablutions: a practice positively com- 
manded in the law, and from which no Jew abstain- 
ed. It gives him the power of entering the Holy 
Place at all times: a practice utterly in opposition 
to the vital principles of Judaism, as he could not 
have been of the race of Aaron. It describes his 
kneeling till his knees were as hard as those of a 
camel: another indication of the growing spirit of 
monkery. We may add the injudicious introduc- 
tion of the ‘‘ Scribes and Pharisees,” in the lan- 
guage of the Gospel, as the authors of his fate ; 
which, according to the more probable account of 
Josephus, and the change in the state of feeling in 
Jerusalem, was solely to be attributed to the Sad- 
ducees. The final improbability is the leading to 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


+ 

we are passing from the clear cae 
air of the apostolic history into the misty 
atmosphere of legend. We would will- 
ingly attempt to disentangle the more 
probable circumstances of this impressive 
story from the embellishments of later in- 
vention, but it happens that its more stri- 
king and picturesque incidents are pre- 
cisely the least credible. After withdraw- 
ing every particular inconsistent either 
with the character or usages of the time, 
little remains but the simple facts that 
James was so highly esteemed in Jerusa- 
lem as to have received the appellation of 
Just (a title, it should seem, clearly of 
Jewish origin); that he perished during 
this short period of the sanguinary admin- 
istration of Ananus, possibly was thrown 
down in a tumult from the precipitous 
walls of the Temple, where a more merci- 
ful persecutor put an end to his sufferings 
with a fuller’s club; finally, that these 
cruel proceedings of Ananus were con- 
templated with, abhorrence by the more 
moderate, probably by the whole Phari- 
saic party ; his degradation from the su- 
preme office was demanded, and hailed 
with satisfaction by the predominant senti- 
ment of the people. Ἢ 

But the days of Jewish persecution were 
drawing to aclose. Even religious »Jewish 
animosity was subdued in the colli- Wa 
sion of still fiercer passions. A darker and 
more absorbing interest, the fate of the 
nation in the imminent, the inevitable con- 
flict with the arms of Rome, occupied the 
Jewish mind in every quarter of the world, 
in Palestine mingling personal apprehen- 
sions, and either a trembling sense of the 
insecurity of life, or a desperate determi- 
nation to risk life itself for liberty, with the 
more appalling anticipations of the nation- 
al destiny, the total extinction of the 
Heaven-ordained polity, the ruin of the 
city of Sion, and the Temple of God. To 
the ferocious and fanatical party, who 
gradually assumed the ascendancy, Chris- 
tianity would be obnoxious, as secluding 
its peaceful followers from all participa- 
tion in the hopes, the crimes, or what, in 
a worldly sense, might have been, not un- 
justly, considered the glories of the insur- 


the pinnacle of the Temple (a circumstance obvi- 
ously borrowed from our Lord’s temptation), a man 
who had been for years the acknowledged head of 
the Christian community in Jerusalem, that he 
might publicly dissuade the people from believing 
in Christ; still farther, his burial after such a death 
within the walls of the city, and close to the Tem- 
ple: all these incongruities indicate a period at 
which Christianity had begun to degenerate into 
asceticism, and had been so long estranged from 
Judaism as to be ignorant of its real character and 
usages. ; 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


-. 
rection. Still, hatever dangers or tri- 
als they were € sed, they were the des- 
ultory and attacks of individual 


hostility rather than the systematic and 
determined persecution of one ruling par- 
iy. Nor perhaps were they looked upon 
with the same animosity as many of the 
more eminent and influential of the Jews, 
who vainly attempted to allay the wild 
ferment. A general tradition, preserved 
by Eusebius, intimates that the Chris- 
tian community, especially forewarned by 
Providence, left Jerusalem before the for- 
mation of the siege, and took refuge in the 
town of Pella, in the Trans-Jordanic prov- 
ince. According to Josephus, the same 
course was pursued by most of the higher 
order, who could escape in time from the 
sword of the zealot or the Idumean. Rab- 
binical tradition dates from the same peri- 
od the flight of the Sanhedrin from the 
capital: its first place of refuge without 
the walls of Jerusalem was Jaffna (Jam- 
nia), from whence it passed to other cities, 
until its final settlement in Tiberias.* 
The Jewish war, the final desolation of 
the national polity, the destruction of the 
city, and the demolition of the Temple, 
were events which could not but influence 
the progress of Christianity to a far great- 
er extent than by merely depriving the 
Jews of the power to persecute under a 
Probable ef- legalform. While the Christian 
ἴδοι ot ΠΟ beheld in all these unexampled 
fall of Jeru- - 
salen on horrors the accomplishment of 
Christianity. predictions uttered by his Lord, 
the less infatuated among the Jews could 
not be ignorant that such predictions pre- 
vailed among the Christians. However 
the prudence of the latter might shrink 
from exasperating the more violent party 
by the open promulgation of such dispirit- 
ing and ill-omened auguries, they must 
have transpired among those who were 
hesitating between the two parties, and 
powerlully tended to throw that fluctuating 
mass into the preponderating scale of 
Christianity. With some of the Jews, no 
doubt, the hope in the coming of the Mes- 
siah must have expired with the fall of the 
Temple. Not merely was the period of 
time assigned, according to the general 
interpretation of the prophecies, for the 
appearance of the Deliverer gone by, but 
their less stern and obstinate Judaism 
must have begun to entertain apprehen- 
sions that the visible rejection of the peo- 
ple intimated, not obscurely, the with- 
drawal of the Divine favour. They would 
thus be thrown back, as it were, upon Je- 


sus of Nazareth as the only possible Mes- 


τ Hist. of the Jews, iii., 82. 


169 


siah, and listen to his claims with greater 
inclination to believe. The alternative 
might seem to be between him and the 
desperate abandonment, or the adjourn- 
ment to an indefinite period, of all their 
hopes of redemption. ‘The hearts of many 
would be softened by the experience of 
personal suffering or the sight of so many 
cases of individual misery. Christianity, 
with its -consolatory promises, rect on 
must have appeared the only ref- the Jews. 
uge to those with whom the wretchedness 
of their temporal condition seemed to in- 
validate their hopes of an hereditary claim 
to everlasting life as children of Abraham ; 
where they despaired of a temporal, they 
would be more inclined to accept a spirit- 
ual and moral deliveranesl ιν αἰ ΒΔ ΠΊΘ᾽ 
time, the temporary advantage of the few 
converts gained from such motives would 
be counterbalanced by the rire complete 
alienation of the Jewish mind from a race 
who not only apostatized from the religion 
of their fathers, but by no means repudi- 


-ated the most intimate connexion with the 


race of Esau, for thus the dark hostility of. 
the Jews began to denominate the Ro- 
mans. By the absorption of this inter- 
mediate class, who had wavered between 
Christianity and Judaism, who either melt- 
ed into the mass of the Christian party, or 
yielded themselves to the desperate infat- 
uation of Judaism, the breach between the 


Jew and the Christian became more wic e. 


and irreparable. The prouder and more 
obstinate Jew sternly wrapped himself up 
in his sullen isolation; his aversion from 
the rest of mankind, under the sense of 


galling oppression and of disappointed. 


pride, settled into hard hostility. That 


which those of less fanatic Judaism found © 


in Christianity, he sought ina stronger at- | 


tachment to his own distinctive ceremoni- “ 
al; in a more passionate and deep-rooted — 
conviction of his own prerogative, as the ὁ 


elect people of God. He surrendered him- 
self, a willing captive, to the new priestly 
dominion, that of the rabbiris, which en- 
slaved his whole life to a system of mi- 
nute ordinances; he rejoiced in the rivet- 
ing and multiplying those bonds, which 
had been burst by Christianity, but which 
he wore as the badge of hopes still to be 
fulfilled, of glories which were at length 
to compensate for his present humiliation. 

This more complete alienation between 
the Jew and the Christian tended to weak- 
en that internal spirit of Judaism, which, 
nevertheless, was eradicated with the ut- 
most difficulty, and, indeed, has perpetual- 
ly revived within the bosom of Christian- 
ity under another name. Down to the 
destruction of Jerusalem, Palestine, or, 


» 
[ν 


" . 
ot 


170 


rather, Jerusalem itself, was at once the 
centre and the source of this predominant 
influence. In foreign countries, as we 
Shall presently explain, the irrepealable 
and eternal sanctity of the Mosaic law 
was the repressive power which was con- 
tinually struggling against the expansive 
force of Christianity. In Jerusalem this 
power was the holiness of the Temple; and 
therefore, with the fall of the Temple, this 
strongest bond, with which the heart of 
the Jewish Christian was riveted to his 
old religion, at once burst asunder. ‘To 
him the practice of his Lord and the apos- 
tles had seemed to confirm the inalienable 
local sanctity of this “chosen dwelling” 
of God; and while it yet stood in all its 
undegraded splendour, to the Christian of 
Jerusalem it was almost impossible fully 
to admit the first principle of Christianity, 
that the Universal Father is worshipped in 
any part of his created universe with equal 
advantage. One mark by which the Jew- 
ish race was designated as the great reli- 
gious caste of mankind was thus forever 
abolished. ‘The synagogue had no rever- 
ential dignity, no old and sacred majesty 
to the mind of the convert, beyond his 
own equally humble and unimposing place 
of devotion. Hence, even before the de- 


struction of the Temple, this feeling de- 


pended upon the peculiar circumstances 
of the individual convert. 

Though even among the foreign Jews 
the respect for the Temple was maintained 
by traditionary reverence, though the im- 
post for its maintenance was regularly lev- 
led and willingly paid by the race of Israel 
in every part of the Roman empire, and 
occasional visits to the capital at the peri- 
ods of the great festivals revived in many 
the old sacred impressions, still, according 
to the universal principles of human na- 
ture, the more remote the residence, and 
the less frequent the impression of the 
Temple services upon the senses, the 
weaker became this first conservative 
principle of Jewish feeling. 

But there remained another element of 
Jewish at- that exclusiveness which was 
tachment to the primary principle of the ex- 
thelaw. isting Judaism; that exclusive- 
ness which, limiting the Divine favour to 
a certain race, would scarcely believe that 
foreign branches could be ingrafted into 
the parent stock, even though incorpo- 
rated withit; and still obstinately resisted 
the notion that Gentiles, without becom- 
ing Jews, could share in the blessings of 
the promised Messiah, or in their state 
of uncircumcision, or, at least, of insubor- 
dination to the Mosaic ordinances, become 
heirs of the kingdom of Heaven. 


=| 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ν r 

What the Tempie was to the inhabitant 
of Jerusalem, was the Law to the hic Cases 
worshipper in the synagogue. As j 
early, no doubt, as the present time, the 
book of the Law was the one great sacred 
object in every religious edifice of the 
Jews in all parts of the world. It was de- 
posited in a kind of ark; it was placed in 
that part of the synagogue which repre- 
sented the Holy of Holies ; it was brought 
forth with solemn reverence by the “ an- 
gel” of the assembly ; it was heard as an 
oracle of God” from the sanctuary. The 
whole rabbinical supremacy rested on their 
privilege as interpreters of the law; and 
tradition, though in fact it assumed a co- 
ordinate authority, yet veiled its preten- 
sions under the humbler character of an 
exposition, a supplementary comment, on 
the heaven-enacted code. If we reas- 
cend, in our history, towards the period in 
which Christianity first opened its pale to 
the Gentiles, we shall find that this was 
the prevailing power by which the internal 
Judaism maintained its conflict with purer 
and more liberal Christianity within its 
own sphere. Even at Antioch the Chris- 
tian community had been in danger from 
this principle of separation; the Jewish 
converts, jealous of all encroachment upon 
the law, had drawn off and insulated them- 
selves from those of the Gentiles.* Peter 
withdrew within the narrower and more 
exclusive party ; Barnabas alone, the com- 
panion and supporter of Paul, did not in- 
cline to the same course.t It required all 
the energy and resolution of Paul to resist 
the example and influence of the older 
apostles. His public expostulation had the 
effect of allaying the discord at Antioch; 
and the temperate and conciliatory meas- 
ures adopted in Jerusalem to a certain de- 
gree reunited the conflicting parties. Still, 
in most places where Paul established a 
new community, immediately after his de- 
parture this same spirit of Judaism seems 
to have rallied, and attempted to re-es- 
tablish the great exclusive principle that 
Christianity was no more than Judaism, 
completed by the reception of Jesus as the 
Messiah. The univ2rsal religion of Christ 
was thus in perpetual danger of being con- 
tracted into a national and ritual worship. 
The eternal law of Moses was still to 
maintain its authority, with all its cum- 
brous framework of observances ; and the 

* Jt is difficult to decide whether this dispute 
took place before or after the decree of the assem- 
bly in Jerusalem. Planck, in his Geschichte des 
Christenthums, places it before the decree, and, on 
the whole, this appears the most probable opinion. 
The event is noticed here as exemplifying the Ju- 


daizing spirit rather than in strict chronological or- 
der. + Acts, xv., 2. 


* 


ia 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Ἴ 


Gentile proselytes, who were ready to sub- 
mit to the faith of Christ, with its simple 
and exquisite morality, were likewise to 
submit to all the countless provisions, and 
now, in many respects, unmeaning and un- 
intelligible regulations, of diet, dress, man- 
ners, and conduct. This conflict may be 
traced most clearly in the epistles of St. 
Paul, particularly in those to the remote 
communities in Galatia and in Rome. 
The former, written probably during the 
residence of the apostle at Ephesus, was 
addressed to the Christians of Galatia, a 
district in the northern part of Asia Minor, 
occupied by a mingled population.* The 
descendants of the Gaulish invaders, from 
whom the region derived its name, retain- 
ed to a late period vestiges of their ori- 
ginal race in the Celtic dialect, and prob- 
ably great numbers of Jews had settled in 
Thestrength these quarters. Paul had twice 
of the inter- visited the country, and his epis- 
nal Judaism tle was written at no long period 
within the Ἶ as 
church op- after his second visit. But even 
a by St. in that short interyal Judaism 
80 had revived its pretensions. The 
adversaries of Paul had even gone so far 
as to disclaim him as an apostle of Chris- 
tianity ; and before he vindicates the es- 
sential independence of the new faith, and 
declares the Jewish law to have been only 
a temporary institution,t designed, during 
a dark and barbarous period of human so- 
ciety, to keep alive the first principles of 
true religion, he has to assert his own Di- 
vine appointment as a delegated teacher 
of Christianity.t 
The Epistle to the Romans$ enters with 
more full and elaborate argument into the 
same momentous question. The history 
of the Roman community is most remark- 
able. It grew up in silence, founded by 
some unknown teachers,|| probably of 


* We decline the controversy concerning the 
place and time at which the different epistles were 
written ; we shal] give only the result, not the pro- 
cess of our investigations. This to the Galatians 
we suppose to have been written during St. Paul’s 
first visit to Ephesus. (Acts, xix.) 

ἡ Galat., iii., 19. £ Galat., i.,.1, 2. 

§ This epistle, there seems no doubt, was writ- 
ten from Corinth during St. Paul’s second resi- 
dence in that city. 

|| The foundation of the Church of Rome by ei- 
ther St. Peter or St. Paul is utterly irreconcilable 
with any reasonable view of the apostolic history. 
Among Roman Catholic writers Count Stolberg 
abandons this point, and carries St. Peter to Rome 
for the first time at the commencement of Nero’s 
reign. The account in the Acts seems to be so far 
absolutely conclusive. Many Protestants of the 
highest learning are as unwilling to reject the gen- 
eral tradition of St. Peter’s .residence in Rome. 
This question will recur on another occasion. As 
to St. Paul, the first chapter of this epistle is posi- 
tive evidence, that the foundation of the church in 


»: 


171 


those who were present in Jerusalem at 
the first publication of Christianity by the 
apostles. During the reign of Claudius it 
had made so much progress as to excite 
open tumults and dissensions among the 
Jewish population of Rome; these ani- 
mosities rose to such a height, that the. 
attention of the government was aroused, 
and both parties expelled from the city. 
With some of these exiles, Aquila and 
Priscilla, St. Paul, as we have seen, form- 
ed an intimate connexion during his first 
visit to Corinth: from them he received, 
information of the extraordinary progress 
of the faith in Rome. The Jews seem 
quietly to have crept back to their old 
quarters when the rigour with which the 
imperial edict was at first executed had 
insensibly relaxed; and from these per- 
sons on their return to the capital, and 
most likely from other Roman Christians 
who may have taken refuge in Corinth,* 
or in other cities where Paul had founded 
Christian communities, the first, or, at 
least, the more perfect knowledge of the 
higher Christianity, taught by the apostle 
of the Gentiles, would be conveyed to 
Rome. So complete, indeed, does he ap- 
pear to consider the first establishment of 
Christianity in Rome, that he merely pro- 
poses to take that city in his way to a 
more remote region, that of Spain.t The 
manner in which he recounts, in the last 
chapter, the names of the more distin- 
guished Roman converts, implies both. 
that the community was numerous, and 
that the name of Paul was held in high es- 
timation by its leading members. It is ev- 
ident that Christianity had advanced al- 
ready beyond the Jewish population, and 
the question of necessary conformity to 
the Mosaic law was strongly agitated. It 
is therefore the main scope of this cele- 
brated epistle to annul forever this claim 
of the Mosaic law to a perpetual authori- 
ty, to show Christianity as a part of the 
providential design in the moral history of 
man, while Judaism was but a temporary 


‘institution, unequal to, as it was unintended 


Rome was long prévious to his visit to the western 
metropolis of the world. ; 

* It would appear probable that the greater part 
of the Christian community took refuge, with Aqui- 
la and Priscilla, in Corinth and the neighbouring 
port of Cenchrea. 

+ The views of Paul on so remote a province as 
Spain at so early a period of his journey, appear to 
justify the notion that there was a considerable 
Jewish population in that country. It is not im- 
probable that many of the “Libertines” may have 
made their way from Sardinia. There isa curious 
tradition among the Spanish Jews that they were 
resident in that country beforetthe birth of our Sav 
iour, and, consequently, had no concern in his death 
—See Hist. of Jews, lil, p. 118. 


Ψ 


172. 


' 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


for, the great end of revealing the immor- | nance an opinion so disparaging to the real 


tality of mankind, altogether repealed by | glory of Christianity, which was 


this more wide and universal system, 

which comprehends in its beneficent pur- 
oses the whole human race. 

~ Closely allied with this main element of 


~ 2 lief in the Judaism, which struggled so ob- 


ching Stinately against the Christiani- 
ary the ty of St. Paul, was the notion 
᾿ of the approaching end of the 
world, the final consummation of all things 
in the second coming of the Messiah. It 
has been shown how essential and inte- 
gral a part of the Jewish belief in the Mes- 
siah was this expectation of the final com- 
pletion of his mission in the dissolution of 
the world, and the restoration of a para- 
disiacal state, in which the descendants of 
Abraham were to receive their destined 
inheritance. ‘To many of the Jewish be- 
lievers the death and resurrection of Jesus 
were but (if the expression be warranted) 
the first acts of the great drama, which 
was hastening onward to its immediate 
close. They had bowed in mysterious 
wonder before the incongruity of the life 
and sufferings of Jesus, with the precon- 
ceived appearance of the “ Great One,” but 
expecting their present disappointment to 
be almost instantly compensated by the 
appalling grandeur of the second coming 
of Christ. If, besides their descent’ from 
Abraham and their reverence for the law 
of Moses, faith in Jesus as the Messiah 
was likewise necessary to secure their 
title to their peculiar inheritance, yet that 
faith was speedily to receive its reward; 
and the original Jewish conception of the 
Messiah, though put to this severe trial, 
though its completion was thus postponed, 
_remained in full possession of the mind, 
and seemed to gather strength and depth 
of colouring from the constant state of 
high-wrought agitation in which it kept 
the whole moral being. This appears to 
have been the last Jewish illusion from 
which the minds of the apostles them- 
selves were disenchanted; and there can 
be no doubt both that many of the early 
Christians almost hourly expected the 
final dissolution of the world, and that this 
opinion awed many timid believers into 
the profession of Christianity, and kept 
them in trembling subjection to its author- 
ity. ‘The ambiguous predictions of Christ 
himself, in which the destruction of the 
Jewish polity, and the ruin of the city and 
Temple, were shadowed forth under. ima- 
ges of more remote and universal import ; 
the language of the apostles, so liable to 
misinterpretation that they were obliged 
publicly to correct the erroneous conclu- 
sions of their hearers,* seemed to counte- 
* 2 Thessalonians, li., 1,2. 2 Peter, iii., 4. 8. 


y 0 only to 
attain its object till after a slow contest of 
many centuries, perhaps of ages, with the 
evil of human nature. Wherever Christi- 
anity made its way into.a mind deeply im- 
pregnated with Judaism, the moral char- 
acter of the Messiah had still to maintain 
a strong contest with the temporal; and, 
though experience yearly showed that the 
commencement of this visible kingdom 
was but more remote, at least the first 
generation of Christians passed away be- 
fore the majority had attained to mere so- 
ber expectations ; and at every period of 
more than ordinary religious excitement, a 
millennial, or, at least, ἃ reign partaking of 
a temporal character, has been announced 
as on the eve of its commencement; the 
Christian mind has retrograded towards 
that state of Jewish error which prevailed 
about the time of Christ’s coming.+ 

As Christianity advanced in all other 
quarters of the world, its pros- Hostility of 
elytes were in far larger propor- Judaism and 
tion of Gentile than of Jewish C!ristianity. 
descent. The synagogue and the church 
became more and more distinct, till they 
stood opposed in irreconcilable hostility. 
The Jews shrunk back into their stern se- 
clusion, while the Christians were literal- 
ly spreading in every quarter through the 
population of the empire. From this total 
suspension of intercourse, Judaism gradu- 
ally died away within the Christian pale ; 
time and experience corrected some of 
the more inveterate prejudices ; new ele- 
ments came into action. The Grecian 
philosophy, and, at a later period, influen- 
ces still more adverse to that of Judaism, 
mingled with the prevailing Christianity. 
A kind of latent Judaism has, however, 
constantly lurked within the bosom of the 
Church. During the darker ages of Chris- 
tianity, its sterner spirit harmonizing with 
the more barbarous state of the Christian 
mind, led to a frequent and injudicious ap- 
peal to the Old Testament: practically the 
great principle of Judaism, that the law, as 

* Compare the strange rabbinical notion of the 
fertility of the earth during the millennial reign of 
Christ, given by lrenzus as an actual prophecy of 
our Lord: ‘“ Venient dies in quibus vinee nascen- 
tur, smgule decem millia palmitum habentes, et in 
una palmite decem millia brachiorum, et in uno vero 
brachio dena millia flagellorum, et in unoquoque fla- 
gello dena millia botrorum, et in unoquoque botro 
dena millia acinorum ; et unumquodque acinum ex- 
pressum, dabit viginti quinque metretas vini; et 
cum apprehendet aliquis sanctorum botrum, alius 
clamabit—Botrus ego melior sum, me sume, et per 
me Dominum benedic” These chapters of [renzus 
show the danger to which pure and spiritual Chris- 
tianity was exposed from this gross and carnal Ju- 
daizing spirit. Irenwus (ch. 35) positively denies 
that .any of these images can be taken in an alle- 
gorical sense.—De Heres., v., c. 33 


: 


emanating from Divine Wisdom, must be ‘Christian, absorbed in deeper veneration 
of eternal obligation, was admitted by con- | for the soil which had been hallowed by 


flicting parties ; the books of Moses and 
the Gospel were appealed to as of equal 
authority ; while the great characteristic 
of the old religion, its exclusiveness, its 
restrictions of the Divine blessings within 
a narrow and visible pale, was too much 
in accordance both with pride and super- 
stition not to reassert its ancient domin, 
ion. The sacerdotal and the sectarian 
spirit had an equal tendency to draw a 
wider or a more narrow line of demarca- 
— tion around that which, in Jewish language, 
they pronounced the * Israel” of God, and 
to substitute some other criterion of Chris- 
tianity for that exquisite perfection of pie- 
¥ that sublimity of virtue in disposition, 
in thought, and in act, which was the one 
true test of Christian excellence. 

In Palestine, as the external. conflict 
with Judaism was longest and most vio- 
lent, so the internal influence of the old re- 
ligion was latest obliterated. But when 
this separation at length took place, it was 
even more complete and decided than in 
any other countries. In Jerusalem the 
Christians were perhaps still called, and 
submitted to be called Nazarenes, while 
the appellation which had been assumed 
at Antioch was their common designation 
in all other parts of the world. The Chris- 
tian community of Jerusalem which had 
taken refuge at Pella bore with them their 
unabated reverence for the law. But in- 
sensibly the power of that reverence de- 
cayed; and on the foundation of the new 
colony of Ailia by the Emperor Hadrian, 
after the defeat of Barchocab and the sec- 
ond total demolition of the city, the larger 
part having nominated a man of Gentile 
Mark, bishop birth, Marcus, as their bishop, 
of Jerusalem. settled in the New City, and 
thus proclaimed their final and total separ- 
ation from their Jewish ancestors.* For 
not only must they have disclaimed all 
Jewish connexion to be permitted to take 
up their residence in the new colony, the 
very approach to which was watched by 
Roman outposts, and prohibited to every 
Jew under the severest penalties, but even 
the old Jewish feelings must have been 
utterly extinct. For what Jew, even if 
he had passed under the image of a swine 
which was erected in mockery over the 
Bethlehem Gate, would not have shrunk 
in horror in beholding the Hill of Moriah 
polluted by a pagan temple, the worship 
of heathen deities profaning by their reek- 
ing incense and their idolatrous sacrifices 
the site of the Holy of Holiest The 


* Euseb., H. E., iv., 6. Hieronym., Epist. ad He- 
dybiam., Quest. 8, 


' HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 173 


ak 


his Redeemer’s footsteps, and was asso- 
ciated with his mysterious death and res- 
urrection, was indifferent to the daily in- 
fringement of the Mosaic law, which God 
himself had annulled by the substitution 
of the Christian faith, or to the desecra- 
tion of the site of that temple which God 
had visibly abandoned. 

The rest of the Judeo-Christian com- 
munity at Pella and in its neighbourhood 
sank into an obscure sect, distinguished 
by their obstinate rejection of the writings 
of St. Paul and by their own Gospel, most 
probably the original Hebrew of St. Mat- 
thew. But the language, as well as the 
tenets of the Jews, were either proscribed 
by the Christians as they still farther re- 
ceded from Judaism, or fell into disuse ;* 
and whatever writings they possessed, 
whether originals or copies, in the vernac- 
ular dialect of Palestine, of the genuine 
apostolic books, or compilations of their 
own, entirely perished, so that it is diffi- 
cult, from the brief notices which are ex- 
tant, to make out their real nature and 
character. 

In Palestine, as elsewhere, the Jew and 
the Christian were no longer confounded 
with each other, but constituted two total- 
ly different and implacably hostile rages. 
The Roman government began to discrim- 
inate between them, as clearly appears 
from the permission to the Christians to 
reside in the New City, on the site of Je- 
rusalem, which was interdicted to the 
Jews. Mutual hatred was increased by 
mutual alienation ; the Jew, who had lost 
the power of persecuting, lent himself as 
a willing instrument to the heathen per- 
secutor against those whom he still con- 
sidered as apostates from his religion. 
The less enlightened Christian added to 
the contempt of all the Roman world for 
the Jew a principle of deeper hostility. 
The language of Tertullian is that of tri- 
umph rather than of commiseration for the 
degraded state of the Jew ;+ strong jeal- 
ousy of the pomp and power assumed by 
the patriarch of Tiberias may be traced in 
the vivid description of Origen.{ No suf- 
ferings could too profoundly debase, no 
pride could become, those who shared in 
the hereditary guilt of the crucifixion of 
Jesus. 


* Sulpicius Severus, H. E. Mosheim, de Rebus 
Christ. ante Constant. Le Clerc, Hist. Eccles. 

+ Dispersi, palabundi, et cceli et soli sui extorres 
vagantur per orbem, sine nomine, sine Deo rege, 
quibus nec advenarum jure terram patriam saltem 
vestigio salutare conceditur.—Lib. cont. Judzos, 15. 
ΟἽ Origen, Epist. ad Africanum. Hist. of Jews, 
li, 117. : 


᾿ 
΄ 


4 


CHRISTIANITY 


Tue conflict of Christianity with Juda- 
Relntionship ism was a civil war; that with 
between Ju- paganism, the invasion and con- 
daism and quest of a foreign territory. In 

msuen"y the former case it was the de- 
clared design of the innovation to perfect 
the established constitution on its primary 
principles ; to expand the yet undeveloped 
system according to the original views of 
the Divine Legislator; in the latter it con- 
templated the total subversion of the ex- 
isting order of things, a reconstruction of 
the whole moral and religious being of 
mankind. With the Jew, the abolition of 
the Temple service and the abrogation of 
the Mosaic Law were indispensable to the 
perfect establishment of Christianity. The 
first was left to be accomplished by the 
frantic turbulence of the people and the 
remorseless vengeance of Rome. Yet, 
after all, the Temple service maintained 
its more profound and indelible influence 
only over the Jew of Palestine ; its hold 
upon the vast numbers which were settled 
in all parts of the world was that of re- 
mote, occasional, traditionary reverence. 
With the foreign Jew, the service of the 
synagogue was his religion; and the syn- 
agogue, without any violent change, was 
transformed into a Christian church. The 
same Almighty God to whom it was pri- 
marily dedicated maintained his place; 
and the sole difference was, that he was 
worshipped through the mediation of the 
crucified Jesus of Nazareth. With the 
pagan, the whole of his religious observ- 
ances fell under the unsparing proscrip- 
tion. Every one of the countless temples, 
and shrines, and sacred groves, and hal- 
lowed fountains were to be desecrated by 
the abhorrent feelings of those who look- 
ed back with shame and contempt upon 
their old idolatries. Every image, from 
the living work of Phidias or Praxiteles 
to the rude and shapeless Hermes or Ter- 

ninus, was to become an unmeaning mass 
of wood or stone. In every city, town, 
or even village, there was a contest to be 
maintained, not merely against the general 
system of Polytheism, but against the lo- 
cal and tutelary deity of the place. Every 
public spectacle, every procession, every 
civil or military duty, was a religious cer- 
emonial. Though later, when Christian- 
ity was in the ascendant, it might expel 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


CHAPTER IIL.” 


AND PAGANISM. 


| the deities of paganism from some of the 

splendid temples, and convert them to its 
own use; though insensibly many of the 
usages of the heathen worship crept into 
the more gorgeous and imposing ceremo 


nial of triumphant Christianity ; onal 


even many of the vulgar superstition 
corporated themselves with the sacred 
Christian associations, all this reaction 
was long subsequent to the permanent es-. 
tablishment of the new religion. At first 
all was rigid and uncompromi- pjrect opposi- 
sing hostility; doubts were en- tion of Chris- 
tertained by the more scrupu- DMnity 10 pa 
lous whether meat exposed to ® : 
public sale in the market, but which might 
have formed part of a sacrifice, would not 
be dangerously polluting to the Christian. 
The apostle, though anxious to correct 
this sensitive scrupulousness, touches on 
the point with the utmost caution and del- 
icacy.* ὑπ 

The private life of the Jew was already, 
in part at least, fettered by the minute 
and almost Brahminical observances with 
which the later rabbins established their 
despotic authority over the mind. Still 
some of these usages harmonized with the 
spirit of Christianity ; others were less 
inveterately rooted in the feelings of the 
foreign Jew. The trembling apprehension 
of anything approaching to idolatry, the 
concentration of the heart’s whole devo- 
tion upon the One Almighty God, prepared 
the soul for a Christian bias. The great 
struggle to Jewish feeling was the aban- 
donment of circumcision as the sign of 
their covenant with God. But this once 
over, baptism, the substituted ceremony, 
was perhaps already familiar to his mind ; 
or, at least, emblematic ablutions were 
strictly in unison with the genius and the 
practice of his former religion. Some of 
the stricter Pharisaie distinctions were lo- 
cal and limited to Palestine; as, for in- 
stance, the payment of tithe, since the 
Temple tribute was the only national tax 
imposed by his religion on the foreign Jew. 
‘Their sectarian symbols, which in Pales- 
tine were publicly displayed upon their 
dress, were of course less frequent in for- 
eign countries ; and, though worn in se- 
eret, might be dropped and abandoned by 


| sich ad * 1 Corinth., x., 25-31. 


iL ὧι 


HISTORY OF OHS ANY, 


the convert to Christianity without exci- 
Universality ting observation. ‘The whole 
of pag ist life of the heathen, whether of 
the philosopher who despised, or the vul- 
gar who were indifferent to, the essential 
part of the religion, was pervaded by the 
spirit of Polytheism. It met him in every 
form, in every quarter, in every act and 
function of every day’s business; not 
merely in the graver offices of the state, 
in the civil and military acts of public men; 
in the senate, which commenced its delib- 
erations with sacrifice ; in the camp, the 
‘e of which was a consecrated temple : 
domestic hearth was guarded by the 
enates, or by the ancestral gods of his 


family or tribe; by land he travelled un- 


der the protection of one tutelar divinity, 
by sea of another; the birth, the bridal, 
the funeral, had each its presiding deity ; 
the ey commonest household: utensils 

mplements were cast in mythologi- 
eal forms ; he could scarcely drink without 
being reminded of making a libation to the 
gods ; and the language itself was impreg- 
nated with constant allusions to the pop- 
ular religion. 

However, as a religion, Polytheism was 
undermined and shaken to the base, yet, 
as part of the existing order of things, its 
inert resistance would everywhere present 
a strong barrier against the invasion of a 
foreign faith. ‘The priesthood of an effete 
religion, as long as the attack is conducted 
under the decent disguise of philosophical 
inquiry, or is only aimed at the moral or 
the speculative part of the faith; as long 
as the form, of which alone they are be- 
come the ministers, is permitted to sub- 
sist, go on calmly performing the usual 
ceremonial, neither their feelings nor 
their interests are actively alive to the 
veiled and insidious encroachments which 
are made upon its power and stability. In 
the Roman part of the Western world the 
religion was an integral part of the state: 
the greatest men of the last days of the re- 
public, the Ciceros and Caesars, the em- 
perors themselves, aspired to fill the pon- 
tifical offices, and discharged their duties 
with grave solemnity, however their de- 
clared philosophical opinions were subver- 
sive of the whole system of Polytheism. 
Men might disbelieve, deny, even substi- 
tute foreign superstitions for the accus- 
tomed rites of their country, provided they 
did not commit any overt act of hostility, 
or publicly endeavour to bring the cere- 
monial into contempt. Such acts were not 
only impieties, they were treason against 
the majesty of Rome. In the Grecian 
cities, on the other hand, the interests and 
the feelings of the magistracy anthithe 


a8 ote 
priesthood were less intimately conn 
ed; the former, those, at least, who ‘hel 
the higher authority, being Roman, the lat- — 
ter local or municipal. Though it was the 
province of the magistrate to protect the 
established religion, and it was sufficiently 
the same with his own to receive his 
regular worship, yet the strength, with 
which he would resent any dangerous in- 
novation would depend on the degree of 
influence possessed by the sacerdotal body, 
and the pride or enthusiasm which the 
people might feel for their local worship. 
Until, then, Christianity had made such 
progress as to produce a visible diminution 
in the attendance on the pagan worship; 
until the temples were comparatively de- 
serted, and the offerings less frequent, the 
opposition encountered by the Christian 
teacher, or the danger to which he would 
be exposed, would materially depend on 
the peculiar religious cireumstances of 
each city.* ; Wing, 


* In a former publication the author attempted to 
represent the manner in which the, strength of Po 
lytheism, and its complete incorporation with the 
public and private life of its votaries, might present 
itself to the mind of a Christian tench on his first 
entrance into a heathen city. The passage has 
been quoted in Archbishop Whateley’s book on 
Rhetoric. 

“‘ Conceive, then, the apostles of Jesus Christ, the 
tent-maker or the fisherman, entering as strangers 
into one of the splendid cities of Syria, Asia Minor, 
or Greece. Conceive them, I mean, as unendowed 
with miraculous powers, having adopted their itin- 
erant system of teaching from human motives and 
for human purposes alone. As they pass along to 
the remote and obscure quarter where they expect 
to meet with precarious hospitality among their 
countrymen, they survey the strength of the es- 
tablished religion, which it is their avowed purpose 
to overthrow. Everywhere they behold temples 
on which the utmost extravagance of expenditure 
has been lavished by succeeding generations ; idols 
of the most exquisite workmanship, to which, even 
if the religious feeling of adoration is enfeebled, the 
people are strongly attached by national or local 
vanity. They meet processions in which the idle 
find perpetual occupation, the young excitement, 
the voluptuous a continual stimulant to their pas- 
sions. They behold a priesthood numerous, some- 
times wealthy ; nor are these alone wedded by in- 
terest to the established faith ; many of the trades, 
like those of the makers of silver shrines at Ephe- 
sus, are pledged to the support of that to which they 
owe their maintenance. They pass a magnificent 
theatre, on the splendour, and success of which the 
popularity of the existing authorities mainly de 
pends, and in which the serious exhibitions are es- 
sentially religious, the lighter as intimately con- 
nected with the indulgence of the baser passions. 
They behold another public building, where even 
worse feelings, the cruel and the sanguinary, are 
pampered by the animating contests of wild beasts 
and of gladiators, in whitch they themselves may 
shertly play a dreadful part, 


Butcher’d to make a Roman holyday ! 


Show and spectacle are the characteristic enjoy- 
ments of a whole people, and every show and spec- 


ΕΣ 


Pity . 


+e 


a 
116. 


ἷ ' ᾿ττα ιν in the Acts, as far as it pro- 
ceeds, is strikingly in accordance with this 
state of things. The adventures of the 
apostles in the di τ ities of Asia Minor 
and Greece are singularly characteristic of 
the population δα, state of the existing 
Polytheism in each. - 10 was not till it had 
extended beyond the borders of Palestine 
that Christianity came into direct collision 
with paganism. The first Gentile convert 
admitted into the Christian community by 
St. Peter, Cornelius, if not a proselyte to 
Judaism, approached very nearly to it. 
He was neither polytheist nor philosopher ; 
he was a worshipper of One Almighty 
Creator, and familiar, it should seem, with 
the Jewish belief in angelic appearances. 
Even beyond the Holy Land Christianity 
did not immediately attempt to address 
the general mass of the pagan community ; 
its first collisions were casual and acci- 
dental; its operations commenced in the 
Synagogue; a separate community was 
not invariably formed, or, if formed, ap- 
peared to the common observation only a 
new assemblage for Jewish worship ; to 
which, if heathen proselytes gathered in 
more than ordinary numbers, it was but 


- 


tacle is either sacred to the religious feelings, or in- 
centive to the lusts of the flesh; those feelings 
which must be entirely eradicated, those lusts 
which must be brought into total subjection to the 
law of Christ. They encounter likewise itinerant 
jugglers, diviners, magicians, who impose upon the 
credulous to excite the contempt of the enlighten- 
ed; in the first case, dangerous rivals to those who 
should attempt to propagate ἃ new faith by impos- 
ture and deception ; in the latter,naturally tending 
to prejudice the mind against all miraculous pre- 
tensions whatever: here, like Elymas, endeavour- 
ing to outdo the signs and wonders of the apostles, 
thereby throwing suspicion on all asserted super- 
natural agency by the frequency and clumsiness 
of their delusions. They meet philosophers, fre- 
quently itinerant like themselves; or teachers of 
new religions, priests of Isis and Serapis, who have 
brought into equal discredit what might otherwise 
have appeared a proof of philanthropy, the perform- 
ing laborious journeys at the sacrifice of personal 
ease and comfort, for the moral and religious im- 
provement of mankind; or, at least, have so accus- 
tomed the public mind to similar pretensions as to 
take away every attraction from their boldness or 
novelty. There are also the teachers of the differ- 
ent mysteries, which would engross all the anxiety 
of the inquisitive, perhaps excite, even if they did 
not satisfy, the hopes of the more pure and lofty- 
minded. Such must have been among the obsta- 
cles which must have forced themselves on the 
calmer moments of the most ardent ; such the over- 
powering difficulties of which it would be impossi- 
ble to overlook the importance or elude the force; 
which required no sober calculation to estimate, no 
laborious inquiry to discover; which met and con- 
fronted them wherever they went, and which, ei- 
ther in desperate presumption or deliberate reli- 
ance on their own preternatural powers, they must 
have contemned and defied.’—Bampton Lectures, 
p. 269, 273. , 


Ἂς 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ι 
ae ᾽ν 
᾿ 


* 
ἜΣ 
the Ric thing on a larger, which had ex- 
cited little jealousy on a smaller seale.* 


During the first journey of St. Paul, i 
is manifest that in Cyprus par- Christi 


ticularly, and in the towns of in Cyprus. 
Asia Minor, the Jewish worship was an 
object of general respect; and Christian- 
ity appearing as a modification of Jewish 
belief, shared in that deference which had 
been long paid to the national religion of 
the Jewish people. Sergius Paulus, the 
governor of Cyprus, under the influence 
of the Jew Elymas, was already more than 
half, if not altogether alienated from the 
religion of Rome. Barnabas and Paul ap- 
peared before him at his own desire; and 
their manifest superiority over his former 


teacher easily transformed him from an_ 


imperfect proselyte to Judaism into a con- 
vert to Christianity. ᾿ 

At Antioch, in Pisidia, there was a large 
class of proselytes to Judaism, antioch in 
who espoused the cause of the Pisidia. 
Christian teachers, and who probably form- 
ed the more considerable part of the Gen- 
tile hearers addressed by Paul on his re- 
jection by the leading Jews of that city. 

At Lystra,{ in Lycaonia, the apostle ap- 
pears for the first time in the centre, __ 
as it were, of a pagan population; ‘S"* 
and it is remarkable, that in this wild and 
inland region we find the old barbarous re- 
ligion maintaining a lively and command- 
ing influence over the popular mind. In 
the more civilized and commercial parts 
of the Roman world, in Ephesus, in Athens, 
or in Rome, such extraordinary cures as 
that of the cripple at Lystra might have 
been publicly wrought, and might have ex- 
cited a wondering interest i _the multi- 
tude : but it may be doubted whether the 
lowest or most ignorant would have had 
so much faith in the old fabulous appear- 
ances of their own deities as immediately 
to have imagined their actual and visible 
appearance in the persons of these sur- 
prising strangers. It is only inthe remote 
and savage Lystra, where the Greek lan- 
guage nad not predominated over the prim- 
itive barbarous dialect) (probably a branch 


* The extent to which Jewish proselytism had 
been carried is a most intricate question. From 
the following passage, quoted from Seneca by St. 
Augustin, if genuine, it would seem that it had 
made great progress: “ Cum interim usqu' scel- 
eratissine gentis consuetudo convaluit, ut per om- 
nes terras jure recepta sit, victi victoribus leges de- 
derunt.” St. Augustin positively asserts that this 
sentence does not include the Christians.— 
Civit. Dei, vi., 11. t Acts, ΧΗ. 6-12, 

t Acts, xiv., 6-19. There were Jews resident at 
Lystra, as appears by Acts, xvi., 1,2. Timotheus 
was the offspring of an intermarriage between a 
Jewish woman and a Greek : his name is Greek. 

ὁ Jablonski, Dissertatio de Lingua Lycaonicd, 

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ie . ΝᾺ Ἢ 
ὙΝ 
wt 7% , + ᾿ 


᾿ 


ν 
> 
- o 


of the Cappadocian), that the papi emo- 


tion instantly metamorphoses these pub- 
lic benefactors into the Jove and Mercury 

heir own temples. The inhabitants 
actually make preparation for sacrifice, 


and are with difficulty persuaded to con- 
sider such wonder-working men to be of 
the same nature with themselves. Noris 
it less characteristic of the versatility of 
a rude people, that no sooner is the illu- 
sion dispelled than they join with the hos- 
tile Jews in the persecution of those very 
men whom their superstition but a short 
time before had raised into objects of Di- 


vine worship. 


In the second and more extensive jour- 


τ ney of St. Paul, having parted from Bar- 


ws 


» 


ζι 


nabas,* he was accompanied by Timothe- 
us and Silas or Sylvanus, but of the Asiat- 
ic part of this journey, though it led through 
some countries of remarkable interest in 
the history of paganism, no particulars are 
recorded. rygia, which was a 
kind of link between Greece and 
the remoter East, still at times sent out 
into the Western world its troops of fran- 
tic Orgiasts; and the Phrygian vied with 
the Isiae and Mithraic mysteries in its in- 
fluence in awakening the dormant fanati- 
cism of the Roman world. It is probable 
that in these regions the apostle confined 
himself to the Jewish settlers and their 
Galatia, Proselytes. In Galatia it is clear 

that the converts were almost en- 
tirely of Hebrew descent. The vision 
which invited the apostle to cross from 
Troas to Macedonia led him into a new 
region, where his countrymen, though 
forming flourishing communities in many 
of the principal towns, were not, except 
perhaps at Corinth, by any means so nu- 
merous as in the greater part of Asia Mi- 
nor. His ve ssel touched at Samothrace, 
where the most ancient and remarkable 
mysteries still retained their sanctity and 
vener in that holy and secluded isl- 
Philippi, ἅμα. ΑἹ Philippi he first came into 

collision with those whose inter- 
ests were concerned in the maintenance 
of the popular religion. Though these 
were only individuals, whose gains were 
at once put an end to by the progress of 
Christianity, the owners of the female 
soothsayer of Philippi were part of a nu- 
merous and active class, who subsisted on 
the public credulity. The proseucha, or 
oratory of the Jews (the smaller place of 
Ww ahi, which they always established 
Me eir community was not sufficient- 
ly flourishing to maintain a synagogue), 

¥ 


Phrygia. 


. , a 
reprinted in 
Tus. * 


mess Roce 


Valpy’s edition of Stephens’s Thesau- 
᾿ * Acts, xv., 36, to xviii, 18, 
4 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


sl 
" 17 
was, as usual, by the water side. The 
river, as always in Greece and in all south- 
ern countries, was the resort of the wom-. 
en of the city, partly for household pur- 
poses, partly perhaps for bathing. Many 
of this sex were in consequence attracted 
by the Jewish proseucha, and had become, 
if not proselytes, at least very favourably 
inclined to Judaism. Among these was 
Lydia, whose residence was at Thyatira, 
and who, from her trading in the costly 
purple dye, may be supposed a person of 
considerable wealth and influence. Hav- 
ing already been so far enlightened by Ju- 
daism as to worship the One God, she be- 
came an immediate convert to the Chris- 
tianity of St. Paul. Perhaps the influence 
or the example of so many of her own sex 
worked upon the mind of a female of a 
different character and occupation. She 
may have been an impostor, but more 
probably was a young girl of excited tem- 
perament, whose disordered imagination 
was employed by men of more artful char- 
acter for their own sordid purposes. The 
enthusiasm of this “ divining” damsel now 
took another turn. Impressed with the 
language and manner of Paul, she sudden- 
ly deserted her old employers, and, throw- 


ing herself into the train of the apostle, — 


proclaimed, with the same exalted fervour, 
his Divine mission and the superiority of 
his religion. Paul, troubled with the pub- 
licity and the continual repetition of her 
outeries, exorcised her in the name of Je- 
sus Christ. Her wild excitement died 
away; the spirit passed from her; and 
her former masters found that she was no 
longer fit for their service. She could no 
longer be thrown into those paroxysms of 
temporary derangement, in which her dis- 
ordered language was received as oracu- 
lar of future events. This conversion pro- 
duced a tumult throughout the city; the 
interests of a powerful body were at stake, 
for the trade of soothsaying at this time 
was bothcommonand lucrative. The em- 
ployers of the prophetess inflamed the 
multitude. The apostle and his attend- 
ants were seized, arraigned before the ma- 
gistrates as introducing an wnlawful reli- 
gion. The magistrates took part against 
them. They suffered the ordinary pun- 
ishment of disturbers of the peace; were 
scourged and east into prison. While 
their hymn, perhaps their evening hymn, 
was heard through the prison, a violent 
earthquake shook the whole building ; the 
doors flew open, and the fetters, by which 
probably they were chained to the walls, 
were loosened. The affrighted jailer, who 
was responsible for their appearance, ex- 
pected them to avail themselves of this 


4 


: δὲ 


" 


_~ fully from the city. then, we 
* Contrast of already seen Christianity in col- 


-* 
Ri 


118. κα 


4 
opportunity of escape, and in his despair 
was about to commit suicide. His hand 
was arrested by the calm voice of Paul, 
and to his wonder he found the prisoners 
remaining quietly in theircells. His fears 
and his admiration wrought together ; and 


τς the jailer of Philippi, with his whole fam- 


ily, embraced the Christian faith. The 
magistrates, when they found that Paul 


had the privilege of Roman citizenship, 


were in their turn alarmed at their hasty 


. infringement of that sacred right, released 


_ them honourably from the prison, and were 
glad to prevail upon them to depart peace- 
Thus, then, we have 


Polytheism Jision with Polytheism under 
Phifipp” two of its various forms: at 


and Athens. J,ystra, as still the old poetic 
faith of a barbarous peuple, insensible to 
the progress made elsewhere in the hu- 
man mind, and devoutly believing the 
wonders of their native religion; in Phi- 
lippi, a provincial town in a more cultiva- 
ted part of Greece, but still at no high state 
of intellectual advancement, as connected 
with the vulgar arts, not of the establish- 
ed priesthood, but of itinerant traders in 
- popular superstition. In Athens paganism 
has a totally different character, inquiring, 
argumentative, skeptical, Polytheism in 


. form, and that form imbodying all that 


could excite the imagination of a highly- 
polished people ; in reality admitting and 
delighting in the freest discussion, alto- 
gether inconsistent with sincere belief in 
the ancient and established religion. 
Passing through Amphipolis and Apol- 
lonia, Paul and his companions 
arrived at Thessalonica; but 
in this city, as well as in Berea, their chief 
intercourse appears to have been with the 
Jews. The riot by which they were ex- 
pelled from Thessalonica, though blindly 
kept up by the disorderly populace, was 
instigated by Jason, the chief of the Jew- 
ish community. Having left his compan- 
ions, Timetheus and Silas, at Berea, Paul 
arrived alone at Athens. 
At Athens, the centre at once and capi- 
Athens. ‘2! of the Greek philosophy and 
‘heathen superstition, takes place 
the first public and direct conflict between 
Christianity and paganism. Up to this 
time there is no account of any one of the 
apostles taking his station in the public 
street or market-place, and addressing the 
general multitude.* Their place of teach- 
ing had invariably been the synagogue of 


‘Thessalonica. 


* This appears to be intimated in the expression, 
Acts, xvii., 16: “ His spirit was stizred within him 
when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry.” 


ῥ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


their nation, or, as at Philippi, the neigh- 

ourhood of their customary place of wor- 
ship. Here, however, Paul does not con- 
fine himself to the synagogue, or to the 
society of his countrymen and their pros- 
elytes. He takes his stand in the publie 
market-place (probably not the Cerami- 
cus, but the Eretriac Forum*), which, in 
the reign of Augustus, had begun to be 
more frequented, and at the top of which 
was the famous portico from which the 
Stoics assumed their name. 1 | Athens, 
the appearance of a new public teacher, 
instead of offending the popular feelings, 
was too familiar to excite astonishment, 
and was rather welcomed, as promising 
some fresh intellectual excitement. In 
Athens, hospitable to all religions and all 
opinions, the foreign and Asiatic appear- 
ance, and possibly the less polished tone 
and dialect of Paul, would only awaken 
the stronger curiosity, Though they af- 
fect at first (probably the philosophic part 
of his hearers) to treat him as an idle 
‘“‘babbler,” and others (the vulgar, alarmed 
for the honour of their deities) supposed 
that he was about to introduce some new 
religious worship, which might endanger 
the supremacy of their own tutelar di- 
vinities, he is conveyed, not without re- 
spect, to a still more public and commo- 
dious place, from whence he may explain 
his doctrines to a numerous assembly 
without disturbance. On the Panionthe 
Areopagus} the Christian leader Areopagus, 
takes his stand, surrounded on every side 
with whatever was noble, beautiful, and 
intellectual in the older world: temples, of 
which the materials were only surpassed 
by the architectural grace and majesty; 
statues, in which the ideal Anthropomor- 
phism of the Greeks had almost elevated 
the popular notions of the Deity, by imbod- 
ying it in human forms of such exquisite 
perfection ; public edifices, where the civil 
interests of man had been discussed with 
the acuteness and versatility of the high- 
est.Grecian intellect, in all the purity of 
the inimitable Attic dialect, where orato- 
ry had obtained its highest triumphs by 
“wielding at will the fierce democracy ;” 
the walks of the philosophers, who un- 
questionably, by elevating thequgian mind 
to an appetite for new and nobler knowl- 
edge, had prepared the way fora loftier and 
purer religion. It was inthe midst Speech of 
of these elevating associations, to Paul. 


* Strabo, x, 447. ᾿ 


a 
+ It has been supposed by some that Paul was 
summoned before the court of the Areopagus, who 
took cognizance of causes relating to religion, But 
there is no indication in the narrative of any of the. 


forms of a judicial proceeding. ὡ 


" 


; 


_ known God. 


‘ments of nature. 


which the student of Grecian literature im 
Tarsus, the reader of Meander, and of the 


Greek philosophical poets, could scarcely 
be entirely dead or ignorant, that Paul 
stands forth to proclaim the lowly yet au- 


thoritative religion of Jesus of Nazareth. 
His audience was chiefly formed from the 
two pI vailing sects, the Stoics and Epi- 
cureans, with the populace, the worship- 


pers of the established religion. In his 
discourse, the heads of which are related 
by St. Luke, Paul, with singular felicity, 
touches on the peculiar opinions of each 
class among his hearers ;* he expands the 
popular religion into a higher philosophy ; 
he imbues philosophy with a profound sen- 
timent of religion.t 

It is impossible not to examine with the 
utmost interest the whole course of this 
(if we consider its remote consequences, 
and suppose it the first full and public ar- 
gument of Christianity against the heathen 
religion and philosophy), perhaps the most 
extensively and permanently effective ora- 
tion-ever uttered by man. We may con- 
template Paul as the representative of 
Christianity, in the presence, as it were, 
of the concentrated religion of Greece ; 
and of the spirits, if we may so speak, of 
Socrates, and Plato,and Zeno. ‘The open- 
ing of the apostle’s speech is according to 
those most perfect rules of art which are 
but the expressions of the general senti- 
It is calm, temperate, 
conciliatory. It is no fierce denunciation 
of idolatry, no contemptuous disdain of 
the prevalent philosophic opinions ; it has 
nothing of the sternness of the ancient 
Jewish prophet, nor the taunting defiance 
of the later Christian polemic. ‘“ Already 
the religious people of Athens had, un- 
knowingly indeed, worshipped the univer- 
sal deity, for they had an altar to the Un- 
t The nature, the attributes 
of this sublimer being, hitherto adored in 


* Paulus summa arte orationem suam ita tempe- 
rat, ut modo cum vulgo contra philosophos, modo 
cum philosophis contra plebem, modo contra utros- 
que pugnet.—Rosenmiller, in loco. 

+ The art and propriety of this speech is consid- 
erably marred by the mistranslation of one word in 
our version, δεισιδαιμονεστέρους, Which does not im- 
ply reproof, as in the rendering “ too superstitious.” 
Conciliation, not offence, of the public feeling, es- 
pecially at the opening of a speech, isthe first prin- 
ciple of all oratory, more particularly of Christian 
teaching. ᾿ 

1 Of all the conjectures (for all is purely conjec- 
tural) on the contested point of the “altar to the 
Unknown God,” the most ingenious and natural, 
in our opinion, is that of Eichhorn. There were, 
he supposes, very ancient altars. older perhaps than 
the f wr ἥην, or on which the inscription had 
been ced by time: on these the piety of later 
ages had engraven the simple words, ‘‘ To the Un- 
known God.” ’ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. » 


; 179 


ignorant and unintelligent homage, he came 
to unfold. ‘This God rose far above the 
popular notion; he could not be confined 
in altar or temple, or representetl by any 
visible image. He was the universal fa- 
ther of mankind, even of the earth-born 
Athenians, who boasted that they were of 
an older race than the other families of 
man, and coeval with the world itself. 
He was the fountain of life, which perva- 
ded and sustained the universe; he had 
assigned their separate dwellings to the 
separate families of man.” Up to a cer- 
tain point in this higher view of the Su- 


preme Being, the philosopher of the Gar-_ 


den, as well as of the Porch, might listen 
with wonder and admiration. It soared, 
indeed, high above the vulgar religion ; 
but in the lofty and serene Deity, who dis- 
dained to dwell in the earthly temple, and 
needed nothing from the hand of man,* 
the Epicurean might almost suppose that 
he heard the language of his own teacher. 
But the next sentence, which asserted the 
providence of God as the active, creative 
energy—as the conservative, the ruling, 
the ordaining principle — annihilated at 
once the atomic theory and the govern- 
ment of blind chance, to which Epicurus 
ascribed the origin and preservation of the 
universe. 
ty, who dwelt aloof in serene and majes- 
tic superiority to all want, was perceptible 
in some mysterious manner by man: his 
all- pervading providence comprehended 
the whole human race; man was in con- 
stant union with the Deity, as an offspring 
with its parent.” And still the Stoic might 
applaud with complacent satisfaction the 
ardent words of the apostle ; he might ap- 
prove the lofty condemnation of idolatry. 
‘““We, thus of divine descent, ought to 
think more nobly of our universal Father 
than to suppose that the Godhead is like 
unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by 
art or man’s device.” But this Divine 
Providence was far different from the stern 
and all-controlling necessity, the inexora- 
ble fatalism of the Stoic system. While 
the moral value of human action was rec- 
ognised by the solemn retributive judg- 
ment to be passed on all mankind, the dig- 
nity of Stoic virtue was lowered by the 
general demand of repentance. The per- 
fect man, the moral king, was deposed, as 
it were, and abased to the general level ; 
he had to learn new lessons in the school 
of Christ ; lessons of humility and con- 
scious deficiency, the most directly oppo- 


“This high and impassive dei- | 


* Needing nothing: the coincidence with the : 


“nihil indiga nostri” of Lucretius is curious, even 
if accidental. Ἷ 


180 . ‘ 


sed to the principles and the sentiments 
of his philosophy. 

The great Christian doctrine of the res- 
urrection closed the speech of Paul; a 
doctrine received with mockery, perhaps, 
by his Epicurean hearers, with suspension 
of judgment, probably, by the Stoic, with 
whose theory of the final destruction of 
the world by fire and his tenet of future 
retribution it might appear in some de- 
gree to harmonize. Some, however, be- 
came declared converts ; among whom are 
particularly named Dionysius, a man of 
sufficient distinction to be a member of 
the famous court of the Areopagus, and a 
woman named Damaris, probably of con- 
siderable rank and influence. 

At Athens, all this free discussion on 
topics relating to the religious and moral 
nature of man, and involving the authority 
of the existing religion, passed away with- 
out disturbance. The jealous reverence 
for the established faith, which, conspiring 
with its perpetual ally, political faction, 
had in former times caused the death of 
Socrates, the exile of Stilpo, and the pro- 
scription of Diagoras the Melian, had long 
died away. With the loss of independence 
political animosities had subsided, and the 
toleration of philosophical and religious 
indifference allowed the utmost latitude 
to speculative inquiry, however ultimately 
dangerous to the whole fabric of the na- 
tional religion. Yet Polytheism still reign- 
ed in Athens in its utmost splendour : the 
temples were maintained with the highest 
pomp; the Eleusinian Mysteries, in which 
religion and philosophy had in some de- 
gree coalesced, attracted the noblest and 
the wisest of the Romans, who boasted of 
their initiation in these sublime secrets. 
Athens was thus at once the headquarters 
of paganism, and, at the same time, the 
place where paganism most clearly betray- 
ed its approaching dissolution. 

From Athens the apostle passes to Cor- 
inth. Corinth was at this time the com- 
mon emporium of the eastern and western 
divisions of the Roman empire. It was 
the Venice of the Old World, in whose 
streets the continued stream of commerce, 
either flowing from or towards the great 
capital of the world, out of all the East- 
ern territories, met and crossed.* The 
basis of the population of Corinth was Ro- 


* After its destruction by Mummius, Corinth was 
restored, beautified, and colonized by Julius Cesar. 
—Strabo, viii., 381. For its history, wealth, and 
commercial situation, Diod. Sic , Fragm. The prof- 
ligacy of Corinthian manners was likewise prover- 
‘ bial: Πόλιν οἰκεῖτε τῶν οὐσῶν τε καὶ yeyevn- 
μένων ἐπαφροδιτοτάτην .--- ὨΪϊὸ Chrysost., Orat. 37, 
v. li, p. 110. 


Foe 
- 


SY 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


man, of very recent settlement; Corinth, 
but colonists from all quarters 4-D. 52. 
had taken up their permanent residence in 
a place so admirably adapted for mercan- 
tile purposes. In no part of the Roman 
empire were both the inhabitants and the 
travellers through the city so various and 
mingled ; nowhere, therefore, would a new 
religion at the same time spread with so 
much rapidity, and send out the ramifica- 
tions of its mfluence with so much sue- 
cess, and, at the same time, excite so little 
observation amid the stir of business and 
the perpetual influx and afflux of strangers, 
or be less exposed to jealous opposition. 
Even the priesthood, newly settled, like 
the rest of the colony, could command 
no ancient reverence ; and in the perpetual 
mingling and confusion of all dresses and 
dialects, no doubt there was the same con- 
course of religious itinerants of every de- 
scription.* At Corinth, therefore, but for 
the hostility of his countrymen, the Chris- 
tian apostle might, even longer than the 
eighteen months which he passed in that 
city, have preserved his peaceful course. 
The separation which at once took place 
between the Jewish and the Christian com- 
munities in Corinth—the secession of Paul 
from the synagogue into a neighbouring 
house—might have allayed even this in- 
testine ferment, had not the progress of 
Christianity, and the open adoption of the ᾿ 


* Corinth was ἃ favourite resort of the Sophists 
(Aristid., Isthm. Athenens, ]. xiil.), and in an ora- 
tion of Dio Chrysostom there is a lively and graph- 
ic description of what may be called one of the fairs 
of antiquity, the Isthmian games, which happily il- 
lustrates the general appearance of society. Among 
the rest, the Cynic philosopher Diogenes appears, 
and endeavours to attract an audience among the 
vast and idle multitude. He complains, however, 
“that if he were a travelling dentist or an oculist, 
or had any infallible specific for the spleen or the 
gout, all who were afflicted with such diseases 
would have thronged around him; but as he only 
professed to cure mankind of vice, ignorance, and 
profligacy, no one troubled himself to seek a rem- 
edy for those less grievous maladies.” “ And there 
was around the temple of Neptune a crowd of mis- 
erable Sophists shouting and abusing one another ; 
and of their so-called disciples, fighting with each 
other; and many authors reading their works, to 
which nobody paid any attention; and many poets 
chanting their poems, with others praising them ; 
and many jugglers showing off their tricks; and 
many prodigy-mongers noting down their wonders ; 
anda thousand rhetoricians perplexing causes ; and 
not a few shopkeepers retailing their wares wher- 
ever they could find a customer. And presently 
some approached the philosopher ; not, indeed, the 
Corinthians, for, as they saw him every day in Cor- 
inth, they did not expect to derive any advantage 
from hearing him; but those that drew near him 
were strangers, each of whom, having listened ἃ 
short time and asked a few questions, made his re- 
treat from fear of his rebukes.”—Dio Chrys., Orat. 
vili, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


new faith by one of the chiefs of the syn- 


181 


which were continually enlarging their 


agogue, reawakened that fierce animosity | sphere. 


which had already caused the expulsion 
of both parties from Rome, and the seeds 


of which no doubt rankled in the hearts of 


many. Here, therefore, for the first time, 
Christianity was brought under the cog- 
nizance of a higher authority than the mu- 
nicipal magistrate of one of the Macedo- 
nian cities. ‘The contemptuous dismissal 
of the cause by the proconsul of Achaia, 
as beneath the majesty of the Roman tri- 
bunal; his refusal to interfere when some 
of the populace, with whom the Christians 
were apparently the favoured party, on 
the repulse of the accusing Jews from the 
seat of justice, fell upon one of them 
named Sosthenes, and maltreated him with 
considerable violence, shows how little 
even the most enlightened men yet com- 
prehended the real nature of the new re- 
ligion. The affair was openly treated as 
an unimportant sectarian dispute about 
Gallic, the national faith of the Jews. 
A.D. 53. ‘The mild* and popular character of 
Gallio, his connexion with his brother 
Seneca,t in whose philosophic writings 
the morality of heathenism had taken a 
higher tone than it ever assumes, unless 
perhaps subsequently in the works of 
Marcus Antoninus, excite regret that the 
religion of Christ was not brought under 
. his observation in a manner more likely 
to conciliate his attention. The result of 
this trial was the peaceful establishment 
of Christianity in Corinth, where, though 
secure from the violence of the Jews, it 
was, however, constantly exposed by its 
situation to the intrusion of new comers, 
with different modifications of Christian 
opinions. This, therefore, was the first 
Christian community which was rent into 
parties, and in which the authority of the 
apostle was perpetually wanting to cor- 
rect Opinions not purely Jewish in their 
origin. 

Thus eventful was the second journey 
of Paul: over so wide acircuit had Chris- 
tianity already been disseminated, almost 
entirely by his personal exertions. In 
many of the most flourishing and populous 
cities of Greece communities were formed, 


* Nemo mortalium uni tam dulcis est quam hic 
omnibus.—Senec., Nat. Quest.,4, Pref. Hoc plus- 
quam Senecam dedisse mundo. Et dulecem gen- 
erasse Gallionem. — Stat. Sylv., il., 7. Compare 
Dion Cass., lx. 

+ Among the later forgeries was a correspond- 
ence between Seneca and St. Paul: and many 
Christian writers, as unacquainted with the history 
of their own religion as with the state of the heathen 
mind, have been anxious to trace all that is striking 
and beautiful in the writings of the Stoic to Chris- 
tian influence. 


The third journey,* starting from the 
headquarters of Christianity, Antioch, led 
Paul again through the same regions of 
Asia, Galatia, and Phrygia. But now, in- 
stead of crossing over into Macedonia, he 
proceeded along the west of Asia Minor 
to the important city of Ephesus. Ephesus, 
Ephesusf at this time may be con- A.D. 54. 
sidered the capital, the chief mercantile 
city, of Asia Minor. It was inhabited by 
a mingled population; and probably uni- 
ted, more than any city in the East, Gre- 
cian and Asiatic habits, manners, and su- 
perstitions.{ Its celebrated temple was 
one of the most splendid models of Gre- 
cian architecture; the image of the god- 
dess retained the symbolic form of the old 
Eastern nature-worship. It was one of 
the great schools of magic; the Ephesian 
amulets or talismans} were in high re- 
quest. Polytheism had thus effected an 
amicable union of Grecian art with Asi- 
atic mysticism and magicai superstition : 
the vender of the silver shrines, which 
represented the great Temple, one of the 
wonders of the world, vied with the tra- 
der in charms and in all the appurtenances 
of witchcraft. Great numbers of Jews 
had long inhabited the chief cities of Asia 
Minor; many had attained to opulence, 
and were of great mercantile importance. 
Augustus had issued a general rescript to 
the cities of Asia Minor for the protection 
of the Jews, securing to them the freedom 
of religious worship, legalizing the trans- 
mission of the Temple tribute to Jerusa- 
lem by their own appointed receivers, and 
making the plunder of their synagogues 
sacrilege.|| Two later edicts of Agrippa 
and Julius Antoninus, proconsuls, particu- 
larly addressed to the magistracy of Eph- 
esus, acknowledged and confirmed the im- 
perial decree.. From this period nothing 
can yet have occurred to lessen their 
growing prosperity, or to lower them in 
the estimation of their Gentile neighbours. 
Among the numerous Jews in this great 
city Paul found some who, hav- Hischptea dr 
ing been in Judea during the John the 
teaching of John the Baptist, had ©4ptist. 
embraced his opinions and received bap- 
tism, either at his hands or from his dis- 
ciples, but appear not only not to have vis- 
ited the mother-country, but to have kept 


* Acts, xvili., 23, to xxi., 3 

t Rosenmiiler, das alte und neue Morgenland, 

+ Compare Matter, Hist. du Gnosticisme, i , 137. 

ὁ Εφεσία γράμματα. 

| Ἱεροσυλια, Joseph., Ant., xvi.6. Krebs, Decre- 
ta Romanorum pro Judezis, Lipsiw, 1778. 


182 : — ¥ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. © 


up so little connexion with it as to be al- wrought all the wonders of their early 


most, if not entirely, ignorant of the prom- 
ulgation of Christianity. The most emi- 
nent of them, Apollos, had left the city for 
Corinth, where, meeting with St. Paul’s 
companions, the Roman Jews Priscilla and 
Aquila, he had embraced Christianity, and 
being a man of eloquence, immediately 
took such a lead in the community as to 
be set up by one of the conflicting parties 
as a kindof rivalof the apostle. The rest 
of this sect in Ephesus willingly listened 
to the teaching of Paul: to the number of 
twelve they “received the Holy Ghost,” 
and thus became the nucleus of a new 
Christian community in Ephesus. The 
followers of John the Baptist, no doubt, 
conformed in all respects with the cus- 
tomary worship of their countrymen : 
their peculiar opinions were superinduced, 
as-it were, upon their Judaism; they were 
still regular members of the synagogue. 
In the synagogue, therefore, Paul com- 
menced his labours, the success of which 
was so great as evidently to excite the 
hostility of the leading Jews: hence here 
likewise a complete separation took place ; 
the apostle obtained possession of a school 
belonging to a person named Tyrannus, 
most likely a Grecian sophist, and the 
Christian Church stood alone, as a distinct 
and independent place of Divine worship. 

Paul continued to reside in Ephesus two 
Ephesian Years, during which the rapid ex- 
magic. tension of Christianity was accel- 
erated by many wonderful cures. In 
Ephesus such cures were likely to be 
sought with avidity, but in this centre of 
magical superstition would.,by no means 
command belief in the Divine mission of 
the worker of miracles; Jews, as well as 
heathens, admitted the unlimited power 
of supernatural agencies, and vied with 
each other in the success of their rival en- 
chantments. The question then would 
arise, by what more than usually potent 
charm or mysterious power such extra- 
ordinary works were wrought. The fol- 
lowers of both religions had implicit faith 
in the magic influence of certain names. 
With the Jews, this belief was moulded 
up with their most sacred traditions. It 
was by the holy Tetra Grammaton,* the 
Sem-ham-phorash, according to the Alex- 
Jewish andrean historian of the Jews, that 
exorcisis. Moses and their gifted ancestors 


πέντ ὁ ὃ π΄ 

* Artabanus apud Euseb., Prep. Evangel., viii., 
28. Compare Clemens. Alex., Strom., νων. 562, 
It is curious enough that the constant repetition 
of the mysterious name of the Deity, Oum, should 
be the most acceptable act of devotion among the 
Indians, among the Jews the most awful and inex- 
piable impiety. 

μὰ 


history. Pharaoh trembled before it, and 
the plagues of Egypt had been obedient to 
the utterance of the awful monosyllable, 
the ineffable name of the Deity. ~ Caba- 
lism, which assigned at first sanctity, and 
afterward power. over the intermediate 
Spirits of good and evil, to certain combi- 
nations of letters and numbers, though 
not yet cultivated to its height, existed, no 
doubt, in its earlier elements, among the 
Jews of this period. Upon this principle, 
some of the Jews who practised exor- 
cism attributed all these prodigies of St. 
Paul to some secret power possessed by 
the name of Jesus. Among these were 
some men of high rank, the sons of one 
of the high-priests named Sceva. They 
seem to have believed in the superstition 
by which they ruled the minds of others, 
and supposed that the talismanic influence, 
which probably depended on cabalistic 
art, was inseparably connected with the 
pronunciation of this mystic name. Those 
whom this science or this trade of exor- 
cism (according as it was practised by the 
credulous or the crafty) employed for their 
purposes, were those unhappy beings of 
disordered imagination, possessed, accord- 
ing to the belief of the times, by evil spir- 
its. One of these, on whom they were 
trying this experiment, had probably be- 
fore been strongly impressed with the 
teaching of Paul and the religion which 
he preached ; and, irritated by the inter- 
ference of persons whom he might know 
to be hostile to the Christian party, as- 
saulted them with great violence, and 
drove them naked and wounded out of the | 
house.* ὶ 

This extraordinary event was not only — 
fatal to the pretensions of the Jewish ex- 
orcists, but at once seemed to put tows 
shame all who believed and who practised 
magical arts, and the manufacturers of 
spells and talismans. Multitudes came 
forward, and voluntarily gave up to be 
burned, not only all their store of amulets, 
but even the books which contained the 
magical formularies. Their value, as 
probably they were rated and estimated 
at a high price, amounted to 50,000 pieces 
of silver, most likely Attic drachms or 
Roman silver denarii, ἃ coin very current 
in Asia Minor, and worth about 73d. of 
our money. The sum would thus make 
something more than £1600. 

These superstitions, however, though 
domiciliated at Ephesus, were foreign, 
and, perhaps, according to the Roman 


* ῥὰ 


* Tt is not improbable that they may have taken 
off their ordinary dress, for the purpose of per- 
forining their incantation with greater solemnity. 


1} ai ban 


é. 


7 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. : 


provincial regulations, unlawful. Yet even 


the established religion, at least some of 


those dependant upon it for their subsist- 
ence, began to tremble at the rapid in- 
crease of the new faith. A collision now, 
for the first time, took place with the in- 
terests of that numerous class who were 


᾿ς directly connected with the support of the 
The Temple of 


reigning Polytheism. 
Ephesus, as one of the wonders of the 
world, was constantly visited by stran- 
_gers; a few, perhaps, from religion, many 
from curiosity or admiration of the unri- 
valled architecture; at all events, by the 
greater number of those who were always 
Spessine: accidentally or with mercantile 
Views, through one of the most celebrated 
marts of the Fast.. There was a common 
article of trade, a model or shrine of sil- 
ver representing the temple, which was 
prese:ved as a memorial, or, perhaps, as 
endowed with some sacred and talismanic 
power. The sale of these works gradual- 
ly fell off, and the artisans, at the insti- 
gation of a certain Demetrius, 
raised a violent popular tumult, 
and spread the exciting watch- 
word that the worship of Diana 
was in danger. The whole city 
rung with the repeated outcries, “ Great is 
‘Diana of the Ephesians.” Two of Paul’s 
companions were seized and dragged into 
the public theatre, the place where in many 
cities the public business was transacted. 
Paul was eager to address the multitude, 
but was restrained by the prudence of his 
friends, among whom were some. of the 
most eminent men of the province, the 
asiarchs.* The Jews appear to have been 


Demetrius, 
the maker 
of silver 
shrines, 
A.D. 57. 


implicated in the insurrection; and prob- 
ἘΣ ΤΏΡ pro 
. ably to exculpate themselves and dis- 


~ 


" 


wa 
a 


- 
Ν 


claim all connexion with the Christians, 
they put forward a certain Alexander, a 
man of eloquence and authority. The ap- 
pearance of Alexander seems not to have 
produced the effect they intended; as a 
Jew, he was considered hostile to the Pol- 
ytheistic worship; his voice was drowned 
by the turbulence, and for two hours no- 
thing could be heard in the assembly but 
the reiterated clamour, “ Great is Diana 
of the Ephesians.” The conduct of the 
magistrates seems to indicate that they 
were acting against a part of the commu- 
nity in whosé favour the imperial edicts 


* This office appears to have been a wreck of 
the ancient federal constitution of the Asiatic cities. 
The asiarchs were elective by certain cities, and 
represented the general league or confederation. 
They possessed the supreme sacerdotal authority ; 
regulated and presided in the theatric exhibitions. 
Their pontifical character renders it more remarka- 
able that they should have been favourably disposed 
toward Ὁ =! 


183 


were still in force. Either they did not 
yet clearly distinguish between the Jews 
and Christians, or supposed that the lat- 
ter, as originally Jews, were under the pro- 
tection of the same rescripts. Express- 
ing the utmost reverence for the establish- 
ed religion of Diana, they recommend 
moderation; exculpate the accused from 
the charge of intentional insult, either 
against the temple or the religion of the 
city; require that the eanse should be 
heard in a legal form; and. finally urge 
the danger which the city incurred of be- 
ing punished for the breach of the public 
peace by the higher authorities—the pro- 
consular governor of Asia. The tumult 
was allayed; but Paul seems to have 
thought it prudent to withdraw from the 
excited city, and to pursue his former line 
of travel into Macedonia and Greece. 
From Ephesus, accordingly, we trace 
his course through Macedonia to Corinth. 
Great changes had probably taken place in 
this community. The exiles from Rome, 
when the first violence of the edict of 
Claudius had passed away, both Jews and 
Christians, quietly stole back to their usual 
residences in the metropolis. In writing 
his epistle to the Roman Christians from 
this place, Paul seems to intimate both 
that the religion was again peaceably and 
firmly established in Rome (it counted 
some of the imperial household among 
its converts), and likewise that he was 
addressing many individuals with whom 
he was personally acquainted. As, then, 
it is quite clear, from the early history, 
that he had not himself travelled so far as 
Italy, Corinth seems the only place where 
he can have formed these connexions. 
His return led him, from fear of his hos- 
tile countrymen, back through Macedonia 
to Troas ; thence, taking ship at Assos, he 
visited the principal islands of the AZgean, 


~~ 


Miletus, where he had an interview with 
the heads of the Ephesian community ; 
thence by sea, touching at Coos, AD BS 
Rhodes, and Patara, to Tyre. Few ~ 
incidents occur during this long voyage : 
the solemn and affecting parting from the 
Ephesian Christians, who came to meet 
him at Miletus, implies a profound sense 
of the dangers which awaited him on his 
return to Palestine. The events which 
occurred during his journey, and his resi- 
dence in Jerusalem, have been already re- 
lated. This last collision with his native 
Judaism, and his imprisonment, occupy 
between two and three years.* 


* For the period between the year 58 and 61, see 
the last chapter, 


. 


Mytilene, Chios, and Samos; landed at. 


i? 


Ὁ 


we 


} 


184 


The next place in which the apostle 
AD. 61, Surveyed the strength and encoun- 
tered the hostility of paganism, 
was in the metropolis of the world. Re- 
leased from his imprisonment at Cesarea, 
the Christian apostle was sent to answer 
for his conduct in Jerusalem before the 
imperial tribunal, to which, as a Roman 


» Citizen, he had claimed his right of appeal. 


His voyage is singularly descriptive of 
the precarious navigation of the Mediter- 
ranean at that time ; and it is curious that, 
in the wild island of Melita, the apos- 
tle having been locked upon as an atro- 
cious criminal because a viper had fasten- 
ed upon his hand, when he shook the rep- 
tile off without having received any injury, 
was admired as a god. In the barbarous 
Melita as in the barbarous Lystra, the be- 
lief in gods under the human form had 
not yet given place to the incredulous 
spirit of the age. He arrives, at length, 
at the port in Italy where voyagers from 
Syria or Egypt usually disembarked, Pu- 
teoli. There appear to have been Chris- 
tians in that town, who received Paul, 
and with whom he resided for seven days. 
Many of the Roman Christians, apprized 
of his arrival, went out to meet him as far 
as the village of Appii Forum, or a place 
called the 'Three Taverns. But it is re- 
markable, that so complete by this time 
was the separation between the Jewish 
and Christian communities, that the former 
had no intelligence of his arrival, and, 
what is more singular, knew nothing what- 
ever of his case.* Possibly the usual 
correspondence with Jerusalem had been 
interrupted at the time of the expulsion of 
the Jews from Rome, and had not been 
re-established with its former regularity ; 
or, as is more probable, the persecution of 
Paul being a party and Sadducaic meas- 
ure, was neither avowed nor supported by 
the great body of the nation. ‘Those who 
had visited and returned from Jerusalem, 
being chiefly of the Pharisaic or more re- 
ligious party, were cither ignorant or im- 
perfectly informed of the extraordinary 
adventures of Paul in their native city: 
and two years had elapsed during his con- 
finement at Cesarea. Though still in 
form a prisoner, Paul enjoyed almost per- 
fect freedom, and his first step was a gen- 
eral appeal to the whole community of the 
Jews then resident in Rome. ‘To them he 
explained the cause of his arrival. It was 
not uncommon, in disputes between two 
parties in Jerusalem, that both parties 
should be summoned or sent at once by 
the governor, especially if, like Paul, they 


* Acts, xxviii., 21. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


demanded it asa right, to plead their cause 
before the imperial courts. More than 
once the high-priest himself had been re- 
duced to the degrading situation of a 
criminal before a higher tribunal; and 
there are several instances in which a 
the arts of court intrigue were employed . 
to obtain a decision on some question of 
Jewish polities. Paul, while he acknowl- 
edges that his conflict with his country- 


‘men related to his belief in Christ as the 


Messiah, disclaims all intention of arraign- 
ing the ruling authorities for their injus- 
tice : he had no charge to advance against 
the nation. The Jews, in general, seem 
to have been inclined to hear from so high 
an authority the real doctrines of the Gos- 
pel. They assembled for that purpose at 
the house in which the apostle was con- 
fined; and, as usual, some were favour- 
ably disposed to the Christianity of Paul, 
others rejected it with the most confirmed 
obduracy. 

But at this instant we pass at once 
from the firm and solid ground 4p 68. gs. 
of authentic and credible his- Paut leaves 
tory upon the quaking and in- Rome. 
secure footing of legendary tradition. A 
few scattered notices of the personal his- 
tory of Paul may be gathered from the la- 
ter epistles ; but the last fact which we re- 
ceive from the undoubted authority of the 
writer of the Acts is, that two years pass-_ 
ed before the apostle left Rome.* To τς 
what examination he was subjected, in| 
what manner his release was obtained, all 
is obscure, or, rather, without one ray of 
light. But to the success of Paulin Rome, 
and to the rapid progress of Christianity 
during these two eventful years, we have. 
gloomy and melancholy evidence. The 
next year after his departure is darkly no- 
ted in the annals of Rome as the era of 
that fatal fire which enveloped in Purning 
ruin all the ancient grandeur of of Rome. 
the Eternal City ; in those of Christianity 
as the epoch of the first heathen perse- 
cution. This event throws* considerable 
light on the state of the Christian Chureh 
at Rome. No secret or very inconsider- 
able community would have attracted the 
notice or satisfied the bloodthirsty cruelty 
of Nero. ‘The people would not have con- 
sented to receive them as atgning victims 
for the dreadful disaster of the conflagra- 


* Whatever might be the reason for the abrupt 
termination of the book of the Acts, which could 
neither be the death of the author, for he’ probably 
survived St. Paul, nor his total separation from him, 
for he was with him towards the close of his ca- 
reer (2 Tim., iv., 11), the expression in the last 
verse but one of the Acts limits the residence of 
St. Paul in Rome at that time to two years, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 185 


tion, nor would the reckless tyranny of 
the emperor have condescended to select 
them as sa al offerings to appease the 
᾿ 4 t 
popular fury, unless they had been nu- 
erous, far above contempt, and already 
oked upon with a jealous eye. Nor is 
it less clear that, even to the blind discern- 
ment of popular indignatién and impe- 
rial cruelty, the Christians were by this 
time distinguished from the Jews. They 
were no longer a mere sect of the parent 
nation, but a separate, a marked, and pe- 
culiar people, known by their distinctive 
usages, and incorporating many of Gentile 
descent into their original Jewish com- 
munity. 

Though at first there appears something 
unaccountable in this proscription of a 
harmless and unobtrusive sect, against 
whom the worst charge at last was the in- 
troduction of a new and peaceful form of 
worshipping one Deity, a privilege which 
the Jew had always enjoyed without mo- 
lestation, yet the process by which the 
public mind was led to this outburst of 
fury, and the manner in which it was di- 
rected against the Christians, are clearly 
indicated by the historian.* After the 
first consternation and distress, an access 
of awe-struck superstition seized on the 
popular mind. Great public calamities 
can never be referred to obvious or acci- 
ental causes. The trembling people had 
recourse to religious rites, endeavoured to 
ascertain by what offended deities this 
dreadful judgment had been inflicted, and 
sought for victims to appease their yet, 
perhaps, unmitigated gods.t But when su- 
perstition has once found out victims to 
whose guilt or impiety it may ascribe the 
Divine anger, human revenge mingles it- 
self up with the relentless determination 
to propitiate offended Heaven, and con- 
tributes still more to blind the judgment 
and exasperate the passions. The other 
foreign religions, at which the native dei- 
ties might take offence, had been long dom- 
iciliated at Rome. Christianity was the 
newest, perhaps was making the most 
alarming progress: it was no national re- 
ligion ; it was disclaimed with eager an- 
imosity by the Jews, among whom it ori- 
ginated ; its principles and practices were 
obscure and unintelligible, and that ob- 
scurity the excited imagination of the hos- 


* Mox petita diis piacula, aditique Sibylle libri, 
ex quibus supplicatum Vulcano et Cereri Proserpin- 
mque, ac propitiata Juno per matronas, primim in 
Capitolio, demde apud proximum mare, &c.—Tac., 
Ann., xv., 44. 

+ Sed non ope humana, non largitionibus princi- 
pis, aut dem placamentis decedebat infamia, quin 
jussum incendium crederetur. 


Aa 


tile people might fill up with the darkest 
and most monstrous forms. 

We have sometimes thought it possible 
that incautious or misinterpret- probable 
ed expressions of the Chris- causes which 
tians themselves might have {u)icsted the 
attracted the blind resentment with this 
of the people. The minds of event. 
the Christians were constantly occupied 
with the terrific images of the final coming 
of the Lord to judgment in fire; the con- 
flagration of the world was the expected 
consummation, which they devoutly sup- 
posed to be instantly at hand. When, 
therefore, they saw the great metropolis 
of the world, the city of pride, of sensual- 
ity, of idolatry, of bloodshed, blazing like 
a fiery furnace before their eyes—the 
Babylon of the West wrapped in one vast 
sheet of destroying flame—the more fa- 
natical, the Jewish part of the community,* 
may have looked on with something of 
fierce hope and eager anticipation ; expres- 
sions almost triumphant may have burst 
from unguarded lips. They may have at- 
tributed the ruin to the righteous ven- 
geance of the Lord; it may have seemed 
the opening of that kingdom which was to 
commence with the discomfiture, the des- 
olation of heathenism, and to conclude 
with the establishment of the millennial 
kingdom of Christ. Some of these, in the 
first instance, apprehended and examined, 
may have made acknowledgments before 
a passionate and astonished tribunal which 
would lead to the conclusion that in the 
hour of general destruction they had some 
trust, some security, denied to the rest of 
mankind ; and this exemption from com- 
mon misery, if it would not mark them 
out in some dark mannerf as the authors 
of the conflagration, at all events would 
convict them of that hatred of the human 


race so often advanced against the Jews. 


Inventive cruelty sought out new ways 
of torturing these victims of popular hatred 
and imperial injustice. The calm and se- 
rene patience with which they were arm- 


* Some deep and permanent cause of hatred 
against the Christians, it may almost seem, as con- 
nected with this disaster, can alone account for the 
strong expressions of Tacitus, writing so many 
years after: Sontes et novissima exempla meritos.* 

+ Haud perinde in crimine incendii quam odio 
generis humani conyicti sunt. 


* (Both Pliny (lib. x., ep. 97) and Trajan (ep. 98) deem- 
ed the firmness of the Christians in adhering to their reli- 
gion and their refusing to do sacrifice as sufficient ground 
for puttingthem to death. What evidence, then, does this 
passage afford for Mr. Milman’s conjecture? Melito Sar- 
dicensis (in Euseb., HW. E., iv., 26) says that Nero was per- 
suaded by certain malevolent persons (ὑπό τινων Bucka- 
vav ἀνθρωπων). Must they have used indiscreet language 
respecting the conflagration in order to have private ene- 
mies 1] 


186 


ed by their religion against the most ex- 


cruciating sufferings, may have irritated 


still farther their ruthless persecutors. 
The sewing up men in the skins of beasts, 
and setting dogs to*tear them to pieces, 
may find precedent in the annals of human 
barbarity ;* but the covering them over 
with a kind of dress smeared with wax, 
pitch, or other combustible matter, with a 
stake under their chin to keep them up- 
right, and then placing them to be slowly 
consumed, like torches in the public gar- 
dens of popular amusement, this seems to 
have been an invention of the time; and, 
from the manner in which it is mentioned 
by the Roman writers as the most horri- 
ble torture known, appears to have made 
a profound impression onthe general mind. 
Even a people habituated to gladiatorial 
shows, and to the horrible scenes of whole- 
5816 execution which were of daily occur- 
rence during the reigns of Tiberius, Calig- 
ula, and Nero, must yet have been in an 
unusual state of exasperated excitement 
to endure, or, rather, to take pleasure in 
the sight of these unparalleled barbarities. 
Thus the gentle, the peaceful religion of 
Christ was welcomed upon earth by new 
application of man’s inventive faculties to 
inflict suffering and to satiate revenge.t 
The apostle was no doubt absent from 
Rome at the commencement and during 
the whole of this persecution. His course 
is dimly descried by the hints scattered 
through his later epistles. It is probable 
that he travelled into Spain. The asser- 
tion of Irenzus, that he penetrated to the 
extreme West,f coincides with his inten- 


* Et pereuntibus addita ludibria, ut ferarum ter- 
gis obtecti, laniatu canum interirent ; aut crucibus 
affixi, aut flammandi, atque ubi defecisset dies, in 
usum nocturni luminis urerentur.—Tac., Ann., ΧΡ.» 
54. Juvenal calls this “tunica molesta,” viii., 235. 


tada lucebis in illA 
Qua stantes ardent, qui fixo gutture fumant 
Et Jatum media suleum deducit aren§.—i., 155. 


Ilam tunicam alimentis ignium illitam et intextam. 
—Senec., Epist. xix. It was probably thought ap- 
propriate to consume with slow fire the authors of 
the conflagration. 

¢ Gibbon’s extraordinary “conjecture” that the 
Christians in Rome were confounded with the Gal- 
ileans, the fanatical followers of Judas the Gaulo- 
nite, is most improbable. The sect of Judas was 
not known beyond the precincts of Palestine. The 
insinuation that the Jews may have escaped the 
proscription, through the interest of the beautiful 
Poppza and the favourite Jewish player Aliturus, 
though not very likely, is more in character with 
the times. 

‘t The visit of St. Paul to Britain, in our opinion, 
is a fiction of religious national vanity. It has few 
or no advocates except English ecclesiastical anti- 
quarians. In fact, the state of the island, in which 
the precarious sovereignty of Rome was still fierce- 

“ly contested by the native barbarians, seems to be 
entirely forgotten. Civilization had made little prog- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. © 


< 


|tion of visiting that province declared at 


an earlier period. As it is difficult to as- 
sign to any other part of his life the estab- 
lishment of Christianity in Crete, it may 
be permitted to suppose that from Spain 
his course lay eastward, not improbably 
with the design of revisiting Jerusalem. 
That he enter€ained this design there ap- 
pears some evidence; none, however, that 
he accomplished it.* The state of Judwa, 
in which Roman oppression had now be- 
gun, under Albinus, if not under Florus,t 
to grow to an intolerable height ; the spirit 
of indignant resistance which pias Teena 
ing in the mind of the people, might either 
operate to deter or to induce the apostle 
to undertake the journey. On the one 
hand, if the Jews should renew their im- 
placable hostility, the Christians, now hav- 
ing become odious to the Roman govern- 
ment, could expect no protection; the ra- 
pacious tyranny of the new rulers would 
seize every occasion of including the 
Christian community under the grinding 
and vexatious system of persecution: and 
such occasion would be furnished by any 
tumult in which they might be implicated. 
On the other hand, the popular mind among 
the Jews being absorbed by stronger. in- 
terests, engrossed by passions even more 
powerful than hatred of Christianity, the _. 
apostle might have entered the city unno- — 
ticed, and remained concealed among his 
Christian friends ; particularly as the fre- 
quent change in the ruling authorities, and 
the perpetual deposal of the high-priest 
during the long interval of his absence, 
may have stripped his leading adversaries 
of their authority. 

Be this as it may, there are manifest 
vestiges of his having visited many cities 
of Asia Minor—Ephesus, Colosse,{ Mile- 


ress in Britain till the conquest of Agricola. Up 
to that time it was occupied only by the invading 
legionaries, fully employed in extending and guard- 
ing their conquests, and our wild ancestors with 
their stern Druidical hierarchy. From which class 
were the apostle’s hearers or converts? My friend 
Dr. Cardwell, ina recent essay on this subject, con- 
curs with this opinion. Hod 

* This is inferred from Hebr., xiii., 23. This in- 
ference, however, assumes several points. In the 
first place, that Paul is the author of the Epistle to 
the Hebrews. To this opinion, though by no means 
certain, we strongly incline, But it does not fol- 
low that Paul fulfilled his intention; and even the 
intention was conditional, and dependant on the 
speedy arrival of Timothy, which may or may not 
have taken place.* ὴ 

+ Florus succeeded Albinus A.D. 64. 

ft Philem., 22. 


* [This journey to Spain rests on very slight evidence, 
and the many parts of the East travelled over by him 
would probably occupy the whole time of his absence from 
Rome. ] 


--» 


— 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tus,* Troas ;¢ that he passed a winter at 


Nicopolis, in Epirus.{ From hence he 


may have descended to Corinth,§ and from 
Corinth probable reasons may be assign- 
ed for his return to Rome. In all these 
cities, and doubtless in many others where 
we have no record of the first promulga- 
tion of the religion, the Christians formed 
regular and organized communities. Con- 
stant intercourse seems to have been 
maintained throughout the whole confed- 
eracy. Besides the apostles, other per- 
sons seem to have been constantly travel- 
ling about, some entirely devoted to the 
dissemination of the religion, others uni- 
ting it with their own secular pursuits. 
Onesiphorus,|| it may be supposed, a 
wealthy merchant resident at Ephesus, 
being in Rome at the time of Paul's im- 
prisonment, laboured to alleviate the irk- 
someness of his confinement. Paul had 
constantly one, sometimes many compan- 
ions in his journeys. Some of these he 
seems to have established, as Titus, in 
Crete, to preside over the young commu- 
nities ; others were left behind for a time 
to superintend the interests of the religion ; 
Others, as Luke, the author of the Acts, 


were in more regular attendance upon 


him, and appear to have been only occa- 


‘sionally separated by accidental circum- 


stances. But if we may judge from the 
authentic records of the New Testament, 
the whole Christianity of the West ema- 
nated from Paul alone. The indefatigable 
activity of this one man had planted Chris- 
tian colonies, each of which became the 
centre of a new moral civilization, from 
the borders of Syria as far as Spain, and 
to the city of Rome. 

Tradition assigns to the last year of 
ap.c. Nero the martyrdom both of St. 

Peter and St. Paul. That of the 

former rests altogether on unauthoritative 
testimony ; that of the latter is rendered 
highly probable from the authentic record 
of the second Epistle to Timothy. This 
letter was written by the author when in 
custody at Rome,{ apparently under more 
rigorous confinement than during his first 
imprisonment ; not looking forward to his 
release,** but with steadfast presentiment 
of his approaching violent death. It con- 
tains allusions to his recent journey in 
Asia Minor and Greece. He had already 
undergone a first examination,ft and the 
~* 2 Tim., iv., 20. 

+ 2 Tim., iv., 13. Compare 
line. t Titus, iii., 12. 

ὁ 2 Tim., iv., 20. || 2 Tim., 1., 16, 18, 

q All the names of the church who unite in the 
salutation, iv., 21, are Roman. 

ee OD Tins ἵν... 8, Op: 7 

tt 2 Tim., iv., 12, 16. Rosenmiuller, however (in 


ἡ, 


Paley, Hore Pau- 


187 


danger was so great that he had been de- 


‘serted by some of his attached followers, 
| particularly by Demas. 


If conjecture be 


jadmitted, the preparations for the recep- 
tion of Nero at Coriuth during the cele-— 


bration of the Isthmian games may have 
caused well-grounded apprehensions to the 
Christian community in that city. Paul 
might have thought it prudent to withdraw 
from Corinth, whither his last journey had 
brought him, and might seize the oppor- 
tunity of the emperor’s .absence to visit 
and restore the persecuted community at 
Rome. During the absence of Nero, the 
government of Rome and of Italy was in- 
trusted to the freed-slave Helius, a fit rep- 
resentative of the absent tyrant. He had 
full power of life and death, even over the 
senatorial order. The world, says Dion, 
was enslaved at once to two autocrats, 
Helius and Nero. ‘Thus Paul may have 
found another Nero in the hostile capital ; 
and the general tradition that he was put 
to death, not by order of the emperor, but 
of the governor of the city, coincides with 
this state of things. 

The fame of St. Peter, from whom she 
claims the supremacy of the Christian 
world, has eclipsed that of St. Paul in the 
Eternal City. The most splendid temple 
which has been erected by Christian zeal 
to rival or surpass the proudest edifices of 
heathen magnificence, bears the name of 
that apostle, while that of St. Paul rises 
in a remote and unwholesome suburb. 
Studious to avoid, if possible, the treacher- 
ous and slippery ground of polemic con- 
troversy, we must be permitted to express 
our surprise that in no part of the authen- 
tic Scripture occurs the slightest. allusion 
to the personal history of St. Peter, as 
connected with the Western churches. 
At all events, the conversion of the Gen- 
tile world was the acknowledged province 
of St. Paul. In that partition treaty in 
which these two moral invaders divided 
the yet unconquered world, the more civ- 
ilized province of Greek and Roman hea- 
thenism was assigned to him who was 
emphatically called the apostle of the Gen- 
tiles, while the Jewish population fell un- 
der the particular care of the Galilean Pe- 
ter. For the operations of the latter, no 
part of the world exclusive of Palestine, 
which seems to have been left to James 
the Just, would afford such ample scope 
for success as Babylonia and the Asiatic 
provinces, to which the Epistles of Peter 
areaddressed. His own writings distinct- 
ly show that he was connected by some 


loc.), understands this [first examination] of the ex- 
amination during his first trial. 


~ occurrit illud. — Acts, ii, 10. 


~88 


intimate tie with these communities ; and 
as it appears that Galatia was a strong- 
hold of Judaical Christianity, it is probable 
that the greater part of those converts 
were originally Jews or Asiatics, whom Ju- 
daism had already prepared for the recep- 
tion of Christianity. Where Judaism thus 
widely prevailed was the appropriate prov- 
ince of the apostle of the circumcision. 
While, then, those whose severe histori- 
cal criticism is content with nothing less 
than contemporary evidence, or, at least, 
probable inferences from such records, 
will question, at least, the permanent es- 
tablishment of Peter in the imperial city, 
those who admit the authority of tradition 
will adhere to, and may, indeed, make a 
strong case in favour of St. Peter’s resi- 
dence,* or his martyrdom at Rome.t 
The spent wave of the Neronian perse- 
cution} may have recovered sufficient force 


= 


* The authorities are Irenzus, Dionysius of Cor- 
inth apud Eusebium, and Epiphanius, 

+ Pearson in his Opera Posthuma, Diss. de serie 
et successione Rome. Fpiscop. supposes Peter to 
have been in Rome. Compare Townson on the 
Gospels, Diss. 5, sect. v. Barrow (Treatise of the 
Pope’s Supremacy) will not ‘“avow” the opinion of 
those who argue him never to have been at Rome, 
vol. vi., p. 139, Oxford ed., 1818. Lightfoot, whose 
profound knowledge of everything relating to the 
Jewish nation entitles his opinions to respect, ob- 
serves, in confirmation of his assertion that Peter 
lived and died in Chaldea, quam absurdum est 
statuere, ministrum precipuum circumcisionis se- 
dem suam figere in metropoli preputiatorum, Roma. 
—Lightfoot’s. Works, 8vo edit., x., 392. 

If, then, with Barrow, I may “bear some civil re- 
spect to ancient testimonies and traditions” (loc. 
cit.), the strong bias of my own mind is to the fol- 
lowing solution of this problem. With Lightfoot 

_I believe that Babylonia was the scene of St. Peter’s 
labours. But 1am likewise confident that in Rome, 
as in Corinth, there were two communities—a Pe- 
trine and a Pauline—a Judaizing and a Hellenizing 
church. The origin of the two communities in the 
doctrines attributed to the two apostles may have 
been gradually transmuted into the foundation first 
of each cominunity, then generally of the Church 
of Rome, by the two apostles. All the difficulties 
in the arrangement of the succession to the episco- 
pal see of Rome vanish if we suppose two contem- 
porary lines. Here, as elsewhere, the Judaizing 
church either expired or was absorbed in the Paul- 
ine community. 

The passage in the Corinthians by no means ne- 
cessarily implies the personal presence of Peter in 
that city. There wasa party there, no doubt a Ju- 
daizing one, which professed to preach the pure 

ctrine of ‘“‘Cephas” in opposition to that of Paul, 

nd who called themselves, therefore, “‘ of Cephas.” 

Dum primos ecclesia Romane fundatores quero 
‘Or ἐπιδημοῦντες 
Ῥωμαῖοι Ἰουδαῖοι τε kai προσήλυτοι. Lightfoot’s 
Works, 8vo edit , χ., 392. 

1 As to the extent of the Neronian persecution, 
whether it was general or confined to the city of 
Rome, I agree with Mosheim that only one valid 
argument is usually advanced on either side. On 
the one hand, that of Dodwell, that the Christians 


¢ 


® 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ἵ 


ε Ἢ ͵ 

to sweep away those who were employed 
in reconstructing the shattered edifice of 
Christianity in Rome. The return of an 
individual, however personally obscure, 
yet connected with a sect so recently pro- 
seribed, both by popular odium and public 
authority, would scarcely escape the vigil- 
ant police of the metropolis. One indi- 
vidual is named, Alexander the copper- 
smith, whose seemingly personal hostility 
had caused or increased the danger in 
which Paul considered himself during his 
second imprisonment. He may have been 
the original informer who betrayed his 
being in Rome, or his intimate ‘alliance 
with the Christians; or he may have ap- 
peared as evidence against him during his 
examination. Though there may have 
been no existing law or imperial rescript 
against the Christians, and Paul, having 
been absent from Rome at the time, could 
not be implicated in the charge of incen- 
diarism, yet the representative of Nero, 
if faithfully described by Dion Cassius,* 
would pay little regard to the forms of 
criminal justice, and would have no s¢ 

Ψ =) of 


ple in ordering the summary execut 
an obscure individual, since it Μ 
does not appear that, in exerci- of Paul.” 

sing the jurisdiction of prefect of the city, 
he treated the lives of knights or of sena- 
tors with more respect. ‘I‘here is, there- 
fore, no improbability that the Christian 


being persecuted, not on account of their religion, 
but on the charge of incendiarism, that charge could 
not have been brought against those who lived be- 
yond the precincts of the city. Though as to this 
point it is to be feared that many an honest Prot- 
estant would have considered the real crime of the 
gunpowder plot, or the imputed guilt of the fire of 
London, ample justification for a general persecu.- 
tion of the Roman Catholics. On the other hand 
is alleged the authority of Tertullian, who refers, 
in a public apology to the laws of Nero and Domi- 
tian against the Christians, an expression too dis- 
tinct to pass for rhetoric, even in that passionate 
writer, though he may have magnified temporary 
edicts into general Jaws, The Spanish inscription 
not only wants confirmation, but even evidence 
that it ever existed. There is, however, a point of 
some importance in favour of the first opinion. 
Paul appears to have travelled about through a 
great part of the Roman empire during this inter- 
val, yet we have no intimation of his being in more 
than ordinary personal danger. Jt was not till his 
return to Rome that he was again apprehended, 
and at length suffered martyrdom. 

* Τοὺς μέντοι ἐν τῇ Ῥώμῃ. καὶ τῇ Ἰταλίᾳ πάν- 
τας Ἡλίω τινὶ Καισαρείῳ ἐκδότους παρέδωκε. 
Πάντα γὰρ ἀπλῶς ἐπετέτραπτο, ὦστε καὶ δημεύ- 
εἰν, καὶ φυγαδεύειν, καὶ ἀποκτιννύναι (καὶ πρὶν 
δηλῶσαι τῷ Νέρωνι) καὶ ἰδιώτας ὁμοίως, καὶ ἱπ- 
πέας καὶ βουλευτὰς. Οὕτω μὲν δὴ τότε ἡ τῶν 
Ῥωμαίων ἀρχὴ δύο αὐτοκράτορσιν ἅμα ἐδούλευε, 
Νέρωνι καὶ Ἡλίῳ. Οὐδὲ ἔχω εἰπεῖν ὁπότερος 
αὐτῶν χείρων ἦν.--- Dion Cassius (or Xiphilin), 
Ixiii., c. 12, 


om. 


ν᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


, Ὡν 
Church in Rome may have faithfully pre- 
served the fact of Paul’s execution, and 
even cherished in their pious memory the 
spot on the Ostian road watered by the 
blood of the apostle. As a Roman citizen, 
Paul is said to have been beheaded in- 
stead of being suspended to a cross, or 
exposed to any of those horrid tortures 
invented for the Christians; and so far 
the modest probability of the relation may 


189 


confirm rather than impeach its truth. 
The other circumstances—his conversion 
of the @oldiers who carried him to execu- 
tion, and of the executioner himself—bear 
too much the air of religious romance; 
though, indeed, the Roman Christians 
had not the same interest in inventing or 
embellishing the martyrdom of Paul as 
that of the other great apostle from whom 
they derive their supremacy. 


CHAPTER IV. 


CHRISTIANITY TO THE CLOSE OF THE FIRST CENTURY.—CONSTITUTION OF CHRISTIAN 
CHURCHES. 


Tur changes in the moral are usually 
Great revo. Wrought as imperceptibly as 
lutions slow those in the physical world. 
and gradual. Ffad any wise man, either con- 
vineed of the Divine origin of Christianity, 
or even contemplating with philosophical 
city the essential nature of the new 
n and the existing state of the hu- 
nan mind, ventured to predict, that from 

ashes of these obscure men would 
> a moral sovereignty more extensive 
and lasting than that of the Cesars; that 
buildings more splendid than any which 


τς adorned the new marble city, now rising 


from the ruins of the conflagration, would 
be dedicated to their name, and maintain 
their reverence for an incalculably longer 
period, such vaticinations would have 
met the fate inseparable from the wisdom 
which outstrips its age; would have been 
scorned by contemporary pride, and only 
admired after their accomplishment by 
late posterity. The slight and contempt- 
uous notice excited by Christianity during 
the first century of its promulgation is in 
strict accordance with this ordinary de- 
velopment of the great and lasting revolu- 
tions in human affairs. The moral world 
has sometimes, indeed, its voleanic ex- 
plosions, which suddenly and violently 
convulse and reform the order of things ; 
but its more enduring changes are in gen- 
eral produced by the slow and silent work- 
ings of opinions remotely prepared, and 
gradually expanding to their mature and 
irresistible influence. In default, there- 
fore, of real information as to the secret 
but simultaneous progress of Christianity 
in so many quarters and among all ranks, 
we are left to speculate on the influence 
of the passing events of the time, and of 
the changes in the public mind, whether 
favourable or prejudicial to the cause of 
Christianity, catching only faint and un- 


* 


certain gleams of its peculiar history 
through the confused and rapidly-changing 
course of public affairs. 

The Imperial history, from the first pro- 
mulgation of Christianity dOW0 Imperial his- 
to the accession of Constantine, tory divided 
divides itself into four distinct 119 Our pe 
but unequal periods. More than ; 
thirty years are occupied by the line of 
the first Caesars; rather less by the con- 
flicts which followed the death of Nero 
and the government of the Flavian dy- 


nasty. The first years of Trajan, who - 
ascended the Imperial throne A.D. 98,_ 


nearly synchronize with the opening of 
the second century of Christianity ; and 
that splendid period of internal peace and 
advancing civilization, of wealth, and of 
prosperity, which has been described as 
the happiest in the annals of mankind, ex- 
tends over the first eighty years of that 
century.* Down to the accession of Con- 
stantine, nearly at the commencement of 
the fourth century, the empire became, 
like the great monarchies of the Kast, the 
prize of successful ambition and enter- 
prise : almost every change of ruler is a 
change of dynasty; and already the bor- 
ders of the empire have ceased to be re- 
spected by the menacing, the conquering 
Barbarians. 

It is remarkable how singularly the po- 
litical character of each period first period 
was calculated to advance the tothe death 
growth of Christianity. otnere. 

During the first of these periods, the 
government, though it still held in respect 
the old republican institutions, was, if not 


* Among the writers who have discussed this 
question may be consulted Hegewisch, whose work 
has been recently translated by M. Solvet, under 
the title of Essai sur l’Epoque de l’Histoire Ro- 
maine la plus heureuse pour le Genre Humain, 
Paris, 1834. 


- 


it is blind or indifferent.* 


190 


*. 


in form, in its administration purely des- 
The state centred in the person 
of the emperor. This kind of hefeditary 
autoeracy is essentially selfish: it is con- 
tent with averting or punishing plots 
against the person, or detecting and crush- 


potic. 


ing conspiracies against the power, of the 
existing monarch. ‘To those more remote 


or secret changes which are working in 


the depths of society, eventually, perhaps, 


threatening the existence of the monarchy 


or the stability of all the social relations, 


Sagacity to discern, intelligence to com- 
prehend, nor even the disinterested zeal 


_ for the perpetuation of its own despotism, 


to counteract such distant and contingent 
dangers. Of all innovations it is, in gen- 
eral, sensitively jealous ; but they must be 
palpable and manifest, and directly clash- 
ing with the passions or exciting the fears 
of the sovereign. Even these are met by 
temporary measures. When an outcry 
was raised against the Egyptian religion 
as dangerous to public morality, an edict 
commanded the expulsion of its votaries 
from the city. When the superstition of 
the emperor shuddered at the predictions 
of the mathematicians, the whole frater- 
nity fell under the same interdict. When 
the public peace was disturbed by the dis- 
sensions among the Jewish population of 
Rome, the summary sentence of Claudius 
visited both Jews and Christians with the 
same indifferent severity. So the Nero- 
nian persecution was an accident, arising 
out of the fire of Rome, no part of a sys- 
tematic political plan, for the suppression 
of foreign religions. It might have fallen 
on any other sect or body of men who 
might have been designated as victims to 
appease the popular resentment. The 
provincial administrations would be actu- 
ated by the same principles as the central 
government, and be alike indifferent to the 
quiet progress of opinions, however dan- 
gerous to the existing order of things. 
Unless some breach of the public peace 
demanded their interference, they. would 
rarely put forth their power; and, content 
with the maintenance of order, the regular 
collection of the revenue, the more rapa- 
cious with the punctual payment of their 
own exactions, the more enlightened with 
the improvement and embellishment of the 
cities under their charge, they would look 
on the rise and propagation of a new reli- 
gion with no more concern than that of a 


* Sevi proximis ingruunt. In this one pregnant 
sentence of Tacitus is explained the political se- 
cret, that the mass of the people have sometimes 


_been comparatively wnoppressed under the most 
_sanguinary tyranny. 


It has neither 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. © 


, 


new philosophic sect, particularly in the 
eastern part of the empire, where the reli- 
gions were in general more foreign to the 
character of the Greek or Roman Poly- 
theism. The popular feeling during this 
first period would only under peculiar 
circumstances outstrip the activity of the 
government. Accustomed to the separate 
worship of the Jews, to them Christianity 
appeared at first only as a modification of 
that belief. Local jealousies or personal 
animosities might, in different places, ex- 
cite a more active hostility ; in Rome it is 
evident that the people were only worked 
up to find inhuman delight in. the suffer- 
ings of the Christians, by the misrepre- 
sentations of the government, by super- 
Stitious solicitude to find some victims to 
appease the angry gods, and that strange 
consolation of human misery, the delight 
of wreaking vengeance on whomsoever it 
can possibly implicate as the cause of the 
calamity. 

During the whole, then, of this first pe- 
riod to the death of Nero, both the prim- 
itive obscurity of Christianity and the 
transient importance it assumed as a dan- 
gerous enemy of the people of Rome, and 
subsequently as the guiltless victim of pop- 
ular vengeance, would tend to its eventual 
progress. Its own innate activity, with 
all the force which it carried with it, both 
inits internal and external impulse, would — 
propagate it extensively in the inferior and 
middle classes of society: while, though 
the great mass of the higher orders would 
still remain unacquainted with its real na- 
ture and with its relation to its parent Ju- 
daism, it was quite enough before the pub- 
lic attention to awaken the curiosity of 
the more inquiring, and to excite the in- 
terest of those who were seriously con- 
cerned in the moral advancement of man- 
kind. In many quarters it is far from im- 
possible that the strong revulsion of the 
public mind against Nero after his death 
may have extended some commiseration 
towards his innocent victims:* that the” 
Christians were acquitted by the popular 
feeling of any real connexion with the fire 
at Rome, is evident from Tacitus, who re- 
treats into vague expressions of general 
scorn and animosity.t At all events, the 
persecution must have had the effect of 
raising the importance of Christianity, so 
as to force it upon the notice of many 
who might otherwise have been ignorant 
a ola Ss 

* This was the caseevenin Rome. Unde quan- 
quam adyersus sontes et novissima exempla meri- 
tos. miseratio oriebatur, tanquam non utilitate pub- 
lich, sed in saevitiam unius absumerentur.--Tac., 
Ann., xv., 44 

{ Odio humani generis convicti. 


7? 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of its existence: the new and peculiar 
fortitude with which the sufferers endured 
their unprecedented trials would strongly 
recomniend it to those who were dissatis- 
fied with the moral power of their old re- 
ligion, while, on the other hand, it was 
yet too feeble and obscure to provoke a 
systematic plan for its suppression. 
During the second period of the first 
Secor e. century, from A.D. 68 to 98, the 
riod to the Gate of the accession of Trajan, 
accession the larger portion was occupied 
of Trejan. by the reign of Domitian, a ty- 
rant in whom the successors of Augustus 
might appear to revive, both in the mon- 
strous vices of his personal character and 
of his government. Of the Flavian dynas- 
ty, the father alone, Vespasian, from the 
comprehensive vigour of his mind, per- 
haps from his knowledge of the Jewish 
character and religion, obtained during his 
residence in the Kast, was likely to esti- 
mate the bearings and future prospects of 
Christianity. But the total subjugation of 
Juda and the destruction of the Temple 
of Jerusalem having reduced the religious 
parents of the Christians to so low a 
state, their nation, and, consequently, their 
religion, being, according to the ordinary 
course of events, likely to mingle up and 
become absorbed in the general popula- 
tion of the Roman empire, Christianity, 
it might reasonably be supposed, would 
scarcely survive its original stock, and 
might be safely left to burn out by the 
same gradual process of extinction. Be- 
sides this, the strong mind of Vespasian 
was fully occupied by the restoration of 
order in the capital and in the provinces, 
and in fixing on a firm basis the yet uriset- 
tled authority of the Flavian dynasty. A 
more formidable, because more imme- 
diate, danger threatened the existing or- 
der of things. The awful genius of Ro- 
man liberty had entered into an alliance 
with the higher philosophy of the time. 
Stoic phi- Republican stoicism, brooding in 
Josophers. the noblest minds of Rome, look- 
ed back with vain though passionate re- 
gret to the free institutions of their an- 
cestors, and demanded the old liberty of 
action. It was this dangerous movement, 
not the new and humble religion, which 
calmly acquiesced in all political changes, 
and contented itself with liberty of thought 
and opinion, which put to the test the pru- 
dence and moderation of the Emperor 
Vespasian. It was the spirit of Cato, not 
of Christ, which he found it necessary to 
control. The enemy before which he 
trembled was the patriot Thrasea, not the 
apostle St. John, who was silenity win- 
ning over Ephesus to the new faith. The 


isa ἃ »- 


191 


» 
edict of expulsion from Rome fell not on 
the worshippers of foreign religions, but 
on the philosophers, a comprehensive 
term, but which was. probably limited to 
those whose opinions were considered 
dangerous: to the imperial authority.* 

It was only with the new fiscal regula- 
tions of the rapacious and parsimonious 
Vespasian that the Christians were acci- 
dentally implicated. The emperor con- 
tinued to levy the capitation tax, which 
had been willingly and proudly paid by 
the Jews throughout the empire for the 
maintenance of theirown Temple at Jeru- 
salem, for the restoration of the idolatrous 
fane of the Capitoline Jupiter, which had 
been destroyed in the civil contests. The 
Jew submitted with sullen reluc- Templetdie 
tance to this insulting exaction ; 
but even the hope of escaping it would not 
incline him to disguise or dissemble his 
faith. But the Judaizing Christian, and 
even the Christian of Jewish descent, 
who had entirely thrown off his religion, 
yet was marked by the indelible sign 
of his race, was placed in a singularly 
perplexing position.t The rapacious pub- 
lican who farmed the tax was not likely 
to draw any true distinction among those 
whose features, connexions, name, and 
notorious descent still designated them 
as liable to the tax: his coarser mind 
would consider the profession of Chris- 
tianity as a subterfuge to escape a vexa- 
tious impost. But to the Jewish Chris- 


tian of St. Paul’s opinions, the unresisted _ 


payment of the burden, however insig- 
nificant, and to which he was not bound, 
either by the letter or the spirit of the edict, 
was an acknowledgment of his uncon- 
verted Judaism, of his being still under 
the law, as well as an indirect contribution 
to the maintenance of heathenism. It 
is difficult to suppose that those who 
were brought before the public tribunal, as 
claiming an exemption from the tax, and 
exposed to the most indecent examina- 
tion of their Jewish descent, were any 
other than this class of Judaizing Chris- 
tians. ‘ 

In other respects, the connexion of the 
Christians with the Jews could not but 
affect their place in that indiseriminating 
public estimation, which still, in general, 
notwithstanding the Neronian persecu- 
tion, confounded them together. The Jew- 


* Tacit., Hist.,iv.,4-9 Dion Cassius, Ixvi., 13. 
Suetonius, Vespas., 15. Tillemont, Hist. des Em- 
pereurs, Vespasian, Art. xv. ἮΝ 

+ Dion Cassius, edit. Reimar, with his notes, 
lib. Ixvi., p. 1082. Suetonius, in Dom., v. 19. Mar- 
tial, vii., 14. Basnage, Hist. des Juifs, vol. vii., ch. 
xi., p. 304, To hs 


“Μά 


* 


ah. 
i 


the war. 
rie 2 
now looked upon with hatred and con- 


& 


ν 


192 


ish war appears to have made a great al- 
Change in teration both in the condition 
the condition of the race of Israel and in 


tion af the the popular sentiment towards 
- Jewsafter them. From aversion asa sul- 


len and unsocial, they were 


tempt as a fierce, a desperate, and an en- 
slaved race. Some of the higher orders, 
Agrippa and Josephus the historian, main- 


_ tained a respectable and even an eminent 


rank at Rome; but the provinces were 
overrun by swarms of Jewish slaves or 


hie + miserable fugitives, reduced by necessity 


Ἢ 


4% 


ἊΨ, 


hope of the Messiah, which still brooded 


to the meanest occupations, and lowering 
their minds to their sordid and beggarly 
condition. As, then, to some of the Ro- 


mans the Christian assertion of religious. 


freedom would seem closely allied with 
the Jewish attempt to obtain civil inde- 
pendence, they might appear, especially 
to those in authority, to have inherited 
the intractable and insubordinate spirit of 
their religious forefathers, so, on the oth- 
er hand, in some places, the Christian 
might be dragged down, in the popular 
apprehension, to the level of the fallen and 
outcast Jew... Thus, while Christianity, in 
fact, was becoming more and more alien- 
ated from Judaism, and even assuming the 
most hostile position, the Roman rulers 
would be the last to discern the widening 
breach, or to discriminate between that 
religious confederacy which was destined 
to absorb within it all the subjects of the 
Roman empire, and that race which was 
to remain in its social isolation, neither 
blended into the general mass of mankind; 
nor admitting any other within its insuper- 
Thedesceng. able pale. If the singular sto- 


Snte oF aes TY related by Hegesippus* con- 
brethren o : i 
οὖν Dart cerning the family of our Lord 


brought be- deserves credit, even the de- 
ear tri- scendants of his house were 

ἶ endangered by their yet unbro- 
ken connexion with the Jewish race. Do- 
Mitian is said to have issued an edict for 
the extermination of the whole house of 
David, in order to annihilate forever the 


ΟΠ with dangerous excitement in the Jewish 


mind ‘The grandsons of St. Jude, “ the 
brother of our Lord,” were denounced by 
certain heretics as belonging to the pro- 
scribed family, and brought before the tri- 
bunal of the emperor, or, more probably, 
that of the procurator of Judea.t They 
acknowledged their descent from the royal 
race, and their relationship to the Mes- 


siah; but in Christian language they as- 


* Kusebius, iil., 20. ; 
ἡ Gibbon thus modifies the story to which he ap- 
pears to give some credit. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


serted that the kingdom which they ex- 
pected was purely spiritual and angelic, 
and only to commence at the end of the 
world, after the return to judgment. Their 
poverty, rather than their renunciation of 
all temporal views, was their security. 
They were peasants, whose hands were | 
hardened with toil, and whose whole prop- 
erty was a farm. of about twenty-four 
English acres, and of the value of 9000 
drachms, or about 300 pounds sterling. 
This they cultivated by their own labour, 
and regularly paid the appointed tribute. 
They were released as too humble and 
too harmless to be dangerous to the Ro- 
man authority, and Domitian, according 
to the singularly inconsistent account, 
proceeded to annul his edict of persecution 
against the Christians. Like all the sto- 
ries which rest on the sole authority of 
Hegesippus, this has a very fabulous air. 
At no period were the hopes of the Mes- — 
siah entertained by the Jews so little 
likely to awaken the jealousy of the em-— 
peror as in the reign of Domitian. 
Jewish mind was still stunned, as it were, 
by the recent blow: the whole land was 
in a state of iron subjection. Nor was it 
till the latter part of the reign of Trajan 
and that of Hadrian that they rallied for 
their last desperate and conclusive strug- 
gle for independence. Nor, however in- 
distinct the line of demarcation between 
the Jews and the Christians, is it easy to 
trace the connexion between the stern pre- 
caution for the preservation of the peace 
of the Eastern world and the stability of 
the empire against any enthusiastie aspi- 
rant after a universal sovereignty, with 
what is sometimes called the second great. 
persecution of Christianity ; for the exter- 
minating edict was aimed at a single fam- 
ily, and at the extinction of a purely Jew- 
ish tenet: though it may be admitted 
that even yet the immediate return of 
the Messiah to reign on earth was domi- 
nant among most of the Jewish Christians 
of Palestine. Even if true, this edict was 
rather the hasty and violent expedient of 
an arbitrary sovereign, trembling for his 
personal security, and watchful to avert 
danger from his throne, than a profound 
and vigorous policy, which aimed at the 
suppression of a new religion, declaredly 
hostile, and threatening the existence of 
the established Polytheism. 

Christianity, however, appears to have 
forced itself upon the knowledge and the 
fears of Domitian in a more unexpected 
quarter, the bosom of his own family,* 


* Suetonius, in Domit., c. 15. Dion Cassius, 


Ixvii., 14. Eusebius, iii, 18. 


The τὶ 


aa 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


\ 
Of his two cousins-german, the sons of 
Flavius Sabinus, the one fell an early vic- 
tim to his jealous apprehensions. The 
Flavius Other, Flavius Clemens, is descri- 
Clemens. bed by the epigrammatic biogra- 
pher of the Czsars as a man of the most 
contemptible indolence of character. His 
peaceful kinsman, instead of exciting the 
fears, enjoyed for some time the favour of 
Domitian. He received in marriage Dom- 


- itilla, the niece of the emperor; his chil- 


dren were adopted as heirs to the throne; 
Clemens himself obtained the consulship. 
On a sudden these harmless kinsmen be- 
came dangerous conspirators ; they were 
arraigned on the unprecedented charge of 
Atheism and Jewish manners; the hus- 
band, Clemens, was put to death; the wife, 
Domitilla, banished to the desert island 
either of Pontia or Pandataria. The crime 
of Atheism was afterward the common 


" popular charge against the Christians ; the 


harge to which, in all ages, those are ex- 


A - 
"Ὁ πππίς who are superior to the vulgar no- 


tion of the Deity. But it was a charge 
never advanced against Judaism ; coupled, 
therefore, with that of Jewish manners, it 
is unintelligible, unless it refers to Chris- 
tianity. Nor is it improbable that the con- 
temptible want of energy ascribed by Sue- 
tonius to Flavius Clemens might be that 
unambitious superiority to the world which 
characterized the early Christian. Cle- 
mens had seen his brother cut off by the 
sudden and capricious fears of the tyrant ; 
and his repugnance to enter on the same 
dangerous public career, in pursuit of hon- 
ours which he despised, if it had assumed 
the lofty language of philosophy, might 
have commanded the admiration of his 
contemporaries ; but connected with anew 
religion, of which the sublimer notions 
and principles were altogether incompre- 
hensible, only exposed him to their more 
contemptuous scorn. Neither in his case 
was it the peril apprehended from the 
progress of the religion, but the dangerous 
position of the individuals professing the 
religion so near to the throne, which was 
fatal to Clemens and Domitilla. It was 
the pretext, not the cause of their punish- 
ment; and the first act of the reign of 
Nerva was the reversal of these senten- 
ces by the authority of the senate: the 
exiles were recalled, and an act prohibit- 
ing all accusations of Jewish manners* 
seems to have been intended as a peace- 
offering for the execution of Clemens, and 
for the ‘especial protection of the Chris- 
tians. 

But Christian history cannot pass over 


* Dion Cassius, Ixviii., 1. 
Bs 


193 
another incident assigned to the 
reign of Domitian, since it re- 
lates to the death of St. John 
the Apostle. Christian grati- 
tude and reverence soon began 
to be discontented with the silence of the 
authentic writings as to the fate of the 
twelve chosen companions of Christ. It 
began first with some modest respect for 
truth, but soon with bold defiance of prob- 
ability, to brighten their obscure course, 
till each might be traced by the blaze of 
miracle into remote regions of the world, 
where it is clear that if they had penetra- 
ted no record of their existence was like- 
ly to survive.* These religious invaders, 
according to the later Christian romance, 
made a regular partition of the world, and 
assigned to each the conquest of his par- 
ticular province. Thrace, Scythia, Spain, 
Britain, Ethiopia, the extreme parts of Af- | 
rica, India, the name of which mysterious 
region was sometimes assigned to the 
southern coast of Arabia, had each their 
apostle, whose spiritual triumphs and eru- 


ihe, 


Legends of 
the missions 
of the apos- 
tles into dif- 
ferent coun- 
tries. 


el martyrdom were vividly portrayed and ἫΝ 


gradually amplified by the fertile invention 
of the Greek and Syrian historians of the 
early Church. Even the history of peath of 
St. John, whose later days were 5t. John. 
chiefly passed in the populous and com- 
mercial city of Ephesus, has not escaped. 
Yet legend has delighted in harmonizing 
its tone with the character of the beloved 
disciple, drawn in the Gospel, and illustra- 
ted in his own writings. Even if purely 
imaginary, these stories show that anoth- 
er spirit was working in the mind of man. 
While, then, we would reject, as the off- 
spring of a more angry and controversial 
age, the story of his flying in fear and in- 
dignation from a bath polluted by the pres- 
ence of the heretic Cerinthus, we might 
admit the pleasing tradition, that when he 
grew so feeble from age as to be unable 
to utter any long discourse, his last, if we 
may borrow the expression, his eycnean 
voice, dwelt on a brief exhortation to mu- 
tual charity.t His whole sermon consist- 
ed in these words: “Little children, love 
one another ;” and when his audience re- 
monstrated at the wearisome iteration of 
the same words, he declared that in these 
words was contained the whole substance 
of Christianity. The deportation of the 
apostle to the wild island of Patmos, 
where general tradition places his writing 
the book of Revelations, is by no means 
improbable, if we suppose it to have taken 


place under the authority of the proconsul 
The tradition is © 


* Euseb., Ecc. Hist., iii., 1. 8 
here in its simpler and clearly more genuine form.” 
+ Euseb., Ecc. Hist., iii., 22. 


᾿ 
OE, 


+? 


ῳ 


. 
194 


of Asia, on account of some local disturb- 
ance in Ephesus, and, notwithstanding the 
authority of Tertullian, reject the trial be- 
fore Domitian at Rome, and the plunging 
him into ἃ ealdron of boiling oil, from 
which he came forth unhurt.* Such are 
the few vestiges of the progress of Chris- 
tianity which we dimly trace in the obscu- 
rity of the latter part of the first century. 
Constitution During this period, however, 
of Christian took place the regular forma- 
churches. tion of the young Christian re- 
publics, in all the more considerable cities 
of theempire. The primitive constitution 
of these churches is a subject which it is 
impossible to decline, though few points 
in Christian history rest on more dubious 
and imperfect, in general on inferential 
evidence, yet few have been contested 
with greater pertinacity. 

The whole of Christianity, when it 
emerges out of the obscurity of the first 
century, appears uniformly governed by 
certain superiors of each community call- 
ed bishops. But the origin and the extent 
of this superiority, and the manner in 
which the bishop assumed a distinct au- 
thority from the inferior presbyters, is 
among those difficult questions of Chris- 
tian history which, since the Reformation, 
has been more and more darkened by 
those fatal enemies to candid and dispas- 
sionate inquiry, prejudice and interest. 
The earliest Christian communities ap- 
pear to have been ruled and represented, 
in the absenee of the apostle who was 
their first founder, by their elders, who are 
likewise called bishops, or overseers of 
‘the churches. These presbyter bishops 
and the deacons are the only two orders 
which we discover at first in the Church 
of Ephesus, at Philippi, and perhaps in 
‘Crete.t On the other hand, at a very 
early period, one religious functionary, su- 
perior to the rest, appears to have been 
almost universally recognised; at least, it 
is difficult to understand how, in so short 
a time, among communities, though not 
entirely disconnected, yet scattered over 
the whole Roman world, a scheme of 
government popular, or, rather, aristocrat- 
ical, should become, even in form, mo- 
narchical. Neither the times, nor the cir- 
cumstances of the infant Church, nor the 
primitive spirit of the religion, appear to 


* Ubi (in Rom&) Apostolus Johannes, postea 
quam in oleum igneum demersus, nihil passus est. 
Mosheim suspects that in this passage of Tertullian 
a metaphor has been converted into a fact. Mo- 
sheim, de Reb. Christ. ante Constant., p. 111 [and 
Dissertt. ad Hist: Eccl. pertinentes, vol. i, p. 497- 
546]. pay 
tice, xx., 17, compared with 28. Philip., i., 1. 


Titus,i,5-7. 0 ; 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


favour a general, a systematic, and an un- 
authorized usurpation of power on the 
part of the supreme religious functionary.* 
Yet the change has already taken place 
within the apostolic times. ‘The Church 
of Ephesus, which in the Acts is repre- 
sented by its elders, in the Revelations} is 
represented by its angel or bishop. We 
may, perhaps, arrive at a more clear and 
intelligible view of this subject by en- 
deavouring to trace the origin and devel- 
opment of the Christian communities. 
The Christian Church was almost uni- 
versally formed by a seces- 
sion from a Jewish synagogue. 
Some synagogues may have be- 
come altogether Christian; but, 
in general, a certain part of an 
existing community of Jews and Gentile 


Christian 
churches 
formed from, 
and on the 
model of, the 
synagogue. 


proselytes incorporated themselves into 


a new society, and met for the purpose of 
Divine worship in some private chamber; 
sometimes, perhaps, in a public place, as, 
rather later, during the times of persecu- 
tion, in a cemetery. The first of these 
may have answered to a synagogue, the 


* The most plausible way of accounting for this 
total revolution is by supposing that the affairs of 
each community or church were governed by a col- 
lege of presbyters, one of whom necessarily presi- 
ded at their meetings, and gradually assumed, and 
was recognised as possessing, a superior function 
and authority. In expressing my dissatisfaction 
with a theory adopted by Mosheim, by Gibbon, by 
Neander, and by most of the learned foreign wri- 
ters, I have scrutinized my own motives with the 
utmost suspicion, and can only declare that I be- 
lieve myself actuated only by the calm and candid 
desire of truth. But the universal and almost si- 
multaneous elevation of the bishop under such cir- 
cumstances, in every part of the world (though it 
must be admitted that he was fora long time as- 
sisted by the presbyters in the discharge of his of- 
fice), appears to me an insuperable objection to this 
hypothesis. The later the date which is assumed 
for the general establishment of the episcopal au- 
thority, the less likely was it to be general. It was 
only during the first period of undivided unity that 
such a usurpation, for so it must have been accord- 
ing to this theory, could have been universally ac- 
quiesced in without resistance. All presbyters, ac- 
cording to this view, with one consent, gave up or 
allowed themselves to be deprived of their co-ordi- 
nate and coequal dignity. The farther we advance 
in Christian history, the more we discover the com- 
mon motives of human nature at work. In this 
case alone are we to suppose them without influ- 
ence? Yet we discover no struggle, no resistance, 
no controversy. The uninterrupted line of bishops 
is traced by the ecclesiastical historian up to the 
apostles; but no murmur of remonstrance against 
this usurpation has transpired ; no schism, no 
breach of Christian unity followed upon this mo- 
mentous innovation. Nor does any such change 
appear to have taken place in the office of elder in 
the Jewish communities: the rabbinical teachers 
took the form of a regular hierarchy ; their patri- 
arch grew up intoa kind of pope, but episcopal δὰ" 
thority never took root in the synagogue. 

t Chap. ii., 1. 


a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


latter to an unwalled proseucha. The 
model of the ancient community would nat- 
urally, as far as circumstances might ad- 
mit, become that of thenew. But in their 
primary constitution there was an essen- 
tial point. of difference. The Jews were 
a civil.as well as a religious, the Chris- 
tians exclusively a religious, community. 
Everywhere that the Jews were settled 
they were the colony of a nation, they 
were held together almost by a kindred 
as wellas a religious bond of union. The 
governors, therefore, of the community, 
the zakinim or elders, the parnasim or pas- 
tors (if this be an early appellation), were 
by no means necessarily religious func- 
tionaries.* Another kind of influence be- 
sides that of piety, age, worldly experience, 
wealth, would obtain the chief and ruling 
power in the society. Their government 
neither rested on nor required spiritual au- 
thority. Their grave example would en- 
force the general observance, their censure 
repress any flagrant departure from the 
law: they might be consulted on any diffi- 
cult or unusual point of practice ; but it was 
not till the new rabbinical priesthood was 
established, and the Mischna and the Tal- 
mud universally received as the national 
code, that the foreign Jews fell under what 
may be considered sacerdotal dominion. 
At this time the synagogue itself was only 
Essential supplementary to the great na- 
difference tional religious ceremonial of 
church and the Temple. The Levitical race 
synagogue claimed no peculiar sanctity, at 
least it discharged no priestly office, beyond 
the bounds of the Holy Land or the pre- 
cincts of the Temple; nor was an author- 
ized instructer of the people necessary to 
the service of the synagogue. It was an 
assembly for the purpose of worship, not 
of teaching. The instructer of the people, 
the copy of the law, lay in the ark at the 
east end of the building; it was brought 
forth with solemn reverence, and an ap- 
pointed portion read during the service. 
But oral instruction, though it might some- 
times be delivered, was no necessary part 
of the ceremonial. Any one, it should 
seem, who considered himself qualified, 
and obtained permission from the archi- 
synagogi, the governors of the communi- 
ty, who exercised a sort of presidence in 
the synagogue, might address the assem- 
bly. It was in this character that the 


* In some places the Jews seem to have been 
ruled by an ethnarch, recognised by the Roman civil 
authorities. Strabo, quoted by Josephus, Antiq., 
xiv., 12, speaks of the ethnarch in Alexandrea. Jo- 
sephus mentions their archon or chief in Antioch. 
The more common constitution seems to have been 
the γεραιοὶ and δυνατοὶ, the elders or authorities. 


. 
195 


Christian apostle usually began to an- 
nounce his religion. But neither the cha- 
zan or angel* of the synagogue (which 
was a purely ministerial, comparatively a 
servile, office), nor the heads of the as- 
sembly, possessed any peculiar privilege, 
or were endowed with any official func- 
tion as teacherst of the people. Many of 
the more remote synagogues can rarely 
have been honoured by the presence of 
the “ Wise Men,” as they were afterward 
called—the lawyers of this period. The 
Jewish religion was at this time entirely 
ceremonial; it did not necessarily de- 
mand exposition; its form was moulded 
into the habits of the people; and, till 
disturbed by the invasion of Christianity, 
or among yery flourishing communities, 
where it assumed a more intellectual tone, 
and extended itseif by the proselytism of 
the Gentiles, it was content to rest in that 
form.{ In the great days of Jewish in- 
tellectual activity, the adjacent law-school, 
usually inseparable from the synagogue, 
might rather be considered the place of 
religious instruction. This was a kind of 
chapter-house or court of ecclesiastical, 
with the Jews identical with their nation- 
al, law. Here knotty points were public- 
ly debated ; and “‘ the Wise,” or the more 
distinguished of the lawyers or interpre- 
ters of the law, as the rabbinical hierar- 
chy of a later period, established their 
character for sagacious discernment of 
the meaning and intimate acquaintance 
with the whole body of the law. 

Thus, then, the model upon which the 
Church might be expected to form itself 
may be called purely aristocratical. The 
process by which it passed into the mo- 
narchical form, however limited the su- 
preme power of the individual, may be 
traced to the existence of a monarchical 
principle anterior to their religious oligar- 
chy, and which distinguished the Christian 
Church in its first origin from the Jewish 
synagogue. The Christians from the first 
were a purely religious community; this 
was their primary bond of union; they had 
no national law which held them together 
as a separate people. ‘Their civil union 


* The angel here seems to bear its lower mean- 
ing, a messenger or minister. : 

+ Vitringa labours to prove the point that the 
chief of the synagogue exercised an office of this 
kind, but in my opinion without success. It ap- 
pears to have been a regular part of the Essenian 
service, a distinction which Vitringa has neglected 
to observe.—De Syn. Vet., 1. ili., c. 6, 7. 

t The reading of the law, prayers, and psalms 
was the ceremonial. of the synagogne. Probably 
the greater part of their proselytism took place in 

rivate, though, as we know from Horace, the Jew- 
ish synagogue was even in Rome a place of resort 
to the curious, the speculative, and the idle. 
μ na) 
Ἴ ; 


ya 
196 


ἑ 
was a subordinate effect, arising out of 
their incorporation as a spiritual body. 
The submission of their temporal concerns 
to the adjudication of their own commu- 
nity was a consequence of their respect 
for the superior justice and wisdom which 
sprung from their religious principles, and 
an aversion from the litigious spirit en- 
gendered by the complicated system of 


Christian Roman jurisprudence.* In their 
ee origin they were almost univer- 
round an Sally a community formed, as it 


individual. were, round an individual. The 
apostle or primitive teacher was installed 
at once in the office of chief religious func- 
tionary ; and the chief religious function- 
ary is the natural head of a purely reli- 
gious community. Oral instruction, as it 
was the first, so it must have continued 
to be the living, conservative, and expan- 
sive principle of the community.t It was, 
anterior to the existence of any book, the 
inspired record and supreme authority of 
the faith. As long as this teacher remain- 
ed in the city, or as often as he returned, 
he would be recognised as the legitimate 
head of the society. But not only the 
apostle, in general the primitive teacher 
likewise, was a missionary, travelling in- 
cessantly into distant regions for the gen- 
eral dissemination of Christianity, rather 
than residing in one spot to organize a 
local community.{ In his absence the 
government, and even the instruction, of 
the community devolved upon the senate 
of elders, yet there was still a recognised 
supremacy in the founder of the church.} 
The wider, however, the dissemination of 
Christianity, the more rare, and at longer 
intervals, the presence of the apostle. An 


* The apostle enjoined this secession from the 
ordinary courts of justice, ] Cor., vi., 1-8. 

+ For some time, indeed, as in the Jewish syna- 
gogue, what was called the gift of prophecy seems 
to have been more general; any individual who 
pared to speak under the direct impulse of the 

oly Spirit was heard with attentive reverence. 
But it may be questioned whether this, and the dis- 
play of the other χαρίσματα recounted by the apos- 
tle, 1 Cor., xii., 4-10, were more than subsidiary to 
the regular and systematic teaching of the apos- 
tolic founder of the community. The question is 
~ not whether each member was not at liberty to con- 
tribute, by any faculty which had been bestowed on 
him by God, to the general edification, but wheth- 
er, above and anterior to all this, there was not 
some recognised parent of each church who was 
treated with parental deference, and exercised, 
when present, paternal authority. 

1 Yet we have an account of a-residence even 
of St. Paul of eighteen months at Corinth, of two 
years at Ephesus, and he was two years during his 
first imprisonment at Rome.—Acts, xviii., 11; xix., 
10; xxvili., 30. 

§ St. Paul considered himself invested with the 
super Weaeaure of all the churches which he had 
planted,—2 Cor., xi., 23. 


Υ 4 
ὡ t 2 


" HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


2 4 g 

appeal to his authority by letter became 
more precarious and interrupted; while, 
at the same time, in many communities 
the necessity for his interposition became 
more frequent and manifest ;* and in the 
common order of nature, even independ- 
ent of the danger of persecution, the prim- 
itive founder, the legitimate head of the 
community, would vacate his place by 
death. ‘That the apostle should appoint 
some distinguished individual as the dele- 
gate, the representative, the successor to 
his authority, as primary instructer of the 
community ; invest him in an episcopacy 
or overseership superior to that of the 
co-ordinate body of elders, is in itself by 
no means improbable ; it harmonizes with 
the period in which we discover in the Sa- 
ered Writings this change in the form of 
the permanent government of the different 
bodies ; accounts most easily for the gen- 
eral submission to the authority of one 


religious chief magistrate, so unsatisfac-_ 


torily explained by the accidental pre-em- 
inence of the president of a college of co- 
equal presbyters ; and is confirmed by gen- 
eral tradition, which has ever, in strict 
unison with every other part of Christian 
history, preserved the names of many suc- 
cessors of the apostles, the first bishops 
in most of the larger cities in which Chris- 
tianity was first established. But the au- 
thority of the bishop was that Of Authority 
influence rather than of power. of the 

After the first nomination by the >!shep. 

apostle (if such nomination, as we sup- 
pose, generally took place), his successor 
was elective by that kind of acclamation 
which raised at once the individual most 
eminent for his piety and virtue to the 
post, which was that of danger as well as 
of distinction. For a long period the suf- 
frages of the community ratified the ap- 
pointment. Episcopal government was 
thus, as long as Christianity remained un- 
leavened by worldly passions and inter- 


* St. Jerome, quoted by Hooker (Eccles. Polity, 
Ὁ. vil., vol. ili., p. 130), assigns the origin of episco- 
pacy to the dissensions in the Church, which te- 
quired a stronger coercive authority. “ Till through 
instinct of the devil there grew in the Church fac- 
tions, and among the people it began to be profess- 
64,1 am of Paul, I of Apollos, and I of Cephas, 
churches were governed by the common advice of 
presbyters; but when every one’ began to reckon 
those whom he had baptized his own, and not 
Christ’s, it was decreed in the whole world that one 
chosen out of the presbyters should be placed above 
the rest, to whom all care of the Church should be- 
long, and so all seeds of schism be removed.” 

The government of the Church seems to have 
been considered a subordinate function. ‘ And 
God hath set some in the Church, first apostles, 
secondly prophets, thirdly teachers : after that, mir- 
acles, the gifts of healing, helps, governments, diver- 


| sities of tongues.”—-1 Cor., xii., 28. 


4 “ Φε 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 


εἶ 
ests, essentially popular. The principle 
of subordination was inseparable from the 
humility of the first converts. Rights are 
never clearly defined till they are contest- 
ed; nor is authority limited as long as it 
rests upon general reverence. When, on 
the one side, aggression, on the other jeal- 
ousy and mistrust, begin, then it must be 
fenced by usage and defined by law. 
Thus, while we are inclined to consider 
the succession of bishops from the apos- 
tolic times to be undeniable, the nature 
and extent of authority which they de- 
rived from the apostles is altogether un- 
certain. The ordination or consecration, 
whatever it might be to that office, of it- 
self conveyed neither inspiration nor the 
power of working miracles, which, with 
the direct commission from the Lord him- 


- self, distinguished and set apart the. pri- 


mary apostles from the rest of mankind. 
It was only in a very limited and imper- 
fect sense that they could, even in the 


sees founded by the apostles, be called the 


successors of the apostles. 

The presbyters were, in their origin, the 
The pres- Tuling powers of the young, com- 
byters. munities; but in a society found- 
ed solely on a religious basis, religious 
qualifications would be almost exclusively 
considered. In the absence, therefore, of 
the primary teacher, they would assume 
that office likewise. Im this they would 
differ from the Jewish elders. As the 
most eminent in piety and Christian attain- 
ments, they would be advanced by, or at 
least with, the general consent to their 
dignified station. The same piety and at- 
tainments would designate them as best 
qualified to keep up and to extend the gen- 
eral system of instruction. They would 
be the regular and perpetual expositors of 
the Christian law ;* the reciters of the life, 
the doctrines, the death, the resurrection 
of Christ ; till the Gospels were written 
and generally received, they would be the 
living Evangelists, the oral Scriptures, the 
spoken Gospel. They would not merely 
regulate and lead the devotions, adminis- 
ter the rites of baptism and the Lord’s 
Supper, but repeat, again and again, for 


197 


the farther confirmation of the believers, 
and the conversion of Jews and heathens, 
the facts and tenets of the new religion. 
The government, in fact, in communities 
bound together by Christian brotherhood 
(such as we may suppose to have been the 
first Christian churches, which were hap- 
pily undistracted by the disputes arising 
out of the Judaical controversy), would be 
an easy Office, and entirely subordinate to 
that of instruction and edification. The 
communities would be almost self-gov- 
erned by the principle of Christian love 
which first drew them together. ‘The dea- 
cons were, from the first, an inferior or- 
der, and exercised a purely ministerial 
office ; distributing the common fund to 
the poorer members, though the adminis- 
tration of the pecuniary concerns of the 
church soon became of such importance 
as to require the superintendence of the 
higher rulers. The other functions of the 
deacons were altogether of a subordinate 
character. 

Such would be the ordinary develop- 
ment of a Christian community, in the 
first case monarchical, as founded by an 
apostle or recognised teacher of Chris- 
tianity ; subsequently, in the absence of 
that teacher, aristocratical, under a senate 
formed according to Jewish usage, though 
not precisely on Jewish principles; until, 
the place of the apostle being supplied by 
a bishop, in a certain sense his represent- 


ative or successor, it would revert to a — 


monarchical form, limited rather by the 
religion itself than by any appointed con- 
trolling power, As long as the same holy 
spirit of love and charity actuated the 
whole body, the result would be a har- 
mony, not from the counteracting powers 
of opposing forces, but from the consen- 
tient will of the general body; and the 
will of the government would be the ex- 
pression of the universal popular senti- 
ment.* Where, however, from the first, 
the Christian community was formed of 
conflicting parties, or where conflicting 
principles began to operate immediately 
upon the foundation of the society, no in- 
dividual would be generally recognised as 


* Here likewise the possessors of the χαρίσματα 
would be the casual and subsidiary instructers, 
or, rather, the gifted promoters of Christian piety, 


_ each in his separate sphere, according to his dis- 


ὼ 


tinctive grace. But besides these, even if they 
were found in all churches, which is by no means 
clear, regular and systematic teachers would be 
necessary toa religion which probably could only 
subsist, certainly could not propagate itself with 
activity or to any great extent, except by this con- 
stant exposition of its principles in the public as- 
sembly, as well as in the more private communica- 
tions of individuals. 


* Such is the theory of episcopal government in 
a pleasing passage in the Epistles of Ignatius. 
Ὅθεν πρέπει ὑμῖν ouvtpexely TH TOV επισκύπου 
γνώμῃ. Ὅπερ καὶ ποιεῖτε. TO γὰρ ἀξιονόμαστον 
ὑμῶν πρεσθύυτέριον, ρὕτος συνήρμοσται τῷ ἐπισκό- 
πῳ ὡς χορδαὶ κιθάρᾳ: διὰ τοῦτο εν τῇ ὁμονοίᾳ 
ὑμῶν, καὶ συμφώνῳ ἀγάπῃ Ἰησοῦς Χρίστος ἄδεται 
καὶ οἱ κατ᾽ ἄνδρα δὲ χορὸς γίνεσθε, ἵνα σύμφωνοι 
ἄντες ἐν ὁμονοίᾳ, χρῶμα ϑεοῦ λαθόντες εν ἐνότητι, 
ἄδετε εν φωνῇ μιᾷ διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τῷ πατρὶ, 
&c, Ad Ephes., Ὁ. 12., edit. Cotel. I speak of these 
epistles in a subsequent note. Ἂ 


em 


198 


the authoritative teacher, and the assump- 
tion and re@ognition of the episcopate 
would be more slow, or, indeed, would 
. bag takepart all till the final triumph 
of one of the conflicting parties. They 
retained of necessity the republican form. 
Church of Such was the state of the Corin- 
Corinthan thian Church, which was formed 
exception. from its origin, or almost imme- 
diately divided into three separate parties, 
with a leading teacher or teachers at the 
head of each.* ‘The Petrine, or the ultra 
Judaic, the Apolline, or more moderate 
Jewish party, contested the supremacy 
with the followers of St. Paul. Different 
individuals possessed, exercised, and even 
abused different gifts. The authority of 
Paul himself appears clearly, by his elabo- 
rate vindication of his apostolic office, by 
no means to have been generally recog- 
nised. No apostolic head, therefore, would 
assume an uncontested supremacy, nor 
would the parties coalesce in the choice 
of a superior, Corinth, probably, was the 
last community which settled down under 
the general episcopal constitution. 

The manner and the period of the sep- 
aration of a distinct class, an hierarchy, 
from the general body of the community, 
and the progress of the great division be- 
tween the clergy and the laity,t are equal- 
ly obscure with the primitive constitution 
of the Church. Like the Judaism of the 
provinces, Christianity had no sacerdotal 
order. Butas the more eminent members 
of the community were admitted to take 
the lead on account of their acknowledged 
superiority, from their zeal, their talents, 
their gifts, their sanctity, the general rev- 
erence would of itself speedily set them 
apart as of a higher order; they would 
form the purest aristocracy, and soon be 
divided by a distinct line of demarcation 
from the rest of the community. What- 
ever the ordination might be which desig- 
nated them for their peculiar function, 
whatever power or authority might be 
communicated by the “imposition of 


* | was led to conjecture that the distracted state 
of the Church at Corinth might induce the apos- 
tles to establish elsewhere a more firm and vigor- 
ous authority, before I remembered the passage of 
st. Jerome quoted above, which coincides with this 
view. Corinth has been generally taken as the 
model of the early Christian constitution; I sus- 
pect that it was rather an anomaly. 

+ Already the Aakor are a distinct class in the 
Epistle of Clemens to the Corinthians (c. xb, p. 
170, edit. Coteler.). ‘This epistle is confidently ap- 
pealed to by both pafties in the controversy about 
Church government, and altogether satisfies neither. 
It is clear, however, from the tone of the whole epis- 
tle, that the Church at Corinth was anything rather 
than a model of Church government: it had been 
rent with schisms ever since the days of the apostle. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


hands,” it would add little to the rever- 
ence with which they were invested. It 
was at first the Christian who sanctified 
the function, afterward the function sancti- 
fied the man. But the civil and religious 
concerns of the Church were so moulded 
up together, or, rather, the temporal were 
so absorbed by the spiritual, that not mere- 
ly the teacher, but the governor—not mere- 
ly the bishop properly so called, but the 
presbyter, in his character of ruler as well 
as of teacher, shared in the same peculiar 
veneration. The bishop would be neces- 
sarily mingled up in the few secular af- 
fairs of the community, the governors bear 
their part in the religious ceremonial. In 
this respect, again, they differed from their 
prototypes, or elders of the synagogue. 
Their office was, of necessity, more reli- 
gious. The admission of members in the 
Jewish synagogue, except in the case of 
proselytes of righteousness, was. a matter 
of hereditary right: circumcision was a 
domestic, not a public ceremony. Bui 
baptism, or the initiation into the Christian 
community, was a solemn ceremonial, re- 
quiring previous examination and proba- 
tion. The governing power would pos- 
sess and exercise the authority to admit 
into the community.. They would per- 
form, or, at all events, superintend the in- 
itiatory rite of baptism. The other dis- 
tinctive rite of Christianity, the celebration 
of the Lord’s Supper, would require a more 
active interference and co-operation on the 
part of those who presided over the com- 
munity. To this there was nothing anal- 
ogous in the office of the Jewish elder. 
Order would require that this ceremony 
should be administered by certain individ- 
uals. If the bishop presided, after his ap- 
pointment, both at the Lord’s Supper itself 
and in the agape or feast which followed 
it, the elders would assist; not merely in 
maintaining order, but would officiate 
throughout the ceremony. In proportior 
to the reverence for the consecrated ele- 
ments would be the respect towards those 
under whose especial prayers, and in 
whose hands, probably from the earliest 
period, they were sanctified for the use of 
the assembly. The presbyters would like- 
wise possess the chief voice, a practical 
initiative in the nomination of the bishop. 
From all these different functions, the pres- 
byters, and at length the deacons, became, 


as well as the bishop, a sacred order. But πὰ 


the exclusive or sacerdotal principle once 


admitted in ἃ religious community, itsown — 


ἐ- 


corporate spirit and the public reverence | 


would cause it to recede farther and far- 
ther, and draw the line of demarcation 


with greater rigour and depth. They | 


Ὡς. 
αἰ 

of its ἢ 

τ ly ob iterated by the desolating and all-ab- 


Ἢ 


» 


‘ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ° 


would more and more insulate themselves 
from the commonalty of the Christian re- 
public ; they would become a senate, a pa- 
trician or privileged order; and this seces- 
sion into their peculiar sphere would be 
greatly facilitated by the regular grada- 
tions of the faithful and the catechumen, 
the perfect and the imperfect, the initiate 
and half-initiate Christians. The greater 
the variety, the more strict the subordina- 
tion of ranks. 

Thus the bishop gradually assumed the 
title of pontiff, the presbyters became a 
sacerdotal order. From the Old Testa- 


fe. ! CHAPTER V. 


199 


ment, and even from paganism, the Chris- 
tians, at first as ennobling metaphors, 
adopted their sacred appellations. Insen- 
sibly the meaning of these significant ti- 
tles worked into the Christian system. 
They assumed, as it were, a privilege of 
nearer approach to the Deity; anda priest 
ly caste grew rapidly up in a religion which, 
in its primary institution, acknowledged 
only one mediator between earth and hea- 
ven. We shall subsequently trace the 
growth of the sacerdotal principle and 
the universal establishment of the hierar- 


chy. 


CHRISTIANITY AND ORIENTALISM. 


τς Curistianrry had not only to contend 


" Orienta with the Judaism of its native re- 
eligions. sion and the paganism of the 
Western world; but likewise with the Asi- 
atic religions, which, in the eastern prov- 
inces of the Roman’ empire, maintained 
their ground, or mingled themselves with 
the Grecian Polytheism, and had even pen- 
etrated into Palestine. In the silence of 
its authentic records, the direct progress 
of Christianity in the East can neither be 
accurately traced nor clearly estimated ; 
its conflict with Orientalism is chiefly vis- 
ible in the influence of the latter upon the 
general system of Christianity, and in the 
tenets of the different sects which, from 
Simon Magus to Manes, attempted to rec- 
oncile the doctrines of the Gospel with the 
theogonical systems of Asia. In the West 
Christianity advanced with gradual but un- 
obstructed and unreceding progress, till 
first the Roman empire, and successively 
the barbarous nations who occupied or 
subdued the rest of Europe, were brought 
within its pale. No new religion arose to 
‘dispute its supremacy; and the feeble at- 
tempt of Julian to raise up a Platonic pa- 
anism in opposition to the religion of 
Christ must have failed, even if it had not 
been cut short in its first growth by the 
death of its imperial patron. In Asia the 
progress of Christianity was suddenly ar- 


~ rested by the revival of Zoroastrianism, 


_after the restoration of the Persian king- 
dom upon the ruins of the Parthian mon- 
archy ; and at a later period the vestiges 
former success were almost entire- 


sorbing conquests of Mohammedanism. 
The Armenian was the only national 
Church which resisted alike the persecu- 


ting edicts of the Sassanian fire-worship- 
pers, and, submitting to the yoke of the 
Mohammedan conqueror, rejected the wor- 
ship of the Prophet. The other scattered 
communities of Christians, disseminated 
through various parts of Asia, on the coast 
of Malabar, perhaps in China, have no sat- 
isfactory evidence of apostolic or even of 
very early date: they are so deeply im- 
pregnated with the Nestorian system of 
Christianity, which, during the interval 
between the decline of the reformed Zo- 
roastrianism and the first outburst of Is- 
lamism, spread to a great extent through- 
out every part of the Eastern Continent,* 
that there is every reason to suppose them 
Nestorian in their origin-| The contest, 
then, of Christianity with the Eastern re- 
ligions must be traced in their reaction 
upon the new religion of the West. By 
their treacherous alliance they probably 
operated more extensively to the detri- 
ment of the evangelic religion than pagan- 
ism by its open opposition. Asiatic in- 
fluences have worked more completely 
into the body and essence of Christianity 
than any other foreign elements ; and it 
is by no means improbable that tenets 
which had their origin in India have for 
many centuries predominated, or material- 
ly affected the Christianity of the whole 
Western World. 

Palestine was admirably situated to be- 
come the centre and point of emanation 


* There is an extremely good view of the origin 
and history of the Christian communities in India 
in Boblen, das alte Indien. 

+ Compare the new edition of Gibbon with the 
editor’s note on the Nestorian Christians and the 
famous inscription of Siganfu, iii, 272 [and Mo- 
sheim’s Institutes of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 421, 422]. 


Fs : ἜΣ 
_ Situation of fur ἃ universal religion. 


- 


2υ0 


On 
Palestine fa- the confines of Asia and Eu- 
vourable for 


anewreli- Tope, yet sufficiently secluded 
gion. from both to be out of the way 
of the constant flux and reflux of a foreign 
population, it commanded Egypt, and, 
through Egypt, associated Africa with the 


ΤΟ general moral kingdom. But it was not 


merely calculated for the birthplace of a 
miversal faith by its local position; Ju- 
Ho: _ daism, as it were, in its character 

τ (putting out of sight, for an instant, 
its Divine origin), stood between the reli- 
gions of the East and the West. It was 
the connecting link between the European 
and the Asiatic mind. Inspeculative sub- 
limity the doctrine of the Divine Unity 
soared to an equal height with the vast 
and imaginative cosmogonies of the East, 
while in its practical tendencies it approx- 
imated to the active and rational genius of 
the West. 

The religions of Asia appear, if not of 
regularly affiliated descent, yet to possess 
a common and generic character, modified, 
indeed, by the genius of the different peo- 
ple, and perhaps by the prevailing tone 
of mind in the authors and founders of new 
doctrines. From the banks of the Ganges, 
probably from the shores of the Yellow 
Sea and the coasts of Farther India to the 
Pheenician borders of the Mediterranean 
and the undefined limits of Phrygia in Asia 
Minor, there was that connexion and simil- 
itude, that community of certain element- 
ary principles, that tendency to certain 
combinations of physical and moral ideas, 
which may be expressed by the term Ori- 
Genet entalism.* The speculative the- 
character of Ology of the higher, the sacerdo- 
Orientalism. ta) order, which in some coun- 
tries left the superstitions of the vulgar 
undisturbed, or allowed their own more 
sublime conceptions to be lowered to their 
rude and limited material notions, aspired 
to the primal Source of Being. The Em- 
anation system of India, according to 
which the whole worlds flowed from the 
Godhead and were finally to be reabsorb- 
ed into it; the Pantheism into which this 
degenerated, and which made the collect- 
ive universe itself the Deity ; the Dualism 
of Persia, according to which the antago- 
nist powers were created by, or proceed- 
ed from, the One Supreme and Uncreated ; 
the Chaldean doctrine of divine Energies 
Ea ee υμο τ 

* Compare Windischman, Philosophie in fort- 
gang der Welt Geschichte. Windischman was a 
friend, [ believe I may venture to say a disciple, of 
F. Schlegel, and belongs to the high Roman Cath. 
‘olic school in Germany. His book, which is full of 
abstruse thought and learning, develops the theory 
of a primitive tradition diffused through the East. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


inet ? 

or Intelligences, the prototypes of the cab- 
alistic Sephiroth, and the later Gnostie 
ons, the same, no doubt, under different 
names, with the Aon and Protogenes, the 
Genos and Genea, with their regularly- 
coupled descendants in the Phenician cos- 
mogony of Sanchoniathon; and, finally, 
the primitive and simpler worship of 
Egypt; all these are either branches of 
one common stock, or expressions of the 
same state of the human mind, working 
with kindred activity on the same visible 
phenomena of nature, and with the same 
object. The Asiatic mind impersonated, 
though it did not, with the Greek, human- 
ize everything. Light and Darkness, Good 
and Evil, the Creative and Destructive en- 
ergy of nature, the active and passive Pow- 
ers of Generation, moral Perfection and 
Wisdom, Reason and Speech, even Agri- 
culture and the Pastoral life, each was a 
distinct and intelligent being; they wed- 
ded each other according to their apparent » 
correspondences ; they begat progeny ac- 
cording to the natural affiliation or conse-— 
quence of ideas. One great elementary 
principle pervaded the whole religious sys- 
teins of the East, the connexion of moral 
with physical ideas, the inherent pu- purity of 
rity, the divinity of mind or spirit, mind. 
the inalienable evil of its antagonist, matter. 
Whether Matter coexisted with: matignity 
the First Great Cause ; whether ofmatter. 
it was created by his power, but from its 
innate malignity became insubordinate to 
his will; whether it was extraneous to his 
existence, necessarily subsisting, though 
without form, till its inert and shapeless, 
mass was worked upon by the Deity him- 
self, or by his primal power or emanation, 
the Demiurge or Creator of the existing 
worlds : on these points the different na- 
tional creeds were endlessly diversified. 
But in its various forms the principle itself 
was the universal doctrine of the Eastern 
world; it was developed in their loftiest 
philosophy (in fact, their higher philosophy 
and their speculative religion were the 
same thing); it gave a kind of colouring ~ 
even to their vulgar superstition, and op- 
erated, in many cases almost to an inered- 
ible extent, on their social and political 
system, This great primal ten- The univer- 
et is alike the elementary prin- sal primary 
ciple of the higher Brahminism ?™'Ple- 
and the more moral Buddhism of India and 
the remoter East. ‘The theory of the di- 
vision of castes supposes that a larger por- 
tion of the pure mind of the Deity is in- 
fused into the sacerdotal and superior or- 
ders; they are nearer the Deity, and with 
more immediate hope of being reabsorbed 
into the Divine essence; while the lower 


* 


oe 


ἃ » 
a 


᾿ and ecstatic influence. 


Ἃ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


- See 
4 . t - Ω - 
classes are more inextricably immersed in 


the grosser matter of the world, their fee- 
ble portion of the essential spirit of the 
Divinity contracted and lost in the predom- 
inant mass of corruption and malignity.* 
The Buddhist, substituting a moral for an 
hereditary approximation to the pure and 
elementary mind, rests, nevertheless, on 
the same primal theory, and carries the 
notion of the abstraction of the spiritual 
part from the foul and corporeal being to 
an equal, if not a greater, height of con- 
templative mysticism.t Hence the sanc- 
tity of fire among the Persians ;{ that 
element which is most subtile and defeca- 
ted from all material corruption ; it is, 
therefore, the representative of pure ele- 
mentary mind, of Deity itself. It exists 
independent of the material forms in which 
it abides, the sun and the heavenly bodies. 
To infect this holy element with any ex- 
cretion or emanation from the material 
form of man; to contaminate it with the 
putrescent effluvia of the dead and soulless 
corpse, was the height of guilt and impiety. 

This one simple principle is the parent 
Sourceor Of that ascetism which main- 
asceticism. tained its authority among all 
the older religions of the remoter East, 
forced its way at a very early period into 
Christianity, where for some centuries it 
exercised a predominant influence, and 
subdued even the active and warlike ge- 
nius of Mohammedanism to its dreamy 
On the cold table- 
lands of Thibet, in the forests of India, 
among the busy population of China, on 
the burning shores of Siam, in Egypt and 
in Palestine, in Christianized Europe, in 
Mohammedanized Asia, the worshipper of 
the Lama, the faquir, the bonze, the Tal- 
apoin, the Essene, the Therapeutist, the 
monk, and the dervish, have withdrawn 
from the society of man in order to ab- 
stract the pure mind from the dominion 
of foul and corrupting matter. Under 
each system the perfection of human na- 
ture was estrangement from the influence 
of the senses ; those senses which were 


* The self-existing power declared the purest 
part of him to be the mouth. Since the Brahmen 
sprung from the most excellent part, since he was 
the firstborn, and since he possesses the Veda, he 
is by right the chief of the whole creation.—Jones’s 
Menn..1, 92, 93. 


= peace the tracts of Mahony, Joinville, Hodgson, 
an 


“Wilson, in the Asiatic Researches; Schmidt, 
Geschichte der Ost Mongolen; Bergman, Noma- 
dische Streifereyen, &c. 

Φ Hyde, de Relig. Persarum, p. 13, et alibi. 
Kleuker, Anhang zum Zendavesta, vol. i:, p. 116, 
117. De Guigniaut, Religions de l’Antiquité, 1. ii., 
c. 3, p. 333. 


ᾧ Kleuker, Anhang zum Zendavesta, νοὶ]. i., pt. 2, 
a> 147. co ubi supra. 


oa 


201 


enslaved to the material elements of the 
world; an approximation to the essence 
of the Deity, by a total secession from 
the affairs, the interests, the passions, the 
thoughts, the common being and nature 
of man. ‘The practical operation of this 
elementary principle of Eastern religion 
has deeply influenced the whole history 
of man. But it had made no progress in 
Europe till after the introduction of Chris- 
tianity. The manner in which it allied 
itself with, or, rather, incorporated itself 
into, a system, to the original nature and 
design of which it appears altogether for- 
eign, will form a most important and, per- 
haps, not uninteresting chapter in the 
History of Christianity. 

Celibacy was the offspring of asceti- 
cism, but it does not appear abso- 
lutely essential to it; whether in- 
sulted nature reasserts its rights, and rec- 
onciles to the practice that which is in 
apparent opposition to the theory, or 
whether it revenges, as it were, this re- 
bellion of nature on one point, by its more 
violent and successful invasions upon its 
unconquerable propensities onothers. The 
Muni in India is accompanied by his wife, 
who shares his solitude, and seems to of- 
fer no impediment to his sanctity,* though 
in some cases it may be that all connubial 
intercourse is sternly renounced. In Pal- 
estine, the Essene, in his higher state of 
perfection, stood in direct opposition to 
the spirit of the books of Moses, on which 
he still looked with the profoundest rev-_ 
erence, by altogether refraining from mar- 
riage. It was perhaps in this form that 
Eastern asceticism first crept into Chris- 
tianity. It assumed the elevating and at- 
tractive character of higher personal puri- 
ty; it drew the line of demarcation more 
rigidly against the loose morality of the 
heathen ; it afforded the advantage of de- 
taching the first itinerant preachers of 
Christianity more entirely from worldly 
interests; enabled them to devote their 
whole undistracted attention to the propa- 
gation of the faith, and left them, as it 


Celibacy. 


* Abandoning all food eaten in towns, and all his 
household utensils, let him repair to the lonely 
wood, committing the care of his wife to his sons, 
or accompanied by her, if she choose to attend him. 
—-Sir ὟΝ. Jones’s Menu, vi, 3. I-venture to refer 
to the pathetic tale of the hermit with his wife and 
son, from the Maha Bharata, in my translations 
from the Sanskrit. 

In the very curious account of the Buddhist 
monks (the Zapavawe—the Schamans) in Porphy- 
rius, de AbstinentiA, lib. iv., 17, the Buddhist ascetic 
abandons his wife; and this, in general, agrees with 
the Buddhist theory. Female contact is unlawful 
to the Buddha ascetic. See a. curious instance In 
Mr. Wilson’s Hindu Theatre—The Toycart, Act 
viil., sub fine. 


Ἔ 


: 
ῳ ? 


. 
«a 


Ψ 


202. 


were, more at loose from the world, ready 
to break the few and slender ties which 
connected them with it at the first sum- 
mons to a glorious martyrdom.* But it 
was not, as we shall presently observe, 
till Gnosticism began to exercise its influ- 
ence on Christianity, that, emulous of its 
dangerous rival, or infected with its for- 
eign opinions, the Church, in its general 
sentiment, espoused and magnified the pre- 


* eminent virtue of celibacy.f 


The European mind of the older world, 
Unknown 2S represented by the Greeks and 
in Greece Romans, repelled for a long time, 
and Rome. in the busy turmoil of political 
development and the absorbing career of 
war and conquest, this principle of inac- 
tivity and secession from the ordinary af- 
fairs of life. No sacerdotal caste estab- 
lished this principle of superiority over 
the active warrior or even the laborious 
husbandman. With the citizen of the 
stirring and factious republics of Greece 
the highest virtue was of a purely politi- 
eal and practical character. -The whole 
man was public: his individuality, the 
sense of which was continually suggested 
and fostered under the other system, was 
lost in the member of the commonwealth. 
That which contributed nothing to the 
service of the state was held in no re- 
spect. The mind, in its abstracted flights, 
obtained little honour; it was only as it 
worked upon the welfare, the amusement, 
or the glory of the republic, that its digni- 
ty was estimated. The philosopher might 
discuss the comparative superiority of the 
practical or the contemplative life, but his 
loftiest contemplations were occupied with 
realities, or what may be considered ideal- 
izing those realities to a higher degree of 
perfection : to make good citizens was the 
utmost ambition of his wisdom; a Utopia 
was his heaven. The Cynic, who in the 
East, or in Europe after it became im- 
pregnated with Eastern doctrines, would 


* Clement of Alexandrea. however, asserts that 
St. Paul was really married, but left his wife be- 
hind him lest she should interfere with his minis- 
try. This is his interpretation of 1 Cor., ix., 5. 

t Tertullian adv. Mare., i, 29. Non tingitur 
apud illum caro, nisi virgo, nisi vidna, nisi celebs, 
nisi divortio baptismum mereatur * * nec prescribi- 
mus sed suademus sanctitatem * * * tunc denique 

-conjugium exerté defendentes cum inimicé accusa- 


"tur spurcitie nomine in destructionem creatoris qui. 
 proinde conjugium pro rei honestate benedixit, in- 


crementum generis humani * *. 

£ Compare the whole argument of the third book 
of the Stromata of Clement of Alexandrea. In one 
passage he condemns celibacy as leading to misan- 
thropy. Συνορῶ δὲ ὅπως TH προφάσει τοῦ γάμου 
οἱ μὲν ἀπεσχημένοι τούτου, μὴ κατὰ τὴν ἁγίαν 
γνῶσιν, εἰς μισανθρωπίαν ὑπεῤῥύησαν, καὶ τὸ τῆς 
ἀγάπης οἴχεται παρ᾽ avToic¢.—Strom., iii., 9. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


have retired into the desert to his solitary 
hermitage, in order to withdraw himself 
entirely from the common interests, sen- 
timents, and connexions of mankind, in 
Greece took up his station in the crowd- 
ed forum, or, pitching his tub in the midst 
of the concourse at the public games, in- 
veighed against the vices and follies of 
mankind. Plato, if he had followed 
the natural bent of his genius, might 
have introduced, and, indeed, did introduce, 
as much as the Grecian mind was capable 
of imbibing, of this theory of the opposi- 
tion of mind and matter with its ordinary 
consequences. The communities of his 
older master Pythagoras, who had proba- 
bly visited the East, and drank deep of the 
Oriental mysticism, approached in some 
respects nearer to the contemplative char- 
acter of monastic institutions. But the 
active mind of the Greek predominated, 
and the followers of Pythagoras, instead 
of founding cenobitic institutions, or se- 
cluding themselves in meditative solitude, 
settled some of the flourishing republics 
of Magna Grecia. But the great master, 
in whose steps Plato professed to tread 
more closely, was so essentially practical 
and unimaginative as to bind his follow- 
ers down to a less Oriental system of 
philosophy. While, therefore, in his Ti- 
meus Plato attempted to harmonize parts 
of the cosmogonical theories of Asia with 
the more humanized mythology of Greece, 
the work which was more accordant to 
the genius of his country was his Repub- 
lic, in which all his idealism was, as it 
were, confined to the earth. Even his 
religion, though of much sublimer cast 
than the popular superstition, was yet 
considered. chiefly in its practical opera- 
tion on the welfare of the state. It was 
his design to elevate humanity to a higher 
state of moral dignity; to cultivate the 
material body as well as the immaterial 
soul to the height of perfection; not to 
sever, as far as possible, the connexion 
between these ill-assorted companions, or 
to withdraw the purer mind from its so- 
cial and political sphere into solitary and 
inactive communion with the Deity. In 
Rome the general tendency of the 

national mind was still more essen- 

tially public and political. In the repub- 
lic, except in a few less distinguished 
men, the Lelii and the Attici, even their 
philosophy was an intellectual recreation 
between the more pressing avocations of 
their higher duties: it was either to brace 
and mature the mind for future service to 
the state, or as a solace in hours of disap- 
pointed ambition, or the haughty satiety 
of glory. Civil science was the end and 


Plato. 


- 


en < » 
ἣν < 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 203 


. 


aim of all their philosophic meditation. 
Like their ancient king, if they retired for 
communion with the Egeria of philoso- 
phy, it was in order to bring forth, on 
their return, more ample stores of politi- 
eal and legislative wisdom. Under the 
imperial government they took refuge in 
the lofty reveries of the Porch, as they did 
in inordinate luxury from the degradation 
and enforced inactivity of servitude. . They 
fled to the philosophic retirement from 
the barrenness, in all high or stirring emo- 
tions, which had smitten the Senate and 
the Comitia; still looking back with a vain 
but lingering hope that the state might 
summon them again from retirement with- 
out dignity, from a contemplative life, 
which by no means implied an approxi- 
mation to the Divine, but rather a debase- 
ment of the human, nature. Some, in- 
deed, degraded their high tone of philoso- 
phy by still mingling in the servile politics 
of the day; Seneca lived and died the vo- 
tary and the victim of court intrigue. The 
Thraseas stood aloof, not in ecstatic medi- 
tation on the primal Author of Being, but 
on the departed liberties of Rome ; their 


- soul aspired no higher than to unite itself 


with the ancient genius of the republic. 
Orientalism had made _ considerable 
Orientalism Progress towards the West be- 
in Western fore the appearance of Christi- 
ἔτος, anity. While the popular Phar- 
isaism of the Jews had imbodied some of 
the more practical tenets of Zoroastrian- 
ism, the doctrines of the remoter East had 
found a welcome reception with the Es- 
sene. Yet even with him, regular and 
unintermitting Jabour, not inert and medi- 
tative abstraction, was the principle of the 
ascetic community. It might almost seem 
that there subsisted some secret and in- 
delible congeniality, some latent consan- 
guinity, whether from kindred, common 
descent, or from conquest, between the 
caste-divided population on the shores of 
the Ganges and the same artificial state 
of society in the valley of the Nile, so as 
to assimilate in so remarkable a manner 
their religion.* Jt is certain that the gen- 
uine Indian mysticism first established a 
permanent western settlement in the des- 
erts of Egypt. its first combination seems 
to have been with the Egyptian Judaism 
of Alexandrea, and to have arisen from the 
dreaming Platonism which in the schools 


* Bohlen’s work, Das alte Indien, of which the 
excellence in all other respects, as a condensed 
abstract of all that our own countrymen, and the 
scholars of Germany and France have collected 
concerning India, will be universally acknowledged, 
is written to maintain the theory of the early con- 
nexion of India and Egypt. 


of that city had been ingrafted on the 
Mosaie institutes. The Egyptian monks 
were the lmeal descendants of the Jewish 
Therapeute described by Philo.* Though 
the Therapeute, like the Essenes, were in 
some respects a productive community, 
yet they approached much nearer to the 
contemplative and indolent fraternities of 
the farther East. The arid and rocky 
desert around them was too stubborn to 
make much return to their less regular 
and systematic cultivation; visionary in- 
dolence would grow upon them by de- 
grees. The communities either broke up 
into the lairs of solitary hermits, or were 
constantly throwing off their more enthu- 
siastic votaries deeper into the desert: 
the severer mortifications of the flesh re- 
quired a more complete isolation from the 
occupations, as well as the amusements 
or enjoyments of life. To change the 
wilderness into a garden by patient in- 
dustry was to enthrall the spirit, in some 
degree, to the service of the body ; and in 
process of time the principle was carried 
to its height. The more dreary the wil- 
derness, the more unquestioned the sanc- 
tity of its inhabitant; the more complete 
and painful the privation, the more holy 
the worshipper; the more the man put off 
his own nature, and sank below the ani- 
mal to vegetative existence, the more con- 
summate his spiritual perfection. The 
full growth of this system was of a much 
later period ; it did not come to maturity 
till after Christianity had passed through 
its conflict with Gnosticism ; but its ele- 
ments were no doubt floating about in the 
different western regions of Asia, and ei- 
ther directly through Gnosticism, or from 
the emulation of the two sects, which out- 
bid each other, as it were, in austerity, it 
worked at length into the very intimate 
being of the Gospel religion. 

The singular felicity, the skill and dex- 
terity, if we may so speak, ,.. ἢ 
with which Christianity at first ἀν δήποτ 
wound its way through these with Christi- 
conflicting elements, combi- ἮΝ 
ning what was pure and lofty in each, 
in some instances unavoidably speaking 
their language, and simplifying, harmoni- 
zing, and modifying each to its own pecu- 
liar system, increases our admiration of 
its unrivalled wisdom, its deep insight 
into the universal nature of man, and its 
preacquaintance, as it were, with the 
countless diversities of human character 
prevailing at the time of its propagation. 
But, unless the same profound wisdom 
had watched over its inviolable preserva- 


* Philonis Opera. Mangey, vol. ii., p. 471. 


» “ἅ. 


«vol. ii., 


204 


tion which presided over its origin, unless 
it had been constantly administered with 
the same superiority to the common pas- 
sions, and interests, and speculative cu- 
riosity of man, a reaction of the several 
systems over which it prevailed was in- 
evitable. On a wide and comprehensive 
survey of the whole history of Christian- 
ity, and considering it as left altogether to 
its own native force and impulse, it is dif- 
ficult to estimate how far the admission, 
even the preponderance, of these foreign 
elements, by which it was enabled to 
Maintain its hold on different ages and ra- 
ces, may not have contributed both to its 
original success and its final permanence. 
The Eastern asceticism outbid Christiani- 


ty in that austerity, that imposing self- 
sacrifice, that intensity of devotion which 
acts with the greatest rapidity, and se- 
cures the most lasting authority over rude 
and unenlightened minds. By coalescing 
to a certain point with its antagonist, it 
embraced within its expanding pale those 
who would otherwise, according to the 
spirit of their age, have been carried be- 
yond its sphere by some enthusiasm more 
popular and better suited to the genius of 
the time or the temperament of the indi- 
vidual. If it lost in purity, it gained in 
power, perhaps in permanence. No doubt, 
in its first contest with Orientalism were 


sown those seeds which grew up at a la- 
ter period into Monasticism; it rejected 
the tenets, but admitted the more insidi- 
ous principle of Gnosticism; yet there 
can be little doubt that in the dark ages 
the monastic spirit was among the great 
conservative and influential elements of 
Christianity. ~ 

The form in which Christianity first en- 
countered this wide-spread Orientalism 
was either Gnosticism,* or, if that philos- 
ophy had not then become consolidated 
into a system, those opinions which sub- 
sequently grew up into that prevailing 
doctrine of Western Asia. The first Ori- 
Simon entalist was Simon Magus. In the 
Magus. conflict with St. Peter, related in 
the Acts, nothing transpires as to the per- 
sonal history of this remarkable man, ex- 
cepting the extensive success with which 
he had practised his magical arts in Sa- 
maria, and the Oriental title which he as- 


* In this view of Gnosticism, besides constant 
reference to the original authorities, I must ac- 
knowledge my obligations to Brucker, Hist. Phil., 
Ῥ. 1, c. 3: to Mosheim, de Reb. Christ. 
ante Const. Mag.; to Beausobre, Hist. du Mani- 
cheisme, but above all to the excellent Histoire 
du Gnosticisme, by M. Matter of Strasburg, 2 
vols. 8vo, Paris, 1828. [See also the authors na- 
med in Mosheim’s Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., 


p. 89, n (4).} 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. * 


‘ *~ 
sumed, “ The Power of God.” His first 
overtures to ‘the apostle appear as though 
he were desirous of conciliating the friend- 
ship and favour of the new teacher, and 
would not have been unwilling to have 
acted a subordinate part in the formation 
of their increasing sect. But from his 
first rejection Simon Magus was an oppo- 
nent, if there be any truth in the wild le- 
gends which are still extant, the rival of 
Christianity.* On the arrival of the Chris- 
tian teachers in Samaria, where, up to 
that period, his influence had predomina- 
ted, he paid homage.to the reality of their 
miracles by acknowledging their superior- 
ity to his own. Still it should seem 
that he only considered them as more 
adroit wonder-workers, or, as is more 
probable, possessed of some peculiar se- 
crets beyond his own knowledge of the 
laws of nature, or, possibly (for impos- 
ture and superstition are ever closely 
allied), he may have supposed that they 
had intercourse with more powerful spir- 
its or intelligences than his own. Jesus 
was to him either some extraordinary pro- 
ficient in magic, who had imparted his 
prevailing gifts to his followers the apos- 
tles; or some superior genius, who lent 
himself to their bidding; or, what Si- 
mon asserted himself to be, some power 
emanating more directly from the primal 
Deity. The “gift of the Holy Ghost” 
seemed to communicate a great portion, 
at least, of this magic influence, and to 
place the initiated in possession of some 
mighty secrets, or to endow him with the 
control of some potent spirits. Simon’s 
offer of pecuniary remuneration hetrays 
at once either that his own object was sor- 
did, as he suspected theirs to be, or, at the 
highest, he sought fo increase, by a com- 
bination with them, his own reputation 
and influence. Nor, on the indignant re- 
fusal of St. Peter, does his entreaty for 
their prayers, lest he should incur the 
wrath of their offended Deity, by any 
means imply a more accurate and Chris- 
tian conception of their religion; it is ex- 
actly the tone of a man, half impostor and 
half enthusiast, who trembles before the 
offended anger of some mightier superhu- 
man being, whom his ineffectual magic 
has no power to control or to appease. — 


* Tt is among the most hopeless difficulties in 
early Christian history to decide, to one’s own sat- 
isfaction, what groundwork of truth there may 
be in those works which bear the name of St. 
Clement, and relate the contests of St. Peter and 
Simon Magus. That in their present form they are 
akind of religious romance, few will doubt; but 
they are certainly of great antiquity, and itis dif 
ficult to suppose either pure invention or mere em- 
bellishments of the simple history in the Acts. 


HISTOR\ OF CHRISTIANITY. 


/- 


We collect no more than this from the 
narrative in the Acts.* ΓΝ 


Yet, uniess Simon was in fact a person- 
age of considerable importance during the 
early history of Christianity, it is difficult 
to account for his becoming, as he is call- 
ed by Beausobre, the hero of the Romance 
of Heresy. If Simon was the same with 
that magician, a Cypriot by birth, who was 
employed by Felix as agent in his intrigue 
to detach Drusilla from her husband,t 
this part of his character accords with the 
charge of licentiousness advanced both 
against his life and his doctrines by his 
Christian opponents. This is by no means 
improbable ; and, indeed, even if he was 
not a person thus politically prominent 
and influential, the early writers of Chris- 
tianity would scarcely have concurred in 
representing him as a formidable and dan- 
gerous antagonist of the faith, as a kind 
of personal rival of St. Peter, without 
some other groundwork for the fiction be- 
sides the collision recorded in the Acts. 
The doctrines which are ascribed to him 
and to his followers, who continued to-ex- 
ist for several centuries,t harmonize with 
the glimpse of his character and tenets in 
His real the writings of St. Luke. Simon 
character probably was one of that class of 
andtenets. adventurers which abounded at 
this period, or like Apollonius of Tyana, 
and others at a later time, with whom the 
opponents of Christianity attempted to 
confound Jesus and his apostles. His doc- 
trine was Oriental in its language and in 
its pretensions.§ He was the first Avon 
or emanation, or rather, perhaps, the first 
manifestation of the primal Deity. He as- 
sumed not merely the title of the Great 
Power or Virtue of God, but all the other 
appellations: the Word, the Perfection, 
the Paraclete, the Almighty, the whole 
combined attributes of the Deity.|| He 
had a companion, Helena, according to the 

} satement of his enemies, a beau- 
ee ene sifu prostitute,4 whom he found 
at Tyre, who became in like manner the 
first conception (the Enneea) of the Deity ; 
but who, by her conjunction with matter, 
had been enslaved to its malignant influ- 


Pe at ets: ϑιις 9, 24. ᾿ 
ΞΡ Αηι., xx’, 5, 2. 
eer * loco Act. Apost. 

ΟἿ Origen denies the existence of living Simonians 
in his day | contra Cels., lib. i.), which implies that 
they had subsisted nearly up to that time. 

§ Ireneus, lib. i., c. 20; the fullest of the early 
authorities on Simon. Compare Grabe’s notes. 
The personal conflict with St. Peter in Rome, and 
the famous inscription ‘‘Semoni Sanco,” must, I 
think, be abandoned to Jegend. 

|| Ego sum Sermo Dei, ego sum Speciosus, ego 
Paracletus, ego Omnipotens, ego omnia Dei.—Hie- 
ronym. in Matth., Op., iv.,114. © J Lrenzus, ibid. 


Compare Krebs and 


205 


ence, and, having fallen under the power 
of evil angels, had been in a constant state 
of transmigration, and among other mor- 
tal bodies had occupied that of the fa- 
mous Helen of Troy. Beausobre,* who 
elevates Simon into a Platonic philosopher, 
explains the Helena as a sublime allegory, 
She was the Psyche of his philosophic ro- 
mance. The soul, by evil influences, had 
become imprisoned in matter. ΒΥ her the 
Deity ee i the angels: the angels, 
enamoured of her, had inextricably en- 
tangled her in that polluting bondage in 
order to prevent her return to heaven. 
To fly from their embraces she had pass- 
ed from body to body. Connecting this 
fiction with the Grecian mythology, she 
was Minerva, or impersonated Wisdom ; 
perhaps also Helena or imbodied Beauty. 
It is by no means inconsistent with the 
character of Orientalism, or with the spirit 
of the times, to reconcile much of these 
different theories. According to the East- 
ern system of teaching by symbolic ac- 
tion, Simon may have carried about a liv- 
ing and real illustration of his allegory : 
his Helena may have been to his disciples 
the mystic image of an emanation from 
the Divine Mind ; her native purity, indeed, 
originally defiled by the contagious malig- 
nity of matter, but under the guidance of 
the hierophant, or, rather, by her sancti- 
fying association with the “ Power of God,” 
either soaring again to her primal sanctity, 
or even, while the grosser body was still 
abandoned to its inalienable corruption, 
emancipating the uninfected and “unparti- 
cipant soul from all the depravation, almost 
from the consciousness, of corporeal indul- 
gence. Be this as it may, probability of 
whether the opinions of Simon. the history of 
were derived. from Platonism, °°" 
or, as it is much more likely, immediately 
from Eastern sources, his history is sin- 
gularly characteristic of the state of the 
public mind at this period of the world. 
An individual assuming the lofty appella- 
tion of the Power of God, and with his fe- 
male associate personating the male and 
female Kuergies or Intelligences of the 
Deity, appears to our colder European 
reason a fiction too monstrous even for 
the proverbial credulity of man. But this 
Magianism of Simon must be considered 
‘in reference to the whole theory of theur- 
gy or magic, and the prevalent theosophy 
or notions of the Divine nature. In the 
East superstition had in general repudia- 
ted the grossly material forms in which 
the Western anthropomorphism had im- 
bodied its gods ; it remained more spirit- 


* Beausobre, Hist. du Manicheisme, 1., 35. 


ὁ. 


Ὡς 


“= 


206 


ual, but it made up for this by the fantas- 
tic manner in which it multiplied the gra- 
dations of spiritual beings more or less 
remotely connected with the first great 
Supreme. The more subtile the spirits, in 
general they were the more beneficent ; 
the more intimately associated with mat- 
ter, the more malignant. The avowed ob- 
ject of Simon was to destroy the authority 
of the evil spirits, and to emancipate man- 
kind from their control. This peopling of 
the universe with a regularly-descending 
succession of beings was common to the 
whole East, perhaps, in great part, to the 
West. The later Jewish doctrine of an- 
gels and devils approached nearly to it ; 
it lurked in Platonism, and assumed a high- 
er form in the Eastern cosmogonies. In 
these it not merely assigned guardian or 
hostile beings to individuals or to nations, 
but its peculiar creator to the material uni- 
verse, from which it aspired altogether to 
keep aloof the origin and author of the 
spiritual world, though the latter superior 
and benignant Being was ordinarily intro- 
duced as interfering in some manner to 
correct, to sanctify, and to spiritualize the 
world of man; and it was in accordance 
with this part of the theory that Simon 
proclaimed himself the representative of 
Deity. 

But Simon was at no time a Christian, 
neither was the heir and successor of his 
doctrines, Menander ;* and it was not till 
it had made some progress in the Syrian 
and Asiatic cities that Christianity came 
into closer contact with those Gnostie or 
pregnostic systems, which, instead of op- 
posing it with direct hostility, received it 
with more insidious veneration, and warp- 
ed it into an unnatural accordance with 
its own principles. As the Jew watched 
the appearance of Jesus, and listened to 
his announcement as the Messiah in anx- 
ious suspense, expecting that even yet he 
would assume those attributes of tempo- 
ral grandeur and visible majesty which, 
according to his conceptions, were insep- 
arable from the true Messiah ; as even 
after the death of Jesus the Jewish Chris- 
tians still eagerly anticipated his imme- 
diate return to judgment, his millennial 
reign, and his universal dominion, so 
many of the Oriental speculatists, as’ soon 
as Chrfstianity began to be developed, 
hailed it*as the completion of their own 


* Menander baptized in his own name, being sent 
by the Supreme Power of God. His baptism con- 
ferred a resurrection not only to eternal life, but to 
eternal youth. An opinion, as M. Matter justly ob- 
serves, not easily reconcilable to those who consid- 
ered the body the unworthy prison of the soul.— 
Trenaus, i., 21. Matter, i., 219. 


HISTORY UF « ‘ISTIANITY. 


Vege 
wild theories, and forced it into ἊΝ: 
accordance with their universal oe. 
tenet of distinct intelligences em- self with 
anating from the primal Being. Chstanity- 
Thus Christ, who, to the vulgar Jew was 
to be a temporal king, to the Cabalist or 
the Chaldean became a Sephiroth, an Aon, 
an emanation from the One Supreme. 
While the author of the religion remained 
on earth, and while the religion itself was 
still in its infancy, Jesus was in danger of 
being degraded into a king of the Jews; 
his Gospel of becoming the code of a new 
religious republic. Directly as it got be- 
yond the borders of Palestine, and the 
name of Christ had acquired sanctity and 
veneration in the Eastern cities, he be- 
came a kind of metaphysical impersona- 
tion, while the religion lost its purely 
moral cast, and assumed the character of 
a speculative theogony. 

Ephesus is the scene of the first colli- 
sion between Christianity and Ori- 
entalism of which we can trace 
any authentic record. Ephesus we have 
before described as the great emporium of 
magic arts, and the place where the un- 
wieldy allegory of the East lingered in the 
bosom of the more elegant Grecian Hu- 
manism.* Here the Greek, the Oriental, 
the Jew, the philosopher, the magician, the 
follower of John the Baptist, the teacher of 
Christianity, were no doubt encouraged to 
settle by the peaceful opulence of the in- 
habitants and the constant influx of stran- 
gers, under the proudly indifferent protec- 
tion of the municipal authorities and the 
Roman government. In Ephesus, accord- 
ing to universal tradition, survived the last 
of the apostles, and here the last 
of the Gospels—some have sup- 
posed the latest of the writings of the New 
Testament—appeared in the midst of this 
struggle with the foreign elements of con- 
flicting systems. This Gospel 
was written, we conceive, not 
against any peculiar sect or individual, but 
to arrest the spirit of Orientalism, which 
was working into the essence of Christi- 
anity, destroying its beautiful simplicity, 
and threatening altogether to change both 
its design and its effects upon mankind. 
In some points it necessarily spoke the 
language which was common alike, though 
not precisely with the same meaning, to 
the Platonism of the West and the The- 
ogonism of the East; but its sense was 


Ephesus, 


St. John. 


His Gospel 


* The Temple of Diana was the triumph of pure 
Grecian architecture: but her statue was not that 
of the divine Huntress, like that twin-sister of the 
Belvidere Apollo in the gallery at Paris; she was 
the Diana multimamma, the emblematic imperson- 
ation of all-productive, all-nutritive Nature. 


- 
᾿ 


’ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


a ὁ " 


different and peculiar. It kept the moral 
and religious, if not altogether distinct 
from the physical notions, yet clearly and 
invariably predominant. While it appro- 
priated the well-known and almost univer- 
sal term, the Logos or Word of God, to 
the Divine author of Christianity, and even 
adopted some of the imagery from the hy- 
pothesis of conflicting light and darkness, 
yet it altogether rejected all the wild cos- 
mogonical speculations on the formation 
of the world; it was silent on that ele- 
mentary distinction of the Eastern creed, 
the separation of matter from the ethereal 
mind. The union of the soul with the 
Deity, though in the writings of John it 
takes something of a mystic tone, is not 
the pantheistic absorption into the parent 
Deity ; it is a union by the aspiration of 
the pious heart, the conjunction by pure 
and holy love with the Deity, who, to the 
ecstatic moral affection of the adorer, is 
himself pure love. It insists not on ab- 
straction from matter, but from sin, from 
hatred, from all fierce and corrupting pas- 
sions; its new life is active as well as 
meditative ; a social principle, which in- 
corporates together all pure and holy men, 
and conjoins them with their federal head, 
Christ, the image and representative of 
the God of Love ; itis no principle of iso- 
lation in solitary and rapturous medita- 
tion ; 1t is a moral, not an imaginative pu- 
rity. 

Among the opponents to the holy and 
sublime Christianity of St. John 
during his residence at Ephesus, 
the names of the Nicolaitans and of Ce- 
rinthus alone have survived.* Of the ten- 
ets of the former and the author of the 
doctrine, nothing precise is known; but 
the indignant language with which they 
are alluded to in the Sacred Writings im- 
plies that they were not merely hostile to 
the abstract doctrines, but also to the mor- 
al effects of the Gospel. Nor does it ap- 
pear quite clear that the Nicolaitans were 
a distinct and organized sect. 

Cerinthus was the first of whose tenets 


Nicolaitans. 


* General tradition derived the Nicolaitans from 
Nicolas, one of the seven deacons.—Acts, vi, 5 
Eusebius (Eccl. Hist., |. iii., c. 29) relates a story 
that Nicolas, accused of being jealous of his beau- 
tiful wife, offered her in matrimony to whoever 
chose to take her. His followers, on this example, 
founded the tenet of promiscuous concubinage. 
Wetstein, with whom Michaelis and Rosenmiuller 
are inclined to agree, supposed that Nicolas was a 
translation of the Hebrew word Bileam, both sig- 
nifying, in their respective languages, the subduer 
or the destroyer of the people. 
horn, and Storr suppose, therefore, that it was the 
name rather of a sect than an individual, and the 
same with those mentioned 2 Pet., 11... 10, 13, 18; 
iii, 3; Jud., 8, 16,.—See Rosenmiuller on Rev., ii, 6. 


2: 


Michaelis, Eich- 


207 


we have any distinct statement, . 

who, admitting the truth of Chris- us. 
tianity, attempted to incorporate with it 
foreign and Oriental tenets.* Cerinthus 
was of Jewish descent, and educated in 
the Judzo-Platonic school of Alexandrea.t 
His system was a singular and apparent- 
ly incongruous fusion of Jewish, Christian, 
and Oriental notions. He did not, like 
Simon or Menander, invest himself ina 
sacred and mysterious character, though 
he pretended to angelic revelations.{ Like 
all the Orientals, his imagination was 
haunted with the notion of the malignity 
of matter; and his object seems tu have 
been to keep both the primal Being and 
the Christ uninfected with its contagion. 
The Creator of the material world, there- 
fore, was a secondary being, an angel or 
angels; as Cerinthus seems to have ad- 
hered to the Jewish, and not adopted the 
Oriental language.§ But his national and 
hereditary reverence for the law withheld 
him from that bold and hostile step which 
was taken by most of the other Gnostic 
sects, to which, no doubt, the general an- 
imosity to the Jews in Syria and Egypt 
concurred, the identification of the God 
of the Jewish covenant with the inferior 
and malignant author of the material cre- 
ation. He retained, according to one ac- 
count, his reverence for the rites, the cer- 
emonies, the law, and the prophets of Ju- 
daism,|| to which he was probably recon- 
ciled by the allegoric interpretations of 
Philo. The Christ, in his theory, was of 
a higher order than those secondary and 
subordinate beings who had presided over 
the older world. But, with the jealousy 
of all the Gnostic sects, lest the pure em- 
anation from the Father should be unne- 
cessarily contaminated by too intimate a 
conjunction with a material and mortal 
form, he relieved him from the degrada- 
tion of a human birth by supposing that 
the Christ descended on the man Jesus at 
his baptism; and from the ignominy of a 
mortal death by making him reascend be- 
fore that crisis, having accomplished his 
mission of making known “ the Unknown 
Father,” the pure and primal Being, of 
whom the worshippers of the Creator of 


~*~ * δτ 
* See Mosheim, de Rebus ante Ο. Μ., p. 199 
{and Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 95]. Matter, 
iy 2213 t Theodoret, ii., c. 3. 
1 Eusebius, E. H., iii., 28, from Caius the pres- 
byter, τερατολογίας ἡμὶν ὡς di ἀγγέλων αὔτῳ δε- 
δειγμᾶνας ψευδόμενος. 
| § Epiphanii Her., viii, 28. According to Ire- 
nzus, a virtute quadam valdé separata, et distante 
ab ea principalitate qua est super universa et 1gno- 
rante eum qui est super omnia Deum.—Iren ,1., 29. 

|| Inferior angels to those of the law inspired the 
prophets. 


wi 


«; 
"ae 


é 


CS 


. 


᾿ 
Σ 


“Δ 


δὰ 
é ° hy 


ΠῚ 
~~ 


é 


* * 
) -- Pix λῶν ἢ 
-- . ν᾿ + Ν ν : 
the material miverse and of the Jehovah 
of the Jews were alike ignorant. But the 
most inconsequential part of the doctrine 
of Cerinthus was his retention of the Jew- 
ish doctrine of the millennium. It must, 
indeed, have been purified from some of 
its grosser and more sensual images ; for 
the Christos, the immaterial emanation 
from the Father, was to preside during its 
long period of harmony and peace.* 

The later Gnostics were bolder, but 
Tater More consistent innovators on 
Gnostics. the simple scheme of Christian- 
ity. It was not till the second century 
that the combination of Orientalism with 
Christianity was matured into the more 
perfect Gnosticism. This was perhaps 
at its height from about the year 120 to 
140. In all the great cities of the East 
in which Christianity had established its 
most flourishing communities, sprung up 
this rival, which aspired to a still higher 
degree of knowledge than was revealed 
in the Gospel, and boasted that it soared 
almost as much above the vulgar Chris- 
tianity as the vulgar paganism. Antioch, 
where the first church of the Christians 
had been opened, beheld the followers of 
Saturninus withdrawing, in a proud assu- 
rance of their superiority, from the com- 
mon brotherhood of believers, and insula- 
ting themselves as the gifted possessors 
of still higher spiritual secrets. Edessa, 
whose king very early Christian fable had 
exalted into a personal correspondent with 
the Saviour, rung with the mystic hymns 
of Bardesanes ; to the countless religious 
and philosophical factions of Alexandaga 
were added those of Basilides and Va- 
Jentinus ; until a still more unscrupulous 
and ardent enthusiast, Marcion of Pontus, 
threw aside in disdain the whole existing 
religion of the Gospel, remodelled the Sa- 
cred books, and established himself as the 
genuine hierophant of the real Christian 


mysteries. 


Gnosticism, though very different from 
The primal Christianity, was of a sublime 
Deity of | and imposing character as an 
Gnosticism. imaginative creed, and not more 
unreasonable than the other attempts of 
human reason to solve the inexplicable 
secret, the origin of evil. Though vari- 
ously modified, the systems of the differ- 


τ΄ ent teachers were essentially the same. 


The primal Deity remained aloof in his 
unapproachable majesty; the unspeaka- 
ble, the ineffable, the nameless, the self- 


* Cerinthus was considered by some early wri- 
ters the author of the Apocalypse, because that 
work appeared to contain his grosser doctrine of 
the millennial reign of Christ.—Dionysius apud 
Euseb., ili., 282 ; vii., 25. 


: s 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ee 
existing.* The Pleroma, the τ 
fniaceept the Godhead, expand- ier 
ed itself in still outspreading circles, and 
approached, till it comprehended, the uni- 
verse. From the Pleroma emanated all 
spiritual being, and to him they were to 
return and mingle again in indissoluble 
unity. eet entanglement in malign 
and hostile matter, the source of moral as 
well as physical evil, all outwardly exist- 
ing beings had degenerated from their high 
origin; their redemption from this foreign 
bondage, their restoration to purity and 
peace in the bosom of Divinity, the uni- 
versal harmony of all immaterial exist- 
ence, thus resolved again into the Plero- 
ma, was the merciful design of ‘The Aton 
the Hon Christ, who had for this Christ. 
purpose invaded and subdued the foreign 
and hostile provinces of the presiding En- 
ergy, or Deity of matter. "eh 

In all the Oriental sects, this primary 
principle, the malignity of matter, matignity 
haunted the imagination, and to ofmatter. 
this principle every tenet must be accom- 
modated. The sublimest doctrines of the 
Old Testament—the creative omnipotence, 
the sovereignty, the providence of God, as 
well as the grosser and anthropomorphic 
images, in which the acts and passions, and 
even the form of man, are assigned to the 
Deity—fell under the same remorseless 
proscription. It was pollution, it was deg- 
radation to the pure and elementary 
spirit to mingle with, to approximate, to 
exercise even the remotest influence over 
the material world. The creation of the 
visible universe was made over, according 
to all, to a secondary, with most to a hos- 
tile Demiurge. The hereditary reverence 
which had modified the opinions of Cerin- 
thus with regard to the Jehovah of his 
fathers had no hold on the Syrian and 
Egyptian speculatists. They fearlessly 
pursued their system to its consequences, 
and'the whole of the Old Testament was 
abandoned to the inspiration of an mferior 
and evil demon; the Jews were left in 
exclusive possession of their national De- 
ity, whom the Gnostic Christians disdain- 
ed to acknowledge as_ bearing Rejection. of 
any resemblance to the abstract, the Old Tes- 
remote, and impassive Spirit. met 
To them the mission of Christ revealed a 
Deity altogether unknown in the dark ages 
of a world which was the creation and the 
domain of an inferior being. They would 


* The author of the Apostolic Constitutions as- 


serts, as the first princip'e of all the early heresies, 
τὸν μὲν παντοκράτορα Θεὸν βλασφημεῖν, ἄγνωσ- 
τον δοξάζειν, καὶ μὴ εἶναι Πατέρα τοῦ Χριστοῦ, 
μηδὲ τοῦ κόσμου δημιουργὸν, ἀλλ᾽ ἄλεκτον, ἀῤῥη- 
Tov, ἀκατονόμαστον, αὐτογένεθλον .---Ἰ 10. vi, c. 10. 


4 ; 


not, like the philosophizing Jews, take ref- 
uge-in allegory to explain the too material. 
images of the works of the Deity in the 
act of creation and his subsequent rest; 
the intercourse with man in the garden of 
Eden ; the trees of knowledge and of life ; 
the serpent and the fall; they rejected the 
whole as altogether extraneous to Chris- 
tianity, belonging to another world, with 


~ which the God revealed by Christ had no 


concern or relation. If they condescended 
to discusst he later Jewish history, it was 
merely to confirm their preconceived no- 
tions. ‘The apparent imvestiture of the 
Jehovah with the state and attributes of a 
temporal sovereign, the imperfection of 
the law, the barbarity of the people, the 
bloody wars in which they were engaged— 
in short, whatever in Judaism was irrec- 
oncilable with a purely intellectual and 
morally perfect system, argued its origin 
from an imperfect and secondary author. 
But some tenets of primitive Christian- 
Ofsome ity came no less into direct colli- 
partsof sion with the leading principles of 
the New. Orientalism. The human nature 
of Jesus was too deeply impressed upon 
all the Gospel history, and perplexed the 
whole school, as well the precursors of 
Gnosticism as the most perfect Gnostics. 
His birth and death bore equal evidence 
of the unspiritualized materialism of his 
mortal body. They seized with avidity 
the distinction between the Divine and 
human nature; but the Christ, the Alon, 
which emanated from the pure and primal 
Deity, as yet unknown in the world of the 
inferior creator, must be relieved as far as 
possible from the degrading and contami- 
nating association with the mortal Jesus. 
The simpler hypothesis of the union of the 
two natures, mingled up too closely, ac- 
cording to their views, the ill-assorted 
companions. The human birth of Jesus, 
though guarded by the virginity of his 
mother, was still offensive to their subtler 
and more fastidious purity. The Christ, 
therefore, the Emanation from the Plero- 
ma, descended upon the man Jesus at his 
baptism. The death of Jesus was a still 
more serious cause of embarrassment. 
They seem never to have entertained the 
notion of an expiatory sacrifice ; and the 
connexion 9 the ethereal mind with the 
pains and sufferings of a carnal body was 
altogether repulsive to their strongest prej- 
udices, Before the death, therefore, of 
Jesus, the Christ had broken off his tempo- 


rary association with the perishable body | 


of Jesus, and surrendered it to the impo- 

tent resentment of Pilate and the Jews; 

or, according to the theory of the Docetz, 

adopted by ieee all the Gnostic sects, 
D 


the whole union with the material human ἢ 
‘form was an illusion upon the sensés of 
men; it was but an apparent human being, 


an impassive phantom, which seemed to. 
undergo all the insults and the agony of 
the cross. ἢ 

Such were the general tenets of the 
Gnostic sects, emanating from one simple 
principle. But the details of their cosmog- 
ony, their philosophy, and their religion 
were infinitely modified by local circum- 
stances, by the more or less fanciful genius 
of their founders, and by the stronger in- 
fusion of the different elements of Plato- 
nism, Cabalism, or that which, in its 
stricter sense, may be called Orientalism. 
The number of circles, or emanations, or 
procreations which intervened between 
the spiritual and the material world; the 
nature and the rank of the Creator of that 
material world; his more or less close 
identification with the Jehovah of Juda- 
ism; the degree of malignity which they 
attributed to the latter; the office and the 
nature of the Christos; these were open 
points, upon which they admitted, or, at 
least, assumed the utmost latitude. 

The earliest of the more distinguished 
Gnostics is Saturninus, who is © inns. 
represented as a pupil of Me- “™™mnus 
nander, the successor of Simon Magus.* 
But this Samaritan sect was always in di-” 
rect hostility with Christianity, while Sat- 
urninus departed less from the Christian 
system than most of the wilder and more ἡ 
imaginative teachers of Gnosticism. The 
strength of the Christian party in Antioch 


may in some degree have overawed and 


restrained the aberrations of his fancy. 
Saturninus did not altogether exclude the 
primal spiritual Being from all concern or 
interest in the material world. For the 
Creator of the visible universe he assumed 
the seven great angels, which the later 
Jews had probably borrowed, though with 
different powers, from the seven Amschas- 
pands of Zoroastrianism. Neither were 
these angels essentially evil, nor was the 
domain on which they exercised their cre- 
ative power altogether surrendered to the 
malignity of matter ; it was a kind of de- 
batable ground between the powers of 
evil and of good. The historian of Gnos- 
ticism has remarked the singular beauty 
of the fiction regarding the creation of 
man. “The angels tried their utmost ef- 
forts to form man; but there arose under 


* On Saturninus, see Ireneus, i., 22. Euseb., 
iv.,7. Epiphan., Her.,23. Theodoret, Her. Fab., 
lib. iii. Tertullian, de Anima, 23 ; de Prescrip. cont. 
Her., c. 46. Of the moderns, Mosheim, p. 336 
[and Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 140]. Mat- 


ter, 1., 276. 


” 


v 


f » δι νὰ 
a εν ἥν ee 
“, Ύ φῦλα r - «ἡ, ; 
‘we HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. , es ἢ 
ea © 209 


q 


210 ὦ ν 


Re : ΓΝ : . 
* their creative influence only ‘a worm 


creeping upon the earth.’ God, conde- 
scending to interpose, sent down his Spir- 
it, which breathed into the reptile the liv- 
ing soul of man.” It is not quite easy to 
connect with this view of the origin of 
man the tenets of Saturninus, that the hu- 
man kind was divided into two distinct 
races, the good and the bad. Whether the 
latter became so from receiving a feebler 
and less influential portion of the Divine 
Spirit, or whether they were a subsequent 
creation of Satan, who assumes the sta- 
tion of the Ahriman of the Persian sys- 
tem.* But the descent of Christ was to 
separate finally these two conflicting ra- 
ces. He wasto rescue the good from the 
predominant power of the wicked; to de- 
stroy the kingdom of the spirits of evil, 
who, emanating in countless numbers from 
Satan their chief, waged a fatal war against 
the good; and to elevate them far above 
the power of the chief of the angels, the 
God of the Jews, for whose imperfect laws 
were to be substituted the purifying prin- 
ciples of asceticism, by which the chil- 
dren of light were reunited to the source 
and origin of light. The Christ himself 
-was the Supreme Power of God, immate- 
rial, incorporeal, formless, but assuming 
the semblance of man; and his followers 
were, as far as possible, to detach them- 
selves from their corporeal bondage, and 
assimilate themselves to his spiritual be- 
‘ing. Marriage was the invention of Satan 
.and his evil spirits, or, at best, of the great 
angel, the God of the Jews, in order to 
continue the impure generation. The 
elect were to abstain from propagating 
‘a race of darkness and imperfection. 
Whether Saturninus, with the Essenes, 
maintained this total abstinence.as the es- 
" pecial privilege of the higher class of his 
followers, and permitted to the less per- 
fect the continuation of their kind, or 
whether he abandoned altogether this per- 
ilous and degrading office to the wicked, 
_ his system appears incomplete, as it seems 
to yield up as desperate the greater part 
of the human race ; to perpetuate the do- 
minion of evil; and to want the general 
and final abserption of all existence into 
the purity and happiness of the primal 
Being. 

Alexandrea, the centre, as it were, of 
the speculative and intellectual 
activity of the Roman world, to 
which ancient Egypt, Asia, Palestine, and 


Alexandrea. 


* The latter opinion is that of Mosheim. M. 
‘Matter, on the contrary, says, “ Satan n’a pourtant 
pas crée les hommes, et les ἃ trouvé tout faits: il 
s’en est emparé; c’est la sa sphére d’activité et la 
Jimite de sa puissance.”—P. 285. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


< e Ρ ee 


a * . ᾿ 
Greece furnished the mingled population 
of her streets and the Cconfiicting opinions 
of her schools, gave birth to the two suc- 
ceeding and most widely -disseminated 
sects of Gnosticism, those of Basilides and 
Valentinus. ᾿ 

Basilides was a Syrian by birth, and by 
some is supposed to have been a 
scholar of Menander, at the same 
time with Saturninus. He claimed, how- 
ever, Glaucias, a disciple of St. Peter, as 
his original teacher ;-and his doctrines as- 
sumed the boastful title of the Secret Tra- 
ditions of the great apostle. He also had 
some ancient prophecies, those of Cham 
and Barkaph,* peculiar to his sect. Ac- 
cording to another authority he was a Per- 
sian; but this may have originated from 


Basilides. 


the Zoroastrian cast of his primary ten- 


ets.| From the Zendavesta Basilides 
drew the eternal hostility of mind and 
matter, of light and darkness ; but the Zo- 
roastrian doctrine seems to have accom- 
modated itself to the kindred systems of 
Egypt. In fact, the Gnosticism of Basil- 
ides appears to have been a fusion of the 
ancient sacerdotal religion of Egypt with 
the angelic and demoniac theory of Zoro- 
aster. Basilides did not, it seems, main- 
tain his one abstract unapproachable De- 
ity far above the rest of the universe, but 
connected him, by a long and insensible 
gradation of intellectual developments or 
manifestations, with the visible and ma- 
terial world. From the Father proceeded 
seven beings, who, together with him, 


made up an ogdoad; constituted the first — 


scale of intellectual beings, and inhabi 
the highest heaven, the-purest intelleetue 
sphere. According to theirnames—Mind, 
Reason, Intelligence (Φρονησις), Wisdom, 
Power, Justice, and Peace—they are mere- 
ly, in our language, the attributes. of the 
Deity impersonated in this system. 

The number of these primary ons is 
the same as the Persian system of the 
Deity and the seven Amschaspands, and 
the Sephiroth of the Cabala, and proba- 
bly, as far as that abstruse subject is 
known, of the ancient Egyptian theology. 

The seven primary efiluxes of the Deity 
went on producing and multiplying, each 
forming its own realm or sphere, till they 
reached the number of 365.§ The total 


* Treneus differs in his view of the Basilidian 
theory from the remains of the Basilidian books ap- 
pealed to by Clement of Alexandrea, Strom., vi., p. 
375, 795. Theodoret, Heret. Fabul.,1,2. Euseb., 
Eccl. Hist.,iv.,7. Basilides published twenty-four 
volumes of exegetica, or interpretations of his doc- 
trines. ν 

+ Clemens, Stromata, vi., 642. Euseb., Eccl. 
Hist., iv., 7. + See Matter, vol. ii., p. 5-37. 

§ It is difficult to suppose that this number, ei- 


. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


᾿ 4, 


number formed the mystical Abraxas,* the| the transmigration of souls, in order to 


mis canta is found on so many of the 
ancient gems, the greater part of which 
are of Gnostic origin; though as much of 
this theory was from the doctrines of an- 
cient Egypt, not only the mode of ex- 
pressing their tenets by symbolic inscrip- 
tions, but even the inscription itself, may 


~ de originally Egyptian.t The lowest of 


loftier region. 
spirit was to be emancipated from its im- 


these worlds bordered on the realm of 
matter. The first confusion and invasion 
of the hostile elements took place. At 
length the chief angel of this sphere, on 
the verge of intellectual being, was seized 
with a desire of reducing the confused 
mass to order. With his assistant angels 
he became the Creator. ‘Though the form 
was of a higher origin, it was according to 
the idea of Wisdom, who, with the Deity, 
formed part of the first and highest og- 
doad. Basilides professed the most pro- 
found reverence for Divine Providence ; 
and in Alexandrea, the God of the Jews, 
softened off, as it were, and harmonized to 
the philosophic sentiment by the school 
of Philo, was looked upon in a less hos- 
tile light than by the Syrian and Asiatic 
school. The Kast lent its system of guar- 
dian angels, and the assistant angels of the 
Demiurge were the spiritual rulers of the 
nations, while the Creator himself was 
that of the Jews. Man was formed of a 
triple nature. His corporeal form of brute 
and malignant matter; his animal soul, 
the Psychic principle, which he received 
from the Demiurge ; the higher and purer 
spirit, with which he was endowed from a 
This pure and ethereal 


pure companionship ; and Egypt, or, rath- 
er, the whole East, lent the doctrine of 


ther as originally borrowed from the Egyptian theol- 


ogy, or as invented by Basilides, had not some as- 
tronomical reference. 

* Jreneus, i., 23. See in M. Matter, ii., 49, 54, 
the countless interpretations of this mysterious 
word. We might add others to those collected by 
his industry. M. Matter adopts, though with some 
doubt, the opinion of M. Bellerman and M. Miinter. 
Le premier de ces écrivains explique le mot d’Abrax- 
as par le Kopte, qui est incontestablement ἃ l’an- 
cienne langue d’Pgypte ce que la Grec moderne est 
au langue de l’ancienne Gréce. 1.8 syllable sadsch, 
que les Grecs ont du convertir en cag, ou cas, 0U caf, 
n’ayant pu exprimer la dermiére lettre de cette sylla- 
ble, que parles lettres X, =, ou Z, signifierait parole, 
et abrak béni, saint, adorable, en sorte que le mot 
d’Abraxas tout entier, offrirait le sens de parole sacrée. 
M. Munter ne s’éloigne de cette interprétation, que 
pour les syllables abrak qu’il prend pour le mot 
Kopte “berra” nouveau, ce qui donne ἃ l’ensemble 
le sens de parole nouveau.—Matter, ii., 40. 

+ See, in the supplement to M. Matter’s work, a 
very curious collection of these Egyptian and 
Egypto-Grecian medals ; and a work of Dr. Walsh 
on these coins. Compare, likewise, Reuven’s Let- 
tres ἃ M. Letronne, particularly ; * 


211 


carry this stranger upon earth through the 
gradations of successive purification, till it 
was readmitted to its parent heaven. 

Basilides, in the Christian doctrine 
which he interwove with this imagin- 
ative theory, followed the usual Gnostic 
course.* ‘The Christ, the first Alon of the 
Deity, descended on the man Jesus at his 
baptism; but, by a peculiar tenet of their 
own, the Basilidians rescued even.the man 
Jesus from the degrading sufferings of the 
cross. Simon the Cyrenian was changed 
into the form of Jesus; on him the ene- 
mies of the crucified wasted their wrath, 
while Jesus stood aloof in the form of Si- 
mon, and mocked their impotent malice. 
Their moral perceptions must have been 
singularly blinded by their passion for their 
favourite tenet not to discern how much 
they lowered their Saviour by making him 
thus render up an innocent victim as his 
own substitute. 

Valentinus appears to have been con- 
sidered the most formidable and 
dangerous of this schoo! of Gnos- 
tics.t He was twice excommunicated, and 
twice received again into the bosom of the 
Church. He did not confine his dangerous 
opinions to the school of Alexandrea; he 
introduced the wild Oriental speculations 
into the more peaceful West; taught at 
Rome: and a third time being expelled 
from the Christian society, retired to Cy- 
prus, an island where the Jews were for- 
merly numerous till the fatal insurrection 
in the time of Hadrian, and where probably 
the Oriental philosophy might not find an 
unwelcome reception, on the border, as it 
were, of Europe and Asia.f 

Valentinus annihilated the complexity 
of pre-existing heavens, which perhaps 


Valentinus. 


connected the system of Basilides with — 


that of ancient Egypt, and did not inter- 
pose the same infinite number of grada- 
tions between the primal Deity and the 
material world. He descended much more 
rapidly into-the sphere of Christian images 
and Christian language, or, rather, he car- 
ried up many of the Christian notions and 
terms, and enshrined them in the Ple- 
roma, the region of spiritual and inaeces- 
sible light. The fundamental tenet of Ori- 


* Trenzus, 1., 29, compared with the other au- 
thors cited above. 

+ Ireneus, Her., v. Clem. Alex., Strom. Ori- 
gen, de Princip. contra Celsum. The author of the 
Didascalia Orientalis, at the end of the works of 
Clement of Alexandrea. Tertullian adversus Va- 
lentin. Theodoret, Fab. Hzr.,i., 7. Epiphanius, 
Her., 31. 

1 Tertull. adv. Valentin., c.4. Epiphan. Mas- 
suet (Diss. in Iren., p. x., 84) doubts this part of 
the history of Valentinus, 


. 


Ry 


212 


entalism, the incomprehensibility of the 
Great Supreme, was the essential prin- 
ciple of his system, and was represented 
in terms pregnant with mysterious sub- 
limity. The first Father was called By- 
thos, the Abyss, the Depth, the Unfathom- 
able, who dwelt alone in inscrutable and 
ineffable height, with his own first Con- 
ception, his Ennoia, who bore the em- 
phatic and awful name of Silence. The 
first development or self-manifestation was 
Mind (Nous), whose appropriate consort 
was Aletheiaor Truth. ‘These formed the 


first great quaternion, the highest scale of 


being. From Mind and Truth proceeded 


the Word and Life (Logos and Zoe) ; their 


manifestations were Man and the Church, 
Anthropos and Ecclesia, and so the first 
ogdoad was complete. From the Word 
and Life proceeded ten more AJons ; but 
these seem, from their names, rather qual- 
ities of the Supreme; at least the five 
masculine names, for the feminine appear 
to imply some departure from the pure 
elementary and unimpassioned nature of 
the primal parent. The males are: Bu- 
thios, profound, with his consort Mixis, 
conjunction; Ageratos, that grows not old, 
with Henosis or union; Autophyes, self- 
subsistent, with Hedone, pleasure ; Aki- 
netos, motionless, with Syncrasis, com- 
mixture ; the Only Begotten and the Bless- 
ed. ‘The offspring of Man and the Church 
were twelve, and in the females we seem 
to trace the shadowy prototypes of the 
Christian graces; the Paraclete and Faith; 
the Paternal and Hope; the Maternal and 
Charity; the Ever-intelligent and Pru- 
dence ; Ecclesiasticos (a term apparently 
expressive of Church union) and Blessed- 
ness; Will and Wisdom (Theletos and 
Sophia). 

These thirty ons dwelt alone within 
the sacred and inviolable circle of the Ple- 
roma: they were all, in one sense, mani- 
festations of the Deity, all purely intel- 
lectual, a universe apart. But the peace 
of this metaphysical hierarchy was dis- 
turbed, and here we are presented with a 
noble allegory, which, as it were, brings 
these abstract conceptions within the reach 
of human sympathy. ‘The last of the do- 
decarchy which sprung from Man and the 
Church was Sophia or Wisdom. Without 
intercourse with her consort Will, Wis- 
dom was seized with an irresistible pas- 
sion for that knowledge and intimate union 
with the primal Father, the unfathomable, 
which was the sole privilege of the first- 
born, Mind. She would comprehend the 
mecomprehensible : love was the pretext, 
but temerity the motive. Pressing on- 
ward under this strong impulse, she would 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


᾿ 
“ 


have reached the remote sanctuary, and 
would finally have been absorbed into the 
primal Essence, had she not encountered 
Horus (the impersonated boundary be- 
tween knowledge and the Deity). At the 
persuasion of this “limitary cherub” (to 
borrow Milton’s words), she acknowl- 
edged the incomprehensibility of the Fa- 
ther, returned in humble acquiescence to 
her lowlier sphere, and allayed the passion 
begot by wonder. But the harmony of 
the intellectual world was destroyed; a 
redemption, a restoration was necessary ; 
and (for now Valentinus must incorporate 
the Christian system into his own) from 
the first Avon, the Divine Mind, proceeded 
Christ and the Holy Ghost. Christ com- 
municated to the listening Hons the mys- 
tery of the imperishable nature of the Fa- 
ther, and their own procession from him ; 
the delighted Aions commemorated the . 
restoration of the holy peace, by each con- 
tributing his most splendid gift to form 
Jesus, encircled with his choir of angels. 
Valentinus did not descend immediately 
from his domain of metaphysical abstrac- 
tion ; he interposed an intermediate sphere 
between that and the material world. The 
desire or passion of Sophia impersonated 
became an inferior Wisdom; she was an 
outeast from the Pleroma, and lay floating 
in the dim and formless chaos without. 
The Christos, in mercy, gave her form and 
substance ; she preserved, as it were, some 
fragrance of immortality. Her passion 
was still strong for higher things, for the 
light which she could not apprehend ; and 
she incessantly attempted to enter the for- 
bidden circle of the Pleroma, but was 
again arrested by Horus, who uttered the 
mystic name of Jao. Sadly she returned 
to the floating elements of inferior being ; 


she was surrendered to Passion, and with _ 


his assistance produced the material world. 
The tears which she shed at the thought 
of her outcast condition formed the humid 
element ; her smiles, when she thought of 
the region of glory, the light; her fears 
and her sorrows, the grosser elements. 
Christ descended no more to her assist- 
ance, but sent Jesus, the Paraclete, the 
Saviour, with his angels ; and with his aid 
all substance was divided into material, 
animal, and spiritual. The spiritual, how- 
ever, altogether emanated from the light 
of her Divine assistant ; the first formation 
of the animal (the Psychic) was the De- 
miurge, the Creator, the Saviour, the Fa- 
ther, the king of all that was consubstan- 
tial with himself, and, finally, the material, 
of which he was only the Demiurge or 
Creator. Thus were formed the seven in- 
termediate spheres, of which the Demi- 


. 4 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


urge and his το ως angels (the seven 
again of the Persian system), with herself, 
made up a second ogdoad, the image and 
feeble reflection of the former; Wisdom 
representing the primal Parent; the De- 
miurge the Divine Mind, though he was 
ignorant of his mother, more ignorant 
than Satan himself; the other sideral an- 
gels the rest of the A#jons. By the De- 
miurge the lower world was formed. Man- 
kind consisted of three classes : the spirit- 
ual, who are enlightened with the Divine 
ray from Jesus ; the animal or Psychic, 
the offspring and kindred of the Demiurge ; 
the material, the slaves and associates of 
Satan, the prince of the material world. 
They were represented, as it were, by Seth, 
Abel, and Cain. This organization or dis- 
tribution of mankind harmonized with tol- 
erable facility with the Christian scheme. 
But by multiplying his spiritual beings, 
Valentinus embarrassed himself in the 
work of redemption or restoration of this 
lower and still degenerating world. With 
him it was the Christos, or, rather, a faint 
image and reflection (for each of his intel- 
ligences multiplied themselves by the re- 
flection of their being), who passed through 
the material form of the Virgin like water 
through a tube. It was Jesus who de- 
scended upon the Saviour at his baptism 
in the shape of the dove; and Valentinus 
admitted the common fantastic theory with 
regard to the death of Jesus. At the final 
consummation, the latent fire would burst 
out (here Valentinus admitted the com- 
mon theory of Zoroastrianism and Chris- 
tianity) and consume the very scoria of 
matter; the material men, with their 
prince, would utterly perish in the con- 
flagration. Those of the animal, the Psy- 
chic, purified by the Divine ray imparted 
by the Redeemer, would, with their pa- 
rent the Demiurge, occupy the interme- 
diate realm, there were the just men made 
perfect, while the great mother Sophia 
would at length be admitted into the Ple- 
roma or intellectual sphere. 

Gnosticism was pure poetry, and Bar- 
desanes was the poet of Gnos- 
ticism.* For above two centu- 
ries, the hymns of this remarkable man, 
and those of his son Harmonius, enchant- 
ed the ears of the Syrian Christians till 
they were expelled by the more orthodox 
raptures of Ephraem the Syrian. Among 
the most remarkable circumstances rela- 


Bardesanes. 


* Valentinus, according to Tertullian, wrote 
psalms (de Carne Christi, c. 20); his disciple Mar- 
cus explained his system in verse, and introduced 
the ons as speaking. Compare Hahn, p. 26. 
Bardesanes wrote 150 psalms, the number of those 
of David. 


213 


ἣ , 
ting to Bardesanes, who lived at the court 
of Abgar, king of Edessa, was his inquiry 
into the doctrines of the ancient Gymnos- 
ophists of India, which thus connected, as 
it were, the remotest East with the great 
family of religious speculatists; yet the 


theory of Bardesanes was more nearly al- 


lied to the Persian or the Chaldean; and 
the language of his poetry was in that fer- 
vent and amatory strain which borrows 
the warmest metaphors of human passion 
to kindle the soul to Divine love,* 
Bardesanes deserved the glory, though 
he did not suffer the pains,.of martyrdom. 
Pressed by the philosopher Apollonius, in 
the name of his master the Emperor Ve- 
rus, to deny Christianity, he replied, “I 
fear not death, which 1 shall not escape 
by yielding to the wishes of the emperor.” 
Bardesanes had opposed with vigorous 
hostility the system of Marcion;} he after- 
ward appears to have seceded, or, out- 
wardly conforming, to have aspired in pri- 
vate to become the head of another Gnostic 
sect, which, in contradistinction to those of 
Saturninus and Valentinus, may be called 
the Mesopotamiam or Babylonian. With 
him the primal Deity dwelt alone with 
his consort, his primary thought or con- 
ception. Their first offsprings, ons or 
emanations, were Christ and the Holy 
Ghost, who in his system was feminine, 
and nearly allied to the Sophia or Wis- 
dom of other theories; the four ele- 
ments—the dry earth and the water, the 
fire and the air—who make up the celes- 
tialogdoad. ‘The Sonand his partner, the 
Spirit or Wisdom, with the assistance of 
the elements, made the worlds, which they 
surrendered to the government of the sev- 
en planetary spirits and the sun and moon, 
the visible types of the primal union. 
Probably these, as in the other systems, 
made the second ogdoad; and these, with 
other astral influences borrowed from the 
Tsabaism of the region, the twelve signs 
of the zodiac, and the thirty-six Decani, as 
he called the rulers of the 360 days, gov- 
erned the world of man. And here Bar- 
desanes became implicated with the eter- 
nal dispute about destiny and freewill, on 
which he wrote a separate treatise, and 
which entered into and coloured all his 
speculations.{ But the Wisdom which 
was the consort of the Son was of an in- 


ἃ Theodoret, Heret. Fab., 209. 

+ According to Eusebius, E. H., v. 38, Barde- 
sanes approached much nearer to orthodoxy, though 
he still ‘‘ bore some tokens of the sable streams.” 

1 He seems to have had an esoteric and an ex- 
oteric doctrine.—Hahn, p. 22, on the authority of 
St. Ephrem. Compare Hahn, Bardesanes Gnosti- 
cus Syrorum primus Hymnologus. 


“~~ 


: = 


214 | 


ferior nature to that which dwelt with the 
Father. She was the Sophia Achamoth, 
and, faithless to her spiritual partner, she 
had taken delight in assisting the Demi- 
urge in the creation of the visible world; 
but in all her wanderings and enstrange- 
ment she felt a constant and impassioned 


. desire for perfect reunion with her. first 


eonsort. He assisted her in her course 
of purification; revealed to her his more 
perfect light, on which she gazed with re- 
animating love ; and the second wedding 
of these long-estranged powers, in the 
presence of the parent Deity and all the 
ions and angels, formed the subject of 
one of his most ardent and rapturous 
hymns. With her arose into the Pleroma 
those souls which partook of her celestial 
nature, and are rescued by the descent of 
the Christ, according to the usual Gnostic 
theory, from their imprisonment in the 
world of matter. 

Yet all these theorists preserved some 
decent show of respect for the Christian 
faith, and aimed at an amicable reconcil- 
lation between their own wild theories 
and the simpler Gospel. Τύ is not improb- 
able that most of their leaders were actu- 
ated by the ambition of uniting the higher 
and more intellectual votaries of the older 
paganism with the Christian community ; 
the one by an accommodation with the 
Egyptian, the others with the Syrian or 
Chaldean; as, in later times, the Alexan- 
drean school with the Grecian or Platonic 
paganism; and expected to conciliate all 
who would not scruple to ingraft the few 
tenets of Christianity, which they reserv- 
ed inviolate, upon their former belief. 
They aspired to retain all that was daz- 
zling, vast, and imaginative in the cosmo- 
gonical systems of the East, and rejected 
all that was humiliating or offensive to the 
common sentiment in Christianity. The 


Jewish character of the Messiah gave way 


to a purely immaterial notion of a celes- 


tial Redeemer; the painful realities of his 
life and death were softened off into fan- 


tastic appearances ; they yet adopted as 
much of the Christian language as they 
could mould to their views, and even dis- 
guised or mitigated their contempt or an- 
Marcion of imosity to Judaism. But Mar- 
Pontus. cion of Pontus* disclaimed all 
these conciliatory and temporizing meas- 
ures, either with pagan, Jew, or evangelic 
Christian.t| With Marcion all was hard, 
a συν τ Ee ee anal or 

* Marcion was son of the Bishop of Sinope. 

+ On Marcion, see chiefly the five books of Ter- 
tullian adv. Marcionem ; the Historian of Heresies, 
Ireneus, i., 27; Epiphanius, 42; Theodoret, Me, eh 
Origen contra Cels.; Clem. Alex., iii, 425. St. 
Ephrem, Orat., 14, Ὁ. 468, 


τὸ 


ve 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
» 


cold, implacable antagonism. At once a 
severe rationalist and a strong enthusiast 

Marcion pressed the leading doctrine of 
the malignity of matter to its extreme 
speculative and practical consequences. 
His Creator, his providential Governor, 
the God of the Jews—weak, imperfect, en- 
thralled in matter—was the opposite to 
the true God : the only virtue of men was 
the most rigid and painful abstinence. 
His doctrine proscribed all animal food 
but fish ; it surpassed the most austere of 
the other Christian communities in its pro- 
scription of the amusements and pleasures 
of life ; itrejected marriage from hostility 
to the Demiurge, whose kingdom it would 
not increase by peopling it with new beings 
enslaved to matter to glut death with food.* 
The fundamental principle of Marcion’s 
doctrine was unfolded in his Antitheses, 
the Contrasts, in which he arrayed against 
each other the Supreme God and the De- 


miurge, the God of the Jews, the Old and 
New Testament, the Law and the Gospel.t 
The one was perfect, pure, beneficent, 
passionless ; the other though not unjust 
by nature, infected by matter, subject to 
all the passions of man, cruel, changeable ; 
the New Testament, especially as remod- 
elled by Marcion, was holy, wise, amiable ; 
the Old Testament, the Law, barbarous, 
inhuman, contradictory, and detestable. 
On the plundering of the Egyptians, on 
the massacre of the Canaanites, on every 
metaphor which ascribed the actions and 
sentiments of men to the Deity, Marcion 
enlarged with contemptuous superiority, 
and contrasted it with the tone of the Gos- 
pel. It was to rescue mankind from the 
tyranny of this inferior and hostile deity 
that the Supreme manifested himself in Jé- 
sus Christ. This manifestation took place 
by his sudden appearance in the syna- 
gogue in Capernaum ; for Marcion swept 
away with remorseless hand all the ear- 
lier incidents in the Gospels. But the 
Messiah which was revealed in Christ was 
directly the opposite to that announced by 
the prophets of the Jews and of their 
God. He made no conquests ; he was not 
the Immanuel; he was not the son of Da- 
vid; he came not to restore the temporal 
kingdom of Israel. His doctrines were 
equally opposed: he demanded not an eye 


* ‘Q δὴ λογῷ μὴ βουλόμενοι τὸν κοσμὸν τὸν ὑπὸ 
τοῦ Δημιούργου yevouevov συμπληροῦν, ἀπέχεσ- 
θαι γάμου BovAovrar.—Clem. Alex., Strom., iii., 


3. Μηδὲ ἀντεισάγειν TO κοσμῷ δυστυχήσοντας 
ἑτέρους, μηδὲ ἐπιχορηγεῖν τῷ ϑανατῷ τρύφην.--- 
Ch. vi.” ‘ 


+ Marcion is accused by Rhodon apud Euseb., 
Hist. Eccl., v., 13, of introducing two principles— 
| the Zoroastrian theory. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | 


for an eye, or a tooth for a tooth; but 
where one smote the right cheek, to turn 
the other. He demanded no sacrifices but 
that of the pure heart; he enjoined not the 
sensual ana indecent practice of multiply- 
ing the species; he proscribed marriage. 
The God of the Jews, trembling for his au- 
thority, armed himself against the celestial 
invader of his territory ; he succeeded in 
the seeming execution of Christ upon the 
cross, who by his death rescued the souls 
of the true believers from the bondage of 
the law ; descended to the lower regions, 
where he rescued, not the pious and holy 
patriarchs, Abel, Enoch, Noah, Jacob, Mo- 
ses, David, or Solomon—these were the 
adherents of the Demiurge or material 
creator—but his implacable enemies, such 
as Cain and Esau. After the ascension 
of the Redeemer to heaven, the God of the 
Jews was to restore his subjects to their 
native land, and his temporal reign was 
to commence over his faithful but inferior 
subjects. 

The Gospel of Marcion was that of St. 
Luke, adapted, by many omissions and 
some alterations, to his theory. Every 
allusion to, every metaphor from, marriage 
was carefully erased, and every passage 
amended or rejected which could in any 
way implicate the pure Deity with the ma- 
terial world.* 

These were the chief of the Gnostic 
Varieties of Sects; but they spread out into al- 
Gnosticism. most infinitely diversified subdi- 
visions, distinguished by some peculiar ten- 
etorusage. The Carpocratians were avow- 
ed Eclectics : they worshipped as benefac- 
tors of the human race the images of Zo- 
roaster, Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle, and 
Jesus Christ, as well as that of their own 
founder. By this school were received, 
possibly were invented, many of the as- 
trologic or theurgic books attributed to Zo- 
roaster and other ancient sages., The 
Jewish Scriptures were the works of in- 
ferior angels; they received only the Gos- 


pel of St. Matthew. The supreme, un- 


known, uncreated Deity was the Monad; 
the visible world was the creation, the do- 


* This Gospel has been put together, according 
to the various authorities, especially of Tertullian, 
oy M. Hahn. It is reprinted in the Codex Apoc- 
ryphus Novi Testamenti, by Thilo, of which one 
volume only has appeared. Among the remarkable 
alterations of the Gospels which most strongly 
characterize his system, was that of the text so 
beautifully descriptive of the providence of God, 
which “ maketh his sun to shine on the evil and the 
good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.” 
—Matt., v., 45. The sun and therain, those mate- 
rial elements, were the slaves only of the God of 
matter: the Supreme Deity might not defile him- 
self with the administration of their blessings,— 
Tertull. adv. Marc., iv., 17. 


or Thought. 


215 


¥ 


main of inferior beings. But their system 
was much simpler, and in some respects 
rejecting generally the system of AJons or 
Emanations, approached much nearer to 
Christianity than most of the other Gnos- 
tics. The contest of Jesus Christ, who 
was the son of Joseph, according to their 
system was a purely moral one. It re- 
vived the Oriental notion of the pre-exist- 
ence of the soul: that of Jesus had aclear- 
er and more distinct reminiscence of the 
original knowledge (the Gnosis) and wis- 
dom of their celestial state ; and, by com- 
municating these notions to mankind, ele- 
vated them to the sdme superiority over 
the mundane deities. This perfection con- 
sisted in faith and charity, perhaps like- 
wise in the ecstatic contemplation of the 
Monad. Everything except faith and char- 
ity—all good works, all observance of hu- 
man laws, which were established by mun- 
dane authority—were exterior, and more . 
than indifferent. Hence they were accu- 
sed of recommending a community of 
property andof women; inferences which 
would be drawn from their avowed con- 
tempt for all human laws. They were ac- 
cused, probably without justice, of follow- 
ing out these speculative opinions into 
practice. Ofallheretics, none have borne 
a worse name than the followers of Car- 
pocrates and his son and successor Epiph- 
anes.* 

The Ophitest are, perhaps, the most per- 
plexing of all these sects. It is difficult 
to ascertain whether the Serpent from 
which they took or received their name 
was a good or an evil spirit, the Agatho- 
demon of the Egyptian mythology, or the 
Serpent of the Jewish and other Oriental 
schemes. With them a quaternion seems 
to have issued from the primal Being, the 
Abyss, who dwelt alone with his Ennoia 
These were Christ and So- 
phia Achamoth, the Spirit and Chaos. The 
former of each of these powers was per- 


_ + [think that we may collect from Clement of 


Alexandrea, that the community of women in the 


Carpocratian system was that of Plato. Clement 
insinuates that it was carried into practice.— 
Strom., iii, c. ii. According to Clement, the dif- 
ferent sects, or sects of sects, justified their immo- 
ralities on different pleas. Rome, the Prodician 
Gnostics, considered public prostitution a mystic 
communion ; others, that all children of the primary 
or good Deity might exercise their regal privilege 
of acting as they pleased; some, the Antitacte, 
thought at right to break the seventh command- 
ment because it was uttered by the evil Demiurge. 
But these were obscure sects, and possibly their- 
adversaries drew these conclusions for them from 
their doctrines.—Strom., 1., ili. Ἶ 

t Mosheim, p. 399, who wrote a particular dis- 
sertation on the Ophite, of which he distinguished 
two sects, a Jewish and a Christian. [See Mo- 
sheim’s Instit. of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 148, n. (25).] 


¥ 


216. 

fect, the latter imperfect. Sophia Acha- 
moth, departing from the primal source of 
purity, formed Ialdabaoth, the Prince of 
Darkness, the Demiurge, an inferior but 


HISTORY OF CHRIS TiRhrem 


% 
drained the schools of their hearers, but 
it never would have changed the temples 
into solitudes. It would have affected only 
the surface of society: it did not begin to 


* 


{ 


not directly malignant being—the Satan, 
or Samaél, or Michael. The tutelar angel 
f the Jews was Ophis, the Serpent, a re- 
ection of Ialdabaoth. With others the 


work upward from its depths, nor pene- τ 
trated to that strong under-current of pop- PY 
ular feeling and opinion which alone oper- _~ 


oe 
Ἂς 
xn ¥ 


“Serpent was the symbol of Christ him- 
self;* and hence the profound abhorrence 
‘with which this obscure sect was beheld by 
the more orthodox Christians. In other 
respects their opinions appear to have ap- 
proximated more nearly to the common 
Gnostic form. At the intercession of So- 
phia, Christ descended on the man Jesus, 
to rescue the souls of men from the fury of 
the Demiurge, who had imprisoned them 
in matter: they ascended through the 
realm of the seven planetary angels. 

Such, in its leading branches, was the 
Gnosticism of the East, which rivalled the 
more genuine Christianity, if not in the 
number of its converts, in the activity 
with which it was disseminated, especially 
among the higher and more opulent, and 
in its lofty pretensions claimed a superi- 
ority over the humbler Christianity of the 
vulgar. But for this very reason, Gnosti- 
cism in itself was diametrically opposite 

to the true Christian spirit : in- 
stead of being popular and uni- 

Jar. versal, it was select and exelu- 

sive. It was another, in one respect a 

higher, form of Judaism, inasmuch as it 

did not rest its exclusiveness on the title 

of birth, but on especial knowledge (gno- 

sis), vouchsafed only to the enlightened 
and inwardly designated few. It was the 
establishment of the Christians as a kind 
of religious privileged order, a theophilo- 
sophic aristocracy, whose esoteric doc- 
trines soared far above the grasp and com- 
prehension of the vulgar.¢ It was a phi- 
losophy rather than a religion; at least 
the philosophic or speculative part would 


Gnosticism 
not popu- 


soon have predominated over the spiritual. | uncontrolled its own innate and i > f 
They affected a profound and awful mys- | able propensities, the serene ad ncon- 
tery; they admitted their disciples, in| taminated spirit of those, at least, vho ‘a 
general, by slow and regular gradations. | were enlightened by the Divine ray might ag 
Gnostic Christianity, therefore, might have | remain aloof, either unconscious, or, at 


been a formidable antagonist to the pre- 
vailing philosophy of the times, but it 
would never have extirpated an ancient 
and deeply-rooted religion; it might have 


ἘΜ, Matter conjectures that they had derived 
the notion of the beneficent serpent, the emblem 
or symbol of Christ, from the brazen serpent in the 
wilderness. Perhaps it was the Egyptian Agatho- 
demon. 1 

t Tertullian taunts the Valentinians—“ nihil ma- 
gis curant quam occultare quid preedicant, si tamen 

Pe ον, Ὁ qui occultant.”—Tert. adv. Valent. 


ates a profound and lasting change in the 
moral sentiments of mankind. 

With regard to paganism, the Gnostics 
are accused of a compromising Coneiliatory 


and conciliatory spirit, totally towards pa- 


alien to that of primitive Chris- 2%ism. 
tianity. They affected the haughty indif- 
ference of the philosophers of their own 
day, or the Brahmins of India, to the vul- 
gar idolatry ; scrupled not a contemptuous 
conformity with the established worship ; 
attended the rites and the festivals of the 
heathen ; partook of meats offered in sac- 
rifice, and, secure in their own intellectual 
or spiritual purity, conceived that no stain 
could cleave to their uninfected spirits 
from this, which to most Christians ap- 
peared a treasonable, surrender of the vital 
principles of the faith. 

This criminal compliance of the Gnos- 
tics no doubt countenanced and darkened 
those charges of unbridled licentiousness 
of manners with which they are almost 
indiscriminately assailed by the early fa- 
thers. Those dark and incredible accusa- 
tions of midnight meetings, where all the 
restraints of shame and of nature were 
thrown off, which pagan hostility brought 
against the general body of the Christians, 
were reiterated by the Christians against’ 
these sects, whose principles were those 
of the sternest and most. rigid austerity. 
They are accused of openly preaching the 
indifference of human action. ‘The mat 
rial nature of man was so essentially ev 
and malignant, that there was no neces 
sity, as there could be no advantage, in a 


sities. While, therefore, it might. 


least, unparticipant in the aberrations 
of its grovelling consort. Such general 
charges it is equally unjust to believe and 
impossible to refute. The dreamy indo- 
lence of mysticism is not unlikely to de- 
generate into voluptuous excess. ‘The ex- 
citement of mental has often a strong ef- 
fect upon bodily emotion. The party of 
the Gnostics may have ‘contained many 
whose passions were too strong for their 
principles, or who may have made their 
principles the slaves of their passions ; but 


4 
" 


- 


tempting to correct its inveterate propen- δ» 
516. -— 
u ea - 


~ oF 


4 


εὖῦ 
τς been exp 


τὴ; even in their case the charitable doubts of 


ΠΟ poreal mages. 
5 


- & 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


. 4s «ὦ , P . . 
Christian charity and sober historical crit- 
icism concur in rejecting these general ac- 
cusations. ‘The Gnostics were in general 


~ imaginative rather than practical fanatics ; 


they indulged in mental rather than cor- 
The Carpocratians have 
ed to the most obloquy. But 


dispassionate historical criticism are jus- 
tified by those of an ancient writer, who 
declares his disbelief of any irreligious, 
lawless, or forbidden practices among 
these sectaries.* 

It was the reaction, as it were, of Gnos- 
ticism that produced the last important 


f 


217 


modification of Christianity during the 
second century, the Montanism of Phry- 
gia. But we have at present proceeded 
in our relation of the contest between Ori- 
entalism and Christianity so far beyond 
the period to which we conducted the con- 
test with paganism, that we reascend ἃ 
once to the commencement of the second. 
century. Montanism, however thus re- 
motely connected with Gnosticism, stands 
alone and independent as a new aberration 
from the primitive Christianity, and will 
demand our attention in its influence upon 
one of the most distinguished and effect- 
ive of the early Christian writers. 


: 


CHAPTER VI. 


CHRISTIANITY DURING THE PROSPEROUS PERIOD OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE. 


Wirs the second century of Christian- 
Roman em- ΕΥ̓͂ commenced the reign of an- 
perors atthe Other race of emperors. Tra- 
commence- jan, Hadrian, and the Antonines 
ment of the 5 
second cen- Were men of larger minds, more 
tury. capable of embracing the vast 
empire, and of taking a wide and compre- 
hensive survey of the interests, the man- 
ners, and the opinions of the various or- 
ders and races of men which reposed 
under the shadow of the Roman sway. 
They were not, as the first Caesars, mon- 
archs of Rome, governing the other parts 
of the world as dependant provinces, but 
sovereigns of the Western World, which 
had gradually coalesced into one majestic 
and harmonious system. Under the mil- 


itary dominion of Trajan the empire ap- 


ed to reassume the strength and en- 


 terprise of the conquering republic: he 
had invested the whole frontier with a de- 


fence more solid and durable than the 

rongest line of fortresses or the most 
‘impregnable wall: the terror of the Ro- 

an arms, and the awe of Roman disci- 
e. Ifthe more prudent Hadrian with- 
v the advanced boundaries of the em- 
pire, it seemed in the consciousness of 
strength, disdaining the occupation of wild 
and savage districts, which rather belong- 
ed to the yet unreclaimed realm of barba- 
rism than were fit to be incorporated in 
the dominion of civilization. Even in the 
East, the Euphrates appeared to be a 
boundary traced by nature for the domin- 
ion of Rome. Hadrian was the first em- 


* Kai ei μὲν πράσσεται παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς τὰ dea, 
καὶ ἔκθεσμα, καὶ ἀπειρημένα, ἐγὼ οὐκ ἂν πιστεύ- 
oauit.—Irenzus, i., 24. 

Ex . 


ro 


peror who directed his attention to the 
general internal affairs of the whole pop-. 
ulation of the empire. The'spirit of juris- ὁ 
prudence prevailed during the reign of the. 
Antonines ; and the main object of the 
ruling powers seemed to be the uniting 
under one general system of law the va- 
rious members of the great political con- 
federacy. Thus each contributed to the 
apparent union and durability of the so- 
cial edifice. This period has been con- 
sidered by many able writers a kind of 
golden age of human happiness.* What, 
then, was the effect of Christianity on the 
general character of the times, and how 
far were the Christian communities ex- 
cluded from the general felicity 1 

It was impossible that the rapid and 
universal progress of a new religion should 
escape the notice of minds so occupied 
with the internal, as well as the external, 
affairs of the whole empire. “But it so 
happened (the Christian will admire in 
this singular concurrence of circumstan- 
ces the overruling power of a beneficent 
Deity) that the moderation and humanity 
of the emperors stepped in, as it were, to 
allay at this particular crisis the 


3 Characters 
dangers of a general and inev- of the em- 
itable collision with the tem- Peters fa- 

Ae vourable to 
poral government. Christian- the advance- 
ity itself was just in that state ment of _ 

Christianity. 


of advancement in which, though 
it had begun to threaten, and even to 
make most alarming encroachments on 
the established Polytheism, it had not 


* This theory is most ably developed by Hege- 
wisch. See the Translation of his Essay by M. 
Solvet, Paris, 1834, 


218 


so completely divided the whole race of 
mankind as to force the heads of the Po- 
lytheistie party, the official conservators 
of the existing order of things, to take vi- 
olent and decisive measures for its sup- 
pression. The temples, though perhaps 
becoming less crowded, were in few pla- 
ces deserted; the alarm, though perhaps 
in many towns it was deeply brooding 
in the minds of the priesthood, and of those 
connected by zeal or by interest with the 
maintenance of paganism, was not so pro- 
found or so general as imperiously to re- 
quire the interposition of the civil author- 
ities. The milder or more indifferent char- 
acter of the emperor had free scope to 
mitigate or to arrest the arm of persecu- 
tion. The danger was not so pressing but 
that it might be averted: that which had 
arisen thus suddenly and unexpectedly 
(so little were the wisest probably aware 
of the real nature of the revolution work- 
ing in the minds of men) might die away 
with as much rapidity. Under an emper- 
or, indeed, who should have united the 
vigour of a Trajan and the political fore- 
thought of a Hadrian with the sanguina- 
ry relentlessness of a Nero, Christianity 
would have had to pass a tremendous or- 
deal. Now, however, the collision of the 
new religion with the civil power was 
only occasional, and, as it were, fortu- 
itous; and in these occasional conflicts 
with the ruling powers we constantly ap- 
pear to trace the character of the reigning 
sovereign. Of these emperors Trajan 
possessed the most powerful and vigor- 
ous mind; a consummate general, a hu- 
mane but active ruler: Hadrian was the 
profoundest statesman, the Antonines the 
Trajanem- best men. The conduct of Tra- 
peror from jan was that of a military sover- 
‘o> '° eign, whose natural disposition 

; was tempered with humanity ; 
prompt, decisive, never unnecessarily prod- 
igal of blood, but careless of human life if 
it appeared to stand in the way of any im- 
portant design, or to hazard that para- 
mount object of the government, the pub- 
lic peace. Hadrian was inclined 


,᾿ 


Hadrian Saat : 
emperor to a more temporizing policy; 
ale 7 the more the Roman empire was 


contemplated as a whole, the 
more the co-existence of multifarious re- 
ligions might appear compatibie with the 
general peace. Christianity might, in the 
end, be no more dangerous than the other 
foreign religions, which had flowed and 
were still flowing in from the East. The 
temples of Isis had arisen throughout the 
empire, but those of Jupiter or Apollo had 
not lost their votaries: the Eastern mys- 
teries, the Phrygian, at a later period the 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Mithraic, had mingled, very little to their 
prejudice, into the general mass of the 
prevailing superstitions. ‘The last char- 
acteristi¢ of Christianity which would be 
distinctly understood was its invasive and 
uncompromising spirit. The el- ΕΠ 
der Antonine may have pursued Pius emper- 
from mildness of character the ° ‘rom 138 
course adopted by Hadrian from ἡ ’ 
policy. The change which took. place 
during the reign of Marcus Aurelius may 
be attributed to the circumstances of tl 1€ 
time, though the pride of philosophy, as 
well as the established religion, might be- 
gin to take the alarm. "hil spaeat 
Christianity had probably spread with 
partial and very unequal success in differ- 
ent quarters ; its converts bore in various 
cities or districts a very different propor- 
tion to the rest of the population. No- 
where, perhaps, had it advanced with 
greater rapidity than in the northern prov- 
inces of Asia Minor, where the inhabitants 
were of very mingled descent, neither 
purely Greek nor essentially Asiatic, with 
a considerable proportion of Jewish colo- 
nists, chiefly of Babylonian or Syrian, not 
of Palestinian origin. It was Christianity 
here, in the province of Bithyn- in Bithynia 
Ξ and the ad- 
la, that Polytheism first discov- jaceut prov- 
ered the deadly enemy which inees. 
was undermining her authority. It was 
here that the first cry of distress was ut- 
tered ; and complaints of deserted 4 ἢ. 111 
temples and less frequent sacrifices or 112. 
were brought before the tribunal of the 
government. The memorable correspond- 
ence between Pliny and Trajan is the most 
valuable record of the early Christian his- 
tory during this period.* It represents to 
us paganism already claiming the alliance 
of power to maintain its decaying influ- 
ence ; Christianity proceeding in its si- 
lent course, imperfectly understood by a 
wise and polite pagan, yet still with no- 
thing to offend his moral judgment except 
its contumacious repugnance to the com- 
mon usages of society. This contumacy, 
nevertheless, aceording to the recognised 
principle of passive obedience to the laws 
of the empire, was deserving of the se- 
verest punishment.t The appeal of Pliny 


bt 


* The chronology of Pagi (Critica in Baronium) 
appears tome the most trustworthy. He places the 
letter of Pliny in the year exi. or cxil.; the martyr- 
dom of Ignatius, or, rather, the period when he was 
sent to Rome, in exii., the time when Trajan was 
in the East preparing for his Persian war. _ 

+ The conjecture of Pagi, that the attention of 
the government was directed to the Christians by 
their standing aloof from the festivals on the cele- 
bration of the Quindecennalia of Trajan, which fell 
on the year cxi. or cxii., is extremely probable. 
Pagi quotes two passages of Pliny on the subject 


« 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 219 


Letter of to the supreme authority for advice 
Pliny. 85 to the course to be pursued with 
these new, and, in most respects, harm- 
less delinquents, unquestionably implies 
that no general practice had yet been laid 
down to guide the provincial governors 
Answer of under such emergencies.* The 
"ται. answer of Trajan is characterized 
by a spirit of moderation. It betrays a 
humane anxiety to allow all such offend- 
ers as were not forced under the cogni- 
of the public tribunals to elude per- 
8 on. Nevertheless, it distinctly inti- 
“mates that, by some existing law, or by 
the ordinary power of the provincial gov- 
ernor, the Christians were amenable to the 
severest penalties, to terture, and even to 
capital punishment. Such punishment 
had already been inflicted by Pliny; the 
governor had been forced to interfere by 
accusations lodged before his tribunal. 
An anonymous libel or impeachment had 
denounced numbers of persons, some of 
whom altogether disclaimed, others de- 
clared that they had renounced Christian- 
ity. With that unthinking barbarity with 
which, in those times, such punishments 
were inflicted on persons in inferior sta- 
tion, two servants, females—it is possible 
they were deaconesses—were put to the 
torture to ascertain the truth of the vulgar 
accusations against the Christians. On 
their evidence Pliny could detect nothing 
farther than a “ culpable and extravagant 
superstition.”t The only facts which he 
could discover were, that they had a cus- 
tom of meeting together before daylight, 
and singing a hymn to Christ as God. 
They were bound together by no unlawful 
sacrament, but only under mutual obliga- 
tion not to commit theft, robbery, adultery, 
or fraud. They met again, and partook 
together of food, but that of a perfectly 
innocent kind. The test of guilt to which 
he submitted the more obstinate delin- 
quents was adoration before the statues 
of the gods and of the gmperor, and the 
malediction of Christ. Those who re- 
fused he ordered to be led out to execu- 
tion.t{ Such was the summary process of 
the Roman governor ; and the approbation 
of the emperor clearly shows that he had 
not exceeded the recognised limits of his 
authority. Neither Trajan nor the senate 
had before this issued any edict on the 
subject. The rescript to Pliny invested 
of these general rejoicings.—Critica in Bar., 1.» p. 


100. 
* Pliny professes his ignorance, because he had 


never happened to be present at the trial of such 
causes. This implies that such trials were not un- 
precedented. 

+ Prava et immodica superstitio. 

¢ Duci jussi cannot bear a milder interpretation. 


% 


him in no new powers; it merely advised 
him, as he had done, to use his actual 
powers with discretion ;* neither to en- 
courage the denunciation of such crimi- 
nals, nor to proceed without fair and un- 
questionable evidence. The system of 
anonymous delation, by which private 
malice might wreak itself by false or by 
unnecessary charges upon its enemies, 
Trajan reprobates in that generous spirit 
with which the wiser and more virtuous 
emperors constantly repressed that most 
disgraceful iniquity of the times.t But it 
is manifest from the executions ordered 
by Pliny, and sanctioned by the approba- 
tion of the emperor, that Christianity was 
already an offence amenable to capital 
punishment,t and this either under some 
existing statute, under the common law of 
the empire which invested the provincial 
governor with the arbitrary power of life 
and death, or, lastly, what in this instance 
cannot have been the case, the summum 
imperium of the emperor.§ While, then, 
in the individual the profession of Chris- 
tianity might thus, by the summary sen- 
tence of the governor and the tacit appro- 
bation of the emperor, be treated as a cap- 
ital offence, and the provincial governor 
might appoint the measure and the extent 
of the punishment, all public assemblies 
for the purpose of new and unauthorized 
worship might likewise be suppressed by 
the magistrate ; for the police of the em- 
pire always looked with the utmost jeal- 
ousy on all associations not recognised by 
the law ; and resistance to such a mandate 
would call down, or the secret holding of 
such meetings after their prohibition 
would incur, any penalty which the con- 


* Actum quem debuisti in excutiendis causis eo- 
rum, qui Christiani ad te delati fuerant, secutus es. 
—Traj. ad Plin. 

+ Nam et pessimi exempli, nec nostri seculi est. 

+ Those who were Roman citizens were sent for 
trial to Rome. Alii quia cives Romani erant, adno- 
tavi in urbem remittendos. 

§ This rescript or answer of Trajan, approving of 
the manner in which Pliny carried his law into ex- 
ecution, and suggesting other regulations for his 
conduct, is converted by Mosheim into a new law, 
which from that time became one of the statutes 
of the empire, Hac Trajani lex inter publicas Im- 
perii sanctiones relata (p. 234). Trajan’s words ex- 
pressly declare that no certain rule of proceeding 
can be laid down, and leave almost the whole ques- 
tion to the discretion of the magistrate. Neque 
enim in universum aliquid, quod quasi certam_for- 
mam habeat, constitui potest. —Traj. ad Piin. 
[ Trajan’s rescript established these points: 1. The 
Christians were not to be sought after; 2. They 
were not to be proceeded against without a regular 
accuser and complaint; 3. If accused and found 
guilty of being Christians, they were to be put to 
death unless they retracted and offered sacrifice to 
the gods. This surely is sufficient to justify Dr. 
Mosheim’s assertion.] 


7 . 


220 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


servator.of public order might think prop- 
er to inflict upon the delinquent. Such, 
then, was the general position of the Chris- 
tians with the ruling authorities. They 
were guilty of a crime against the state, 
by introducing a new and unauthorized re- 
ligion, or by hoiding assemblages contrary 
to the internal regulations of the empire. 
But the extent to which the law would be 
enforced against them—how far Christi- 
anity would be distinguished from Judaism 
and other foreign religions, which were 
permitted the free establishment of their 
rites—with how much greater jealousy 
their secret assemblies would be watched 
than those of other mysteries and esoteric 
religions—all this would depend upon the 
milder or more rigid character of the gov- 
ernor, and the willingness or reluctance of 
their fellow-citizens to arraign them be- 
fore the tribunal of the magistrates. This, 
in turn, would depend on the circumstan- 
ces of the place and the time ; on the ca- 
price of their enemies ; on their own dis- 
cretion; on their success, and the appre- 
hensions and jealousies of their opponents. 
In general, so long as they made no visi- 
ble impression upon society, so long as 
their absence from the religious rites of 
the city or district, or even from the games 
and theatrical exhibitions, which were es- 
sential parts of the existing Polytheism, 
caused no sensible diminution in the con- 
course of the worshippers, their unsocial 
and self-secluding disposition would be 
treated with contempt and pity rather than 
with animosity. The internal decay of the 
spirit of Polytheism had little effect on its 
outward splendour. The philosophic par- 
ty, who despised the popular faith, were 
secure in their rank, or in their decent con- 
formity to the public ceremonial. ‘The 
theory of all the systems of philosophy 
was to avoid unnecessary collision with 
the popular religious sentiment : their su- 
periority to the vulgar was flattered rather 
than offended by the adherence of the lat- 
ter to their native superstitions. In the 
wublic exhibitions, the followers of all oth- 
er foreign religions met as on a common 
ground. In the theatre or the hippodrome 
The Jews not 2 Worshipper of Isis or of 
averse to thee Mithra mingled with the mass 
atrical amuse- of those who still adhered to 
orig Bacchus or to Jupiter. Even 
the Jews in many parts, at least at a la- 
ter period, in some instances at the pres- 
ent, betrayed no aversion to the popular 
games or amusements. Though in Pal- 
estine the elder Herod had met with a 
sullen and intractable resistance in the re- 
ligious body of the people against his at- 
tempt to introduce Gentile and idolatrous 


games into the Holy Land, yet it is prob- 
able that the foreign Jews were more ac- 
commodating. A Jewish player named 
Aliturus stood high in the favour of Nero; 
nor does it appear that he had abandoned 
his religion. He was still connected with 
his own race ; and some of the priesthood 
did not disdain to owe their acquittal, on 
certain charges on which they had been 
sent prisoners to Rome, to his interest 
with the emperor, or with the ruling fa- 
vourite Poppea. After the Jewish war, 
multitudes of the prisoners were forced to 
exhibit themselves as gladiators ; and, at 
a later period, the confluence of the Alex- 
andrean Jews to the theatres, where they 
equalled in numbers the pagan spectators, 
endangered the peace of the city. The 
Christians alone stood aloof from gyristians 
exhibitions which, in their higher abstain 
and nobler forms, arose out of, om them. 
and were closely connected with, the 
heathen religion; were performed on days 
sacred to the deities ; introduced the dei- 
ties upon the stage; and, in short, were 
among the principal means of maintaining 
in the public mind its reverence for the old 
mythological fables. The sanguinary di- 
versions of the arena, and the licentious 
voluptuousness of some of the other exhi- 
bitions, were no less offensive to their hu-— 
manity and their modesty than those more ~ 
strictly religious to their piety. Still, as 
long as they were comparatively few in 
number, and did not sensibly diminish the 
concourse to these scenes of public enjoy- 
ment, they would be rather exposed to in- 
dividual acts of vexatious interference, of 
ridicule, or contempt, than become the vic- 
tims of a general hostile feeling : their ab- 
sence would not be resented as an insult 
upon the public, nor as an act of punisha- 
ble disrespect against the local or more 
widely-worshipped deity to whose honour 
the games were dedicated. The time at 
which they would be in the greatest dan- 
ger from what would be thought |, 
their suspicious or disloyal re- occasions of 
fusal to join in the public rejoi- political re- 
cings, would be precisely that J°"s* 
which has been conjectured with much 
ingenuity and probability to have been the 
oceasion of their being thus committed 
with the popular sentiment and with the 
government, the celebration of the birth- 
day or the accession of the emperor. 
With the ceremonial of those days, even 
if, as may have been the case, the actual 
adoration of the statue of the emperor was 
not an ordinary part of the ritual, much 
which was strictly idolatrous would be 
mingled up; and their ordinary excuse to 
such charges of disaffection, that they 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


prayed with the utmost fervour for the 
welfare of the emperor, would not be ad- 
mitted, either by the sincere attachment 
of the people and of the government to a 
virtuous, or their abject and adulatory cel- 
ebration of a cruel and tyrannical em- 
peror. 

This crisis in the fate ef Christianity, 
this transition from safe and despicable ob- 
scurity to dangerous and obnoxious im- 
portance, would of course depend on the 
comparative rapidity of its progress in dif- 
ferent quarters. In the province of Pliny 
it had attained that height in little more 
than seventy years after the death of 
Christ. Thougha humane and enlighten- 
ed government might still endeavour to 
close its eyes upon its multiplying num- 
bers and expanding influence, the keener 
sight of jealous interest, of rivalry in the 
command of the popular mind, and of mor- 
tified pride, already anticipated the time 
when this formidable antagonist might bal- 
ance, might at length overweigh the failing 
powers of Polytheism. Under a less can- 
did governor than Pliny, and an emperor 
less humane and dispassionate than Trajan, 
the exterminating sword of persecution 
would have been let loose, and a relentless 
and systematic edict for the suppression 
of Christianity hunted down its followers 
in every quarter of the empire. 

Not only the wisdom and humanity of 
Trajan, but the military character of his 
reign, would tend to divert his attention 
from that which belonged rather to the 
internal administration of the empire. It 
is not altogether impossible, though the 
Probable con- COhjecture is not countenanced 
nexion of the by any allusion in the despatch 
Maer Pliny Of Pliny, that the measures 
with the state adopted against the Christians 
of the East. were not entirely unconnected 
with the political state of the East. The 
Roman empire in the Mesopotamian prov- 
ince was held ona precarious tenure ; the 
Parthian kingdom had acquired new vig- 
our and energy, and during great part of 
his reign the state of the East must have 
occupied the active mind of Trajan. The 
Jewish population of Babylonia and the 
adjacent provinces were of no inconsider- 
able importance in the coming contest. 
There is strong ground for supposing that 
the last insurrection of the Jews, under 
Hadrian, was connected with a rising of 
their brethren in Mesopotamia, no doubt 
secretly, if not openly, fomented by the 
intrigues, and depending on the support of 
the King of Parthia. ‘This was at a con- 
siderably later period; yet during the 
earlier part of the reign of Trajan the in- 
surrection had already commenced in 


+e 


221 


Egypt, and in Cyrene, and in the island of 
Cyprus ; andno sooner were the troops of 
Trajan engaged on the Eastern frontier 
towards the close of his reign, than the 
Jews rose up in all these provinces, and 
were not subdued till after they had 
perpetrated and endured the most terrif- 
i¢ massacres.* Throughout the Eastern 
wars of Trajan this spirit was most like- 
ly known to be fermenting in the minds of 
the whole Jewish population, not only in 
the insurgent districts, but in Palestine and 
other parts of the empire. The whole 
race, which occupied in such vast num- 
bers the conterminous regions, therefore, 
would be watched with hostile jealousy 
by the Roman governors, already preju- 
diced against their unruly and ungovern- 
able character, and awakened to more than 
ordinary vigilance by the disturbed aspect 
of the times. The Christians stood in a 
singular and ambiguous position between 
the Jewish and pagan population, many 
of them probably descended from, and 
connected with, the former. Their gener- 
al peaceful habits and orderly conduct 
would deserve the protection of a parental 
government, still their intractable and per- 
severing resistance to the religious insti- 
tutions of the empire might throw some 
suspicion on the sincerity of their civil 
obedience. The unusual assertion of re- 
ligious might be too closely allied with 
that of political independence. At all 


events, the dubious and menacing state of — 


the East required more than ordinary 
watchfulness, and a more rigid plan of 
government in the adjacent provinces ; 
and thus the change in society, which 
was working unnoticed in the more peace- 
ful and less Christianized West, in the 
East might be forced upon the attention 
of an active and inquiring ruler; the ap- 
prehensions of the inhabitants themselves 
would be more keenly &live to the forma- 
tion of a separate and secluded party 
within their cities, and religious animosi- 
ty would eagerly seize the opportunity of 
implicating its enemies in a charge of dis- 
affection to the existing government. Nor 
is there wanting evidence that the acts of 
persecution ascribed to Trajan were in 
fact connected with the military move- 
ments of the emperor. The only authen- 
tic Acts are those of Simeon, bishop of 
Jerusalem, and of Ignatius, bishop of An- 
tioch.t In the prefatory observations to 
the former, it is admitted that it was a lo- 


* Euseb., iv., 2. Dio Cass., or rather Xiphilin. 
Orosius, 1. 7. Ῥαρὶ places this Jewish rebellion 
A.D. 116. 

+ See them in Ruinart, Selecta et sincera Mar- 
tyrum Acta, 


ι 
“ 


222 


eal act of violence. The more celebrated | parts of the world; encouraging com- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


trial of Tgnatius is said to have taken | merce; promoting the arts; in short, im- 
place before the emperor himself at An- | proving, by salutary regulations, this long 


tioch, when he was preparing for his first 
Eastern campaign.* The emperor is rep- 


_ resented as kindling to anger at the dispar- 


agement of those gods on whose protec- 
tion he depended in the impending war. 
“What, is our religion to be treated as 
senseless? Are the gods, on whose al- 
liance we rely against our enemies, to be 
turned to scorn?” If we may trust the 
epistles ascribed to this bishop, there was 
an eagerness for martyrdom not quite con- 
sistent with the conduct of the apostles, 
and betraying a spirit which at least 
would not allay, by prudential concession, 
the indignation and resentment of the gov- 
‘ernment.* 

The cosmopolite and indefatigable mind 
Hadrian Of Hadrian was more likely to dis- 
emperor, cern with accuracy, and estimate 
AD. 117. to its real extent, the growing in- 
fluence of the new religion. Hadrian was, 
still more than his predecessor, the Em- 
peror of the West rather than the mon- 
arch of Rome. His active genius with- 
drew itself altogether from warlike enter- 
prise and foreign conquest; its whole 
care was centred on the consolidation of 
the empire within its narrower and un- 
contested boundaries, and on the internal 
regulation of the vast confederacy of na- 
tions which were gradually becoming more 
and more assimilated, as subjects or mem- 
bers of the great European empire. The 
remotest provinces for the first time be- 
held the presence of the emperor, not at 
the head of an army summoned to defend 
the insulted barriers of the Roman terri- 
tory, or pushing forward the advancing 
line of conquest, but in more peaceful 
array, providing for the future security of 
the frontier by impregnable fortresses; 
adorning the more“flourishing cities with 
public buildings, bridges, and aqueducts ; 
inquiring into the customs, manners, and 
even the religion of the more distant 


* According to the chronology of Pagi, A D. 112. 

1 Ἐμεῖς οὖν σοι δοκοῦμεν κατὰ νοῦν μὴ ἔχειν 
ϑεοὺς, οἷς καὶ χρώμεθα ξυμμάχοις πρὸς τοὺς πολ- 
ἐμίους. The Jewish legends are full of acts of 
personal cruelty ascribed to Trajan, mingled up, as 
usual, with historical errors and anachronisms.—See 
Hist. of Jews, iii., 109. 

1 The epistles represent Ignatius as holding cor- 
respondence with the most eminent bishops of 
Asia Minor, who do not appear to have been in 
danger of persecution; that to the Romans depre- 
cates all kindly interference with the government 
to avert the glorious destiny whlch he coveted, and 
intimates some apprehension lest their unwel 
ceme appeal to the imperial clemency might meet 
with success. [| consider this an argument for their 
authenticity. 


period of peace to the prosperity and civ- 
ilization of the whole empire. Gaul, Brit- 
ain, Greece, Syria, Egypt, Africa, were 
in turn honoured by the presence, enriched 
by the liberality, and benefited by the 
wise policy of the emperor.* Character 

His personal character showed. of Hadrian. 
the same incessant activity and politic 
versatility. On the frontier, at the head 
of the army, he put on the hardihood and 
simplicity of a soldier ; disdained any dis- 
tinction, either of fare or of comfort, from 
the meanest legionary ; and marched on 
foot through the most inclement seasons. 
In the peaceful and voluptuous cities of 
the South he became the careless and 
luxurious Epicurean. Hadrian treated the 
established religion with the utmost re- 
spect; he officiated with solemn dignity 
as supreme pontiff, and at Rome affected 
disdain or aversion for foreign religions. 
But his mind was essentially imbued with 
the philosophic spirit :t he was tempted by 
every abstruse research, and every for- 
bidden inquiry had irresistible attraction 
for his curious and busy temper.) At 
Athens he was in turn the simple and ra- 
tional philosopher, the restorer of the 
splendid temple of Jupiter Olympius, and 
the awe-struck worshipper in the Eleusin- 
ian Mysteries.|| In the East, he aspired 


to penetrate the recondite secrets of ma - 


ἘΜ. St. Croix observes (in an essay in the. Jf. 
de l’Acadéem., xlix., 409), that we have medals of 
twenty-five countries through which Hadrian trav- 
elled. (Compare Eckhel, vi., 486.) He looked 
into the crater of Etna; saw the sun rise from 
Mount Casius; ascended to the cataracts of the 
Nile ; heard the statue of Memnon. He imported 
exotics from the East. The journeys of Hadrian 
are traced in a note to M. Solvet’s translation of 
Hegewisch, cited above. Tertullian calls him cu- 
riositatum omnium explorator.—Apol.,i,v. Eu- 
sebius, Eccl. Hist., v.,5, πάντα τὰ περιέμγα πολυπραγ- 
μονῶν. 

+ Sacra Romana diligentissimé curavit, peregrina 
contempsit.--Spartian. in Hadrian. ἡ 

t Les autres sentimens de ce prince sont trés 
difficiles ἃ connaitre. 1] m’embrassa aucun secte, 
et ne fut ni Académicien, ni Stoicien, encore moins 
Epicurien ; il parut constamment livré a cette in- 
certitude d’opinions, fruit de la bizarrerie de son 
caractére, et d’un savoir superficiel ou mal digéré. 
—St. Croix, ubi supra. pee ya tN 

ὁ In the Cesars of Julian, Hadrian is described 
in the pregnant phrase πολυπραγμονῶν τὰ ἀπόῤῥητα, 
busied about all the secret religions. 

|| The Apology of Quadratus was presented on 
Hadrian’s visit to Athens, when he was initiated in 
the mysteries; that of Aristides when he became 
epoptes, A Ὁ. 131. Warburton connects the hos- 
tility of the celebrators of the mysteries towards 
Christianity with the Apology of Quadratus, and 
quotes a passage from Jerome to this effect.—Com- 
pare Routh’s Reliquie Sacre, i., 70. " 


ΓᾺ 


᾿ 


τ“ anonymous. delation. 


ta 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ᾶ, 


gic, and professed himself an adept in ju- 
dicial astrology. In the midst of all thi 
tampering with foreign religions, he at 


once honoured and outraged the prevail- 


ing creed by the deification of Antinous, 
in whose honour quinquennial games were 
established at Mantinea ; a city built, and 
a temple, with an endowment for a priest- 
hood,* founded and called by his name 
in Egypt: his statues assumed the sym- 
bols of various deities. Acts like these, 
at this critical period, must have tended to 
alienate a large portion of the thinking 
class, already wavering in their cold and 
doubtful Polytheism, to any purer or more 
ennobling, system of religion. 

Hadrian not merely surveyed the sur- 
face of society, but his sagacity seemed 
to penetrate deeper into the relations of 


the different classes to each other, and 


into the more secret workings of the so- 
cial system. His regulations for the mit- 
igation of slavery were recommended, not 
by humanity alone, but by a wise and pru- 
dent policy.t It was impossible that the 
rapid growth of Christianity could escape 
the notice of a mind so inquiring as that 
of Hadrian, or that he could be altogether 
blind to its ultimate bearings on the social 


._.,. State of the empire. Yet the 
Hadrian's ἘΝ 3 
conduct to. generally humane and pacific 


wardsChris- character of his government 
fanity. —__ would be a security against vio- 
lent measures of persecution ; and the lib- 
study of the varieties of human opin- 
vould induce, if not a wise and rational 
it of toleration, yet a kind of contemp- 
tuous indifference towards the most inex- 
plicable aberrations from the prevailing 
opinions. The apologists for Christiani- 
ty, Quadratus and Aristides, addressed 
their works to the emperor, who does not 
appear to have repelled their respectful 
homage.{ The rescript which he ad- 
dressed in the early part of his reign to 
the proconsul of Asia, afforded the same 
protection to the Christians against the 
more formidable danger of popular ani- 
mosity which Trajan had granted against 
In some of the 
Asiatic cities, their sullen and unsocial 
absence from the public assemblies, from 
the games, and other public exhibitions, 
either provoked or gave an opportunity 
for the latent animosity to break out 
against them. A general acclamation 
would sometimes demand their punish- 
ment. ‘The Christians to the lions!” 
was the general outcry; and the names 


* Buseb., iv., 8. Hieronym. in Catal. et Rufin. 

+ Gibbon, vol. i, ch. ii., p. 25. i 

t See the fragments in Routh, Reliquie Sacre, 
i 69-78 


| despicable to the real philosopher. 


223 
2 


of the most prominent or obnoxious of the 
community would be denounced with the 
same sudden and uncontrollable hostility. 
A weak or superstitious magistrate trem- 
bled before the popular voice, or lent him- 
self a willing instrument to the fury of the 
populace. The proconsul Serenus Gra- 
nianus consulted the emperor as to the 
course to be pursued on such occasions. 
The answer of Hadrian is addressed to 
Minucius Fundanus, probably the succes- 
sor of Granianus, enacting that, in the 
prosecution of the Christians, the formal- 
ities of law should be strictly complied 


with; that they should be regularly ar- ὁ 


raigned before the legal tribunal, not con- 
demned on the mere demand of the popu- 
lace, or in compliance with a lawless out- 
em 
manity and wisdom of Hadrian. But, 
notwithstanding his active and inquisitive 
mind, and the ability of his gen- yy,arian inca- 
ce policy: few persons were, pable’ of un- 
perhaps, less qualified to judge derstanding 

of the new religion, or to le eirhibeceaads 
prehend the tenacious hold which it would 
obtain upon the mind of man. is char- 
acter wanted depth and seriousness to 
penetrate or to understand the workings 
of a high, profound, and settled religious 
enthusiasm.t The graceful verses which 


* Justin Martyr, Apol.,i., 68,69. Euseb., Η. E., 
iv., 9. Mosheim, whose opinions on the state of 
the Christians are coloured by too lenient a view 
of Roman toleration, considers this edict by no 
means more favourable to the Christians than that 
of Trajan. It evidently offered them protection 
under a new and. peculiar exigency. [See Mo- 
sheim’s Instit. of Εἰ. H., vol. i. p. 106, n. (5). Has 
drian’s rescript guarded Trajan’s law against an 
evasion often practised.] 

+ The well-known letter of Hadrian gives a sin- 
gular view of the state of the religions society as it 
existed, or, rather, as it appeared to the inquisitive 
emperor. ‘1 am now, my dear Servianus, become 
fully acquainted with that Egypt which you praise 
so highly. I have found the people vain, fickle, 
and shifting with every breath of popular rumour. 
Those who worship Serapis are Christians; and 
those who call themselves Christian bishops are 
worshippers of Serapis. There is no ruler of a 
Jewish synagogue, no Samaritan, no Christian 
bishop who is not an astrologer, an interpreter of 
prodigies, and an anointer. The patriarch himself, 
when he comes to Egypt, is compelled by one party 
to worship Serapis, by the other Christ. * * * They 
have but one God: him Christians, Jews, and 
Gentiles worship alike.” This latter clause Ca- 
saubon understood seriously. It is evidently mali- 
cious satire. The common God is Gain. The key 
to the former curious statement is probably that the 
tone of the higher, the fashionable society of Alex- 
andrea,qwas to affect, either on some Gnostic or 
philosophic theory, that all these religions differed 
only in’ form, but were essentially the same; that 
all adored one Deity, all one Logos or Demiurge, 
under different names; all employed the same arts 
to impose upon the vulgar, and all were equally 
Dr. Burton, in 


) Ν : ' ' 


ad 


The edict does credit to the hu- 


~ 4 


he addressed to’his departing spirit*eoh- 
trasts with the solemn earnestness with 
which the Christians were teaching man- 
spied to consider the mysteries of another 
ife. But, on the whole, the long and 
‘peaceful reign of Hadrian allowed free 
scope to the progress of Christianity.; the 
increasing wealth and prosperity of the 
empire probably raised in the social scale 
‘that class among which it was chiefly 
disseminated ; while the better part of the 
more opulent would be tempted at least 
to make themselves acquainted with a re- 
ligion, the moral influence of which was 
so manifestly favourable to the happiness 
of mankind, and which offered so noble a 
solution of the great problem of human 
philosophy, the immortality of the soul. 
The gentle temper of the first Antoninus 
Antoninus WOuld maintain that milder sys- 
Pius emper- tem which was adopted by Ha- 
or, A.D. 138. drian from policy or from indif- 
ference. The emperor, whose parental 
vigilance scrutinized the minutest affairs 
of the most remote province, could not be 
ignorant, though his own residence was 
fixed in Rome and its immediate neigh- 
bourhood, of the still expanding progress 
of Christianity. The religion itself ac- 
quired every year a more public charac- 
ter. The Apology now assumed the tone 
of an arraignment of the folly and unholi- 
ness of the established Polytheism; nor 
was this a low and concealed murmur 
within the walls of its own places of as- 
semblage, or propagated in the quiet in- 
tercourse of the brethren. It no longer 
affected disguise or dissembled its hopes ; 
it approached the foot of the throne; it 
stood in the attitude, indeed, of a suppli- 
ant, claiming the inalienable rights of con- 
science, but asserting in simple confidence 
its moral superiority, and in the name of 
an apology publicly preaching its own 
doctrines in the ears of the sovereign and 
of the world. The philosophers were 
joining its ranks ; it was rapidly growing 
up into a rival power, both of the religions 
and philosophies of the world. Yet, du- 
ring a reign in which human life assumed 


ὺ ‘ 


224 


᾿ “a 
’ his History of the Church, suggested, with much 
ingenuity that the Samaritans may have been the 
Gnostic followers of Simon Magus, 
* Animula, vagula, blandula, 
Hospes, comesque corporis, 
Quz nunc abibis in loca? 
oh " 


‘calamities, by imitating the piety rather 


. 
. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. q 


» 4 
a value and a sanctity before unknown; 
in which the hallowed person of a senator 
was not once violated, even by the stern 
hand of justice ;* under an emperor who 
professed and practised the maxim of 
Scipio, that he had rather save the life of 
a single citizen than cause the death of a 
thousand enemies ;t who considered the © 
subjects of the empire as one family, of 
which himself was the parent,{ even reli- 
gious zeal would be rebuked and overaw- 
ed; and the provincial governments, which 
too often reflected the fierce passions and» » 
violent barbarities of the throne, would 
now, in turn, image back the calm and " 
placid serenity of the imperial tribunal. 
Edicts are said to have been issued to 
some of the Grecian cities— Larissa, 
Thessalonica, and Athens—and to the 
Greeks in general, to refrain from any un- ., 
precedented severities against the Chris- 
tians. Another rescript,§ addressed to the 
cities of Asia Minor, speaks language too 
distinctly Christian even for the anticipa- 
ted Christianity of disposition evinced by 
Antoninus. It calls upon the pagans to” 
avert the anger of Heaven, which was dis- 
played in earthquakes and other public 


+4 
γὠ 


than denouncing the atheism of the Chris- 
tians. The pleasing vision must, it is to — 
be feared, be abandoned, which would rep- 
resent the best of the pagan emperors * 
bearing his public testimony in favour of 
the calumniated Christians ; the man who, 
from whatever cause, deservedly bore the 
name of the Pious among the adherents 
of his own religion, the most wisely tol- 
erant to the faith of the Gospel. 


* Jul. Capit., Anton. Pius, Aug. Script., p. 138, 

t Ibid, p. 140. f 

t The reign of Antoninus the First is almost a 
blank in history. The book of Dion Cassius which 
contained his reign was lost, except a small part, 
when Xiphilin wrote. Xiphilin asserts that Anto- 
ninus favoured the Christians. 

ὁ The rescript of Antonine in Eusebius, to which 
Xiphilin alludes (Euseb., iv., 13), in favour of the 
Christians, is now generally given up as spurious. | 
The older writers disputed to which of the Anto- ; 
nines it belonged. Lardner argues, from the Apol- ° 
ogies of Justin Martyr, that the Christians were 
persecuted ‘even to death” during this reign. 

The inference is inconclusive: they were obnox- ᾿ 
ious to the law, and might endeavour to gain the 
law on their side, though it may not have been car- 
ried into execution. ‘The general voice of Chris- © 
tian antiquity is favourable to the first Antoninus. 
[On this dubious rescript of Antonine, see Mo- 
sheim’s Instit. of Εἰ. H., vol. i., p. 107, n. (10).} 

Pa 


4 “ 


« 


‘ ¥ 


own 


. . 
“. 
» ; x 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ᾿ 225 
ᾧ, 
Ὧν am 


CHAPTER VIL 


CHRISTIANITY AND MARCUS AURELIUS THE PHILOSOPHER. 


Tue virtue of Marcus Aurelius, the phi- 
losopher, was of a more lofty and vigorous 
character than that of his gentle predeces- 
sor. ‘The second Antonine might seem 


_ the last effort of paganism, or, rather, of 


entile philosophy, to raise a worthy op- 
ponent to the triumphant career of Chris- 
tianity. A blameless disciple of the se- 
verest school of philosophic morality, the 
austerity of Marcus rivalled that of the 
Christians in its contempt of the follies 
and diversions of life; yet his native kind- 


~liness of disposition was not hardened and 


imbittered by the severity or the pride of 
his philosophy.* With Aurelius, never- 
theless, Christianity found not only a fair 
and high-minded competitor for the com- 
mand of the human mind; not only a rival 


in the exaltation of the soul of man to 


» | higher views and more dignified motives, 


ἣἮ but a violent and intolerant persecutor. 
Δ." ΕΣ ΡΥ 


eign the martyrologies be- 


eae hs , 
more authentic and credible; the 


Pay: 


quarter of the Roman dominions. The 
western provinces, Gaul and Africa, rival- 
led the East in the number, if not in the 
opulence, of their Christian congrega- 
tions: in almost every city had gradually 
arisen a separate community, seceding 
from the ordinary habits and usages of life, 
at least from the public religious ceremo- 
nial, governed by its own laws, acting 
upon a common principle, and bound to- 
gether in a kind of latent federal union 
throughout the empire. A close and in- 
timate correspondence connected this new 
moral republic ; an impulse, an opinion, a 
feeling, which originated in Egypt or Syr- 
ia, Was propagated with electric rapidity 
to the remotest frontier of the West. Ire- 

us, the bishop of Lyons in Gaul, whose 
purer Greek had been in danger of cor- 
ruption from his intercourse with the bar- 
barous Celtic tribes, enters into a contro- 
versy with the speculative teachers of 
Antioch, Edessa, or Alexandrea, while 


sneral voice of Christian history arraigns | Tertullian, in his rude African Latin, de- 
~ the philosopher, not, indeed, as the author | nounces or advocates opinions which 


of a general and systematic plan for the | sprung up in Pontus or in Phrygia. A 


: 


extirpation of Christianity, but as with- 
drawing even the ambiguous protection of 
the former emperors, and giving free scope 
to the excited passions, the wounded pride, 
and the jealous interests of its enemies; 
neither discountenancing the stern deter- 
mination of the haughty governor to break 
the contumacious spirit of resistance to his 
authority, nor the outburst of popular fury, 
which sought to appease the offended gods 
by the sacrifice of these despisers of their 
deities. 

Three important causes concurred in 
Three caus- Pringing about this dangerous 
esofthehos- crisis in the destiny of Chris- 
veh ofM. tianity at this particular peri- 

urelius ξ 
and his gov- Od: 1. The change in the rela- 
-ernment (0 tive position of Christianity with 


_  Gmsuanity: the religion of the empire; 2. 
_ the circumstances of the times; 3. the 


character of the emperor. 1. Sixty years 
1, Altered Of almost uninterrupted peace 
position of since the beginning of the sec- 
ristianity i 
in regardto Old century had opened a wide 
paganism. field for the free development 
of Christianity. It had spread into every 
Ὄπ αν 7 Ne 
* Verecundus sine ignavia, sine tristitiA gravis. 
—Jul. =e Hist., p. 160. 
F 


new kind of literature had arisen, propa- 
gated with the utmost zeal of proselytism 
among a numerous class of readers, who 
began to close their ears against the pro- 
fane fables and unsatisfactory philosoph- 
ical systems of paganism. While the 
emperor himself condescended, in Greek 
of no despicable purity and elegance for 
the age, to explain the lofty tenets of the 
Porch, and to commend its noble morality 
to his subjects, the minds of a large por- 
tion of the world were preoccupied by wri- 
ters who, in language often impregnated 
with foreign and Syrian barbarisms, en- 
forced still higher morals, resting upon 
religious tenets altogether new and. in- 
comprehensible excepting to the initiate. 
Their sacred books were of still higher 
authority ; commanded the homage, and 
required the diligent and respectful study, 
of all the disciples of the new faith. Nor 
was this empire within the empire, this 
universally-disseminated sect—which had 
its own religious rites, its own laws, to 
which it appealed rather than to the stat- 
utes of the empire; its own judges (for 
the Christians, wherever they were able, 
submitted their disputes to their bishops 
and his associate presbyters); its own 


toe 


7 
ψν 


- 
226 


financial regulations, whether for the 
maintenance of public worship or for 
charitable purposes ; its own religious su- 
periors, who exercised a very different 
control from that of the pontiffs or sacer- 
dotal colleges of paganism; its own usa- 
ges and conduct; in some respects its own 
language—confined to one class or to one 
description of Roman subjects. _Chris- 
tians were to be found in the court, in the 
camp, in the commercial market; they 
discharged all the duties, and did not de- 
cline any of the offices of society. They 
did not altogether shun the forum, or aban- 
don all interest in the civiladministration ; 
they had their mercantile transactions in 
common with the rest of that class. One 
of their apologists indignantly repels the 
charge of their being useless to society : 
‘We are no Indian Brahmins or devo- 
tees, living naked in the woods, self-ban- 
ished from civilized life.’* Among their 
most remarkable distinctions, no doubt, 
was their admission of slaves to an equal- | 
‘ity in religious privileges, Yet there was 
no attempt to disorganize or correct the 
existing relations of society. Though the 
treatment of slaves in Christian families 
could not but be softened and humanized, 
as well by the evangelic temper as by this 
acknowledged equality in the hopes of an- 
other life, yet Christianity left the eman- 
cipation of mankind from these deeply- 
rooted distinctions between the free and 
servile races to times which might be ripe 
for so great and important a change. 

This secession of one part of society 
from its accustomed religious intercourse 
with the rest, independent of the numbers 
whose feelings and interests were implica- 
‘ted in the support of the national religion 
dn all its pomp and authority, would ne- 
cessarily produce estrangement, jealousy, 
animosity. 

As Christianity became more powerful, 
Connexion of ἃ Vague apprehension began to 
ΕἸΠΕ ΑΘ Spread among the Ronan peo- 
ofthe Roman Ple that the fall of their old re- 
empire. ligion might, to a certain de- 
gree, involve that of their civil dominion; 


*Infructuosi in negotiis dicimur. Quo pacto 
homines vobiscum degentes, ejusdem victis, habi- 
tis, Instincts, ejusdem ad vitam  necessitatis? 
Neque enim Brachmane, aut Indorum gymnoso- 
phiste sumus, sylvicole et exules vite. Memini- 
mus gratiam nos debere Deo domino creatori, nul- 
Jum fructum operum γε) δ5 repudiamur, plané tem- 
peramus, ne ultra medum aut perperam utamur. 
Itaque non sine foro, non sine macello, non sine 
balneis, tabernis, officinis, stabulis, nundinis vestris, 
ceterisque commerciis, cohabitamus in hocseculo : 
mavigamus et nos vobiscum et militamus, et rustica- 
mur, et mercamur; proinde miscemus artes, opera 
nostra publicamus 0.80] vestro.—Tertull., Apologet., 
iC. 42, 


- 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


and this apprehension, it cannot be ue- 
nied, was justified, deepened, and con- 
firmed by the tone of some of the Chris- 
tian writings, no doubt by the language 
of some Christian teachers. Idolarty was 
not merely an individual, but a national 
sin, which would be visited by temporal - 
as well as spiritual retribution. The anx 
iety of one at least, and that certainly not 
the most discreet of Christian apologists, 
to disclaim all hostility towards the tem-* 
poral dignity of the empire, implies that 
the Christians were obnoxious to this 
charge. The Christians are calumniated, 
writes Tertullian to Scapula* at a some- 
what later period (under Severus), as guil- 
ty of treasonable disloyalty to the emper- 
or. As the occasion required, he excul- 
pates them from any leaning to Niger, Al- 
binus, or Cassius, the competitors of Se- 
verus, and then proceeds to make this sol- 
emn protestation of loyalty. ‘The Chris- 
tian is the enemy of no man, assuredly 
not of the emperor. The sovereign he 
knows to be ordained by God: of neces- 


sity, therefore, he loves, reveres, and hon- 


| 


ours him, and prays for his safety, with 
that of the whole Roman empire, that it 
may endure—and endure it will—as long 
as the worlditself.”+ But other Christian 
documents, or, at least, docu- Tone of some. 
ments eagerly disseminated by ἔράνο σοι 
the Christians, speak a very atory of this 

different language.{ By many apprehension. 


modern interpreters the Apocalypse it- — 


self is supposed to refer, not to the fall of 
a predicted spiritual Rome, but of the dom- 
inant pagan Rome, the visible Babylon of 
idolatry, and pride, and cruelty. Accord- 
ing to this view, it is a grand dramatie 
vaticination of the triumph of Christian- 
ity over heathenism, in its secular as well 
as its spiritual power. Be this as it may, 
in later writings the threatening and mal- 
edictory tone of the Apocalypse is man- 
ifestly borrowed, and directed against 
the total abolition of paganism, in its civ- 
il as well as religious supremacy. Many 
of these forged prophetic writings belong 


* Sed et circa majestatem imperii infamamur, ta- 
men nunquam Albiniani, nec Nigriani, vel Cassi- 
ani, inveniri potuerunt Christian. ; 

Christianus nullius est hostis, nedum imperato- 
ris; quem sciens a Deo suo constitui, necesse est 
ut et ipsum diligat, et revereatur, et honoret, et 
salvurn velit, cum toto Romano imperio, quousque 
seculum stabit: tamdiu enim stabit.—Ad Scapu- 
lam, 1. ae 

+ Quousque seculum stabit. _ |: 

t Ihave been much indebted in this passage to 
the excellent work of Tschirner, “‘ der Falldes Hei- 
denthums,” a work written with so much learning, 
candour, and Christian temper as to excite great 
regret that it was left incomplete at its author’s 
death. ~ 


_ - 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


to the reign of the Antonines, and could not 
emanate from any quarter but that of the 
more injudicious and fanatical Christians. 
The second (apocryphal) book of Esdras 
is of this character, the work of a Judai- 
zing Christian ;* it refers distinctly to the 
reign of the twelve Czsars,{ and obscure- 
ly intimates in many parts the approach- 
ing dissolution of the existing order of 
things. ‘The doctrine of the Millennium, 
which was as yet far from exploded or 
fallen into disregard, mingled with all these 
prophetic anticipations of future change 
in the destinies of mankind.{ The visible 
throne of Christ, according to these wri- 
tings, was to be erected on the ruins of all 
earthly empires: the nature of his king- 
dom would, of course, be unintelligible to 
the heathen ; and all that he would com- 
prehend would be a vague notion that the 
empire of the world was to be transferred 
from Rome, and that this extinction of the 
majesty of the empire was in some in- 
comprehensible manner connected with the 
triumph of the new faith. His terror, his 
indignation, and his contempt would lead 
to fierce and implacable animosity. Even 


in Tertullian’s Apology, the ambiguous 


Ὁ 


word “seculum” might mean no more than 
a brief and limited period which was yet 
to elapse before the final consummation. 
But the Sibylline verses, which clear- 
The Sibyi- ly belong to this period, express 


» line books. jn the most remarkable manner 


this spirit of exulting menace at the ex- 
pected simultaneous fall of Roman idola- 
try and of Roman empire. The origin of 
the whole of the Sibylline oracles now 
extant is not distinctly apparent, either 
from the style, the manner of composi- 
tion, or the subject of their predictions.§ 
It is manifest that they were largely in- 
terpolated by the Christians to a late pe- 
riod, and some of the books can be as- 
signed to no other time but the present.|| 


* The general character of the work, the na- 
tionality of the perpetual allusions to the history 
and fortunes of the race of Israel, betray the Jew ; 
the passages, ch. 11., 42, 48; v., 5; vii., 26, 29, are 
avowed Christianity. 

+ Ὁ. xii, 14. Compare Basnage, Hist. des Ju- 
ifs, 1. vii., c. 2. 

1 There are apparent allusions to the Millennium 
in the Sibylline verses, particularly at the close of 
the eighth book. : 

§ The first book to page 176 may be Jewish ; it 
then becomes Christian, as well as the second. 
But in these books there is little prophecy ; it is in 
general the Mosaic history in Greek hexameters. 
If there are any fragments of heathen verses, they 
are in the third book. 

|| Ad horam imperatorum (Antonini Pii cum Jib- 
eris suis M. Aurelio et Lucio Vero) tempora vi- 
dentur Sibyllarum vaticinia tantum extendi; id 
quod etiam e lib. v. videre licet.—Note of the edi- 
tor, Opsopzus, p. 688. 


227 


Much, no doubt, was of an older date. It 
is scarcely credible that the fathers of this 
time would quote contemporary forgeries 
as ancient prophecies. The Jews of 
Alexandrea, who had acquired some taste 
for Grecian poetry, and displayed some 
talent for the translation of their sacred 
books into the Homeric language and me- 
tre,* had no doubt set the example of 
versifying their own prophecies, and, per- 
haps, of ascribing them to the Sibyls, 
whose names were universally venerated, 
as revealing to mankind the secrets of 
futurity. They may have begun with 
comparing their own prophets with these 
ancient seers, and spoken of the predic- 
tions of Isaiah or Ezekiel as their Sib- 
ylline verses, which may have been anoth- 
er word for prophetic or oracular. 

Almost every region of heathenism 
boasts its Sibyl. Poetie predictions as- 
cribed to these inspired women were ei- 
ther published or religiously preserved in 
the sacred archives of cities. Nowhere 
were they held in such awful reverence” 
as in Rome. The opening of the Sibyl- 
line books was an event of rare occur- 
rence, and only at seasons of fearful dis- 
aster or peril. Nothing would be more 
tempting to the sterner or more ardent 
Christian than to enlist, as it were, on his 
side these authorized pagan interpreters 
of futurity; to extort, as it were, from their 
own oracles this confession of their ap- 
proaching dissolution. Nothing, on the 
other hand, would more strongly excite 
the mingled feelings of apprehension and 
animosity in the minds of the pagans than 
this profanation, as it would seem, wheth- 
er they disbelieved or credited them, of 
the sacred treasures of prophecy. It was 
paganism made to utter, in its most hal- 
lowed language and by its own ‘inspired 
prophets, its own condemnation ; to an- 
nounce its own immediate downfall, and 
the triumph of its yet obscure enemy over 
both its religious and temporal dominion. 

The fifth and eighth books of the Sibyl- 
line Oracles are those which most dis- 
tinctly betray the sentiments and language 


* Compare Valckenaer’s learned treatise de Aris- 
tobulo Judeo. The fragments of Ezekiel Trage- 
dus, and many passages, which are evident ver- 
sions of the Jewish Scriptures, in the works of the 
fathers, particularly of Eusebius, may be traced to 
this school. It is by no means impossible that the 
Pollio of Virgil may owe many of its beauties to 
those Alexandrean versifiers of the Hebrew proph- 
ets. Virgil, who wrought up indiscriminately into 
his refined gold all the ruder ore which he found in 
the older poets, may have seen and admired some 
of these verses. He may have condescended, as he 
thonght, to borrow the images of these religious 
books of the barbarians, as a modern might the im- 
ages of the Vedas or of the Koran. - 


+ 


"4 


228 na 


of the Christians of this period.* In the 
Spirit of the Jewish prophets, they de- 
nounce the folly of worshipping gods of 
_ wood and stone, of ivory, of gold, and sil- 
ver ; of offering incense and sacrifice to 
dumb and deafdeities. The gods of Egypt 
and of Greece—Hercules, Jove, and Mer- 
cury—are cut off. The whole sentiment 
is in the contemptuous and aggressive 
tone of the later, rather than the more 
temperate and defensive argument of the 
earlier apologists for Christianity. But 
the Sibyls are made not merely to de- 
nounce the fall of heathenism, but the ruin 
of heathen states and the desolation of 
heathen cities. Many passages relate to 
Egypt, and seem to point out Alexandrea, 
with Asia Minor, the cities of which, par- 
ticularly Laodicea, are frequently noticed, 
as the chief staple of these poetico-pro- 


_ phetic forgeries t The following passage 


-might almost seem to have been written 
after the destruction of the Serapeum by 
Theodosius.{ “Isis, thrice hapless god- 
dess, thou shalt remain alone on the shores 
of the Nile, a solitary Menad by the sands 
of Acheron. No longer shall thy memo- 
ry endure upon the earth. And thou, Se- 
rapis, that restest upon thy stones, much 
must thou suffer; thou shalt be the might- 
iest ruin in thrice hapless Egypt; and 
those who worshipped thee for a god 
shall know thee to be nothing. And one 
of the linen-clothed priests shall say, 
Come, let us build the beautiful temple of 
the true God; let us change the awful law 
of our ancestors, who, in their ignorance, 


~ made their pomps and festivals to gods of 


stone and clay; let us turn our hearts, 
hymning the Everlasting God, the Eternal 
Father, the Lord of all, the True, the 
King, the Creator and Preserver of our 
souls, the Great, the Eternal God.” 
» Lib. v., p. 557. 
t+ Θμοῦις καὶ Ξοῦις ϑλίθεται, και κόπτεται. 
Βουλὴ Ἡρακλεούς τε Διός τε καὶ Ἑρμειάο .---- 
P. 558. The first of these lines is mutilated. 
f Ἰσὶ, Ged τριτάλαινα, μενεῖς & ἐπὶ χεύμασι 
Νείλου, 
Μούνη, μαινὰς ἄτακτος, ἐπὶ ψαμάθοις ᾿Αχέροντος, 
Κοὐκέτι σου μνεῖά ye μενεῖ κατὰ γαίαν ἅπασαν. 
Kai σὺ Σέραπι, λίθοις ἐπικείμενε, πολλὰ μογήσεις, 
Kelog πτῶμα μέγιστον, ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ τριταλαΐνῃ. 
* 


* Ἂς 
Τνώσονται σε τὸ μηδὲν, ὅσοι Θεὸν ἐξύμνησαν. 


- Καὶ τις ἐρεῖ τῶν ἱερέων λινσόσσιος ἀνὴρ. 


Δεῦτε Θεοῦ τέμενος καλοὺ στήθωμεν ἀληθὲς, 
Δεῦτε τὸν ἐκ προγόνων δεινὸν νόμον ἀλλάξωμεν, 
Τοῦ χάριν ἢ λίθινοις καὶ ὀστρακίνοισι ϑεοῖσι 
πομπὰς καὶ τελετὰς ποιούμενοι οὐκ ἔνοησαν, 
Στρέψωμεν ψυχὰς, Θεὸν ἄφθιτον ἐξυμνοῦντες. 
Αὐτὸν τὸν γενετῆρα, τὸν αἴδιον γεγαῶτα, 

Tov πρυτανὶν πάντων, τὸν ἀληθέα, τὸν βασιλῆα. 
Ψυχοτρόφον γενετῆρα, Θεὸν μέγαν, αἰὲν ἐόντα .--- 
Lib. v., p. 638, edit. Gall, Amstelod,, 1689. 


oe 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


A bolder prophet, without doubt writing 
precisely at this perilous crisis, dares, in 
the name of a Sibyl, to connect together 
the approaching fall of Rome and the gods 
of Rome. “0, haughty Rome, the just 
chastisement of Heaven shall come down 
upon thee from on high; thou shalt stoop 
thy neck, and be levelled with the earth ; 
and fire shall consume thee, razed to thy 
very foundations; and thy wealth shall 
perish; wolves and foxes shall dwell 
among thy ruins, and thou It be deso- 
late as if thou hadst never been. Where 
then will be thy Palladium? Which of 
thy gods of gold, or of stone, or of brass 
shall save thee? Where then the decrees 
of thy senate? Where the race of Rhea, 
of Saturn, or of Jove; allthe lifeless dei- 
ties thou hast worshipped, or the shades 
of the deifieddead? When thrice five gor- 
geous Caesars (the twelve Cesars usually 
so called, with Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian), 
who have enslaved the world from east to 
west, shall be, one will arise silver-helmed, 
with a name like the neighbouring sea 
(Hadrian and the Hadriatic Sea).”* The 
poet describes the busy and lavish charac- 
ter of Hadrian, his curiosity in prying into 
all religious mysteries, and his deification — 
of Antinéus.f 

“ After him'shall reign three, whose times 
shallbe thelast{ * * * Then from the 


* Ἥξει σοὶ ποτ’ ἄνωθεν ἴση, ὑψαύχενε Ῥώμη, 
Οὐράνιος πληγὴ, καὶ κάμψεις αὐχένα πρώτη, 
Κἀξεδαφισθὴῆση, καὶ πῦρ σε ὅλην δαπανῆσει 
Κεκλιμένην ἐδάφεσσιν ἑοῖς, καὶ πλοῦτος ὀλεῖται, 
Καὶ σὰ ϑέμεθλα λύκοι, καὶ ἀλώπεκες οἰκήσουσι. 
Καὶ τότ᾽ ἔσῃ πανέρημος ὅλως, ὡς μὴ γεγονυῖα. 
Ποῦ τότε Παλλάδιον; ποῖος σε ϑεὸς διασώσει, 
Χρυσοῦς, ἢ λίθινος, ἢ χάλκεος ; ἢ τότε ποῦ σοι 
Δόγματα συγκλήτου ; ποῦ, Ρεὶης, ἠὲ Κρόνοιο, 
Ἠὲ Διὸς γενεὴ, καὶ πάντων ὧν ἐσεθάσθης 
Δαίμονας ἀψύχους, νέκρῶν εἴδωλα καμόντων ; 


3 * εν * 
"AAA ὅτε σοι βασιλεῖς χλιδανοὶ τρὶς πέντε γέ- 
γονται, 


Κόσμον δουλώσαντες an’ ἀντολίης μέχρι δυσμῶν, 
Ἕσσετ᾽ ἄναξ πολιόκρανος, ἔχων πέλας οὔνομα 
movtov.—Lib. vill., p. 679. 

The ruin of Rome and the restoration of Europe 
to the East are likewise alluded to in the following 
passages : lib. iii., p. 404-408 ; v., 573-576 ; vill., 694, 
712, 718. 

There is another allusion to Hadrian, lib. Rs: 
552, much more laudatory, Ἔσται καὶ πανάριστος 
ἀνὴρ. καὶ πάντα νοήσει. ) 

t Κόσμον ἐποπτεύων μιαρῷ ποδὶ, δῶρα πορίζων 

23 *% * * 
Kai μαγικῶν ἀδύτων μυστήρια πάντα μεθέξει, 
Παιδὰ ϑεὸν δεικνύσει, ἅπαντα σεθάσματα λύσει. 
—P. 688. 

1 Tov pera τρεῖς ἄρξουσι, πανύστατον ἦμαρ 

ἔχοντες--- 

One of these three is to be an old man, to heap 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Ψ 999 


uttermost parts of the earth, whither he 
fled, shall the matricide (Nero) return.* 
And now, O x of Rome, shalt thou 
mourn, disr f the purple laticlave of 


thy ee and clad in sackcloth. The 
glory of thy e-bearing legions shall 
erish. Where shall be thy might? what 


and which st enslaved by thy vain 
laurels shall be thine ally? For there 
shall be confusion on all mortals over the 
whole earth when the Almighty Ruler 
comes, and, seated upon his throne, judg- 
es the souls of the quick and of the dead, 
and of the whole world. There shall be 
wailing and scattering abroad, and ruin, 
when the fall of the cities shall come, and 
the abyss of earth shall open.” 

In another passage, the desolation of 
Italy, the return of Nero, the general mas- 
sacre of kings are portrayed in fearful 
terms. The licentiousness of Rome is 
up vast treasures, in order to surrender them to the 
Eastern destroyer, Nero: 

ἵν ὅταν γ᾽ ἀπανέλθῃ 
"EK περᾶτων γαιῆς ὃ φυγας μητροκτόνος ἐλθὼν. 
Καὶ τότε πενθήσεις, πλατὺ πόρφυρον ἡγεμονήων 
Φῶς ἐκδυσαμένη, καὶ πένθιμον εἷμα φεροῦσα. 
εν * 


* 

. x δὲ > 4 4 Age ~ 

τὲ yap ἀετοφόρων λεγεώνων δόξα πεσεῖται. 
_ Ποῦ τότε σοι τὸ κράτος ; ποία γῆ σύμμαχος ἔσται, 
Δουλωθεῖσα τεαῖς ματαιοφροσύνῃσιν ἀθέσμως ; 
Πάσης γὰρ γαίης ϑνητῶν τότε σύγχυσις ἕσται, 

τας i pak Nat eis ; 

Αὐτὸς παντοκράτωρ ὅταν. ἐλθὼν βήμασι κρίνῃ 
Zovrav καὶ νεκύων ψυχὰς, καὶ κόσμον ἅπαντα. 

* * * * 


Ἔκ τοτέ σοι βρυγμὸς, καὶ σκορπισμὸς, καὶ ἄλωσις, 
Πτῶσις ὅταν ἔλθῃ πόλεων, καὶ χάσματα γαΐης --- 
Lib. viii., 688. 

* The strange notion of the flight of Nero beyond 
the Euphrates, from whence he was to return as 
Antichrist, is almost the burden of the Sibylline 
verses. Compare lib. iv., p. 520-525; v , 573, where 
there is an allusion to his theatrical tastes, 619- 
714. The best commentary is that of St. Augustin 
on the Thessalonians. ‘ Et tunc revelabitur ille 
iniquus. Ego prorsus quid dixerit me fateor igno- 
rare. Suspiciones tamen hominum, quas vel au- 
dire vel legere de hac re potui, non tacebo. Qui- 
dam putant hoc de imperio dictum fuisse Romano ; 
et propterea Paulum Apostolum non id aperté scri- 
bere voluisse, ne calumniam videlicet incurreret 
quod Romano imperio malé optaverit, cum sperare- 
tur eternum: ut hoc quod dixit, ‘Jam enim mys- 
terium iniquitatis operatur,’ Neronem voluerit intel- 
ligi, cujus jam facta velut Antichristi videbantur ; 
unde nonnulli ipsum resurrecturum et futurum An- 
tichristum suspicantur. Alii-vero nec eum occi- 
sum putant, sed subtractum potiis, ut putaretur 
occisus ; et vivum occultari in vigore ipsius ztatis, 
in qué fuit cum crederetur extinctus, donee suo 
tempore reveletur, et restituatur in regnum.” Ac- 
cording to the Sibyls, Nero was to make an alliance 
with the kings of the Medes and Persians, return 
at the head of a mighty army, accomplish his fa- 
vourite scheme of digging through the Isthmus of 
Corinth, and then conquer Rome. For the manner 
in which Neander traces the germe of this notion in 
the Apocalypse, see Pflanzung, der Chr. Kirche, 
il., 327. Nero is Antichrist in the political verses 
of Commodianus, xli. 


“ 


detailed in the blackest colours. “Sit 
silent in thy sorrow, O guilty and luxurious 
city ; the vestal virgins shall no longer 
watch the sacred fire ; thy house is deso- 
late.”* Christianity is then represented 


under the image of a pure and heaven-de- 


scending temple, embracing the whole hu- 
manrace. ον ἢ 

Whether these prophecies merely im- 
bodied for the private edification the sen- 
timents of the Christians, they are manifest 
indications of these sentiments ; and they 
would scarcely be concealed with so much 
prudence and discretion as not to trans- 
pire among adversaries who now began 
to watch them with jealous vigilance: if 
they were boldly published for the purpose 
of converting the heathen, they would be 
still more obnoxious to the general indig- 
nation and hatred. However the more 


moderate and rational, probably the greater 
number, of Christians might deprecate 


these dangerous*and injudicious effusions 
of zeal, the consequences would involve 
all alike in the indiscriminating animosity 
which they would provoke; and whether 
or not these predictions were contained in 
the Sibylline poems, quoted by all the early 
writers, by Justin Martyr, by Clement, and 
by Origen, the attempt to array the au- 
thority of the Sibyls against that religion 
and that empire, of which they were be- 
fore considered almost the tutelary guar- 
dians, would goad the rankling aversion to 
violent resentment. ν 
way by Christianity, directly as it came 
into collision with the opposite party, 
would of itself be fatal to the peace which 
it had acquired in its earlier obscurity. 
Of all pretensions, man is most jealous of 
the claim to moral superiority. II. The 
darkening aspect of the times 9 Chansein 
wrought up this growing alien- the circum- 
ation and hatred to open and fu- seman g 
rious hostility. In the reign of ; 
M. Aurelius we approach the verge of that 
narrow oasis of peace which intervenes 
between the final conquests of Rome and 
the recoil of repressed and threatening 
barbarism upon the civilization of the 
world. The public mind began to be agi- 
tated with gloomy rumours from the fron- 
tier, while calamities, though local, yet 
spread over wide districts, shook the whole 
Roman people with apprehension. For- 
eign and civil wars, inundations, earth- 
quakes, pestilences, which we shall pres- 
ently assign to their proper dates, awoke 
the affrighted empire from its slumber of 
tranquillity and peace.t 


* Lib..v., p. 621. “ 
+ Tillemont, Hist. des Emp., ii. 593. 


et it 
The general superiority assumed in any Ἧ 
᾿ 


230 


The Emperor Marcus reposed not, like 
his predecessor, in -his Lanuvian villa, 
amid the peaceful pursuits of agriculture, 
or with the great jurisconsults of the time 
meditating on a general system of legis- 
lation. The days of the second Numa 
were gone by, and the philosopher must 
leave his speculative school and his Stoic 
friends to place himself at the head of the 
legions. 
peaceful families ; even the public amuse- 
ments are encroached upon: the gladia- 
tors are enrolled to serve in the army.* 
Terror of the It was at this unexpected crisis 
Roman world. of calamity and terror that su- 
perstition, which had slept in careless 
and Epicurean forgetfulness of its gods, 
suddenly awoke, and when it fled for suc- 
cour to the altar of the tutelar deity, found 
the temple deserted and the shrine neg- 
lected. One portion of society stood aloof, 
in sullen disregard or avowed contempt of 
rites so imperiously demanded by the 
avenging gods. If, in the time of public 
distress, true religion inspires serene res- 
ignation to the Divine will, and receives 
the awful admonition to more strenuous 
and rigid virtue, superstition shudders at 
the manifest anger of the gods, yet looks 
not within to correct the offensive guilt, 
but abroad to discover some gift or sacri- 
fice which may appease the Divine wrath, 
and bribe back the alienated favour of 
Heaven. Rarely does it discover any of- 
fering sufficiently costly except human 
life. The Christians were the public and 
avowed enemies of the gods; they were 
the self-designated victims, whose ungrate- 
ful atheism had provoked, whose blood 
might avert their manifest indignation. 
The public religious ceremonies, the sac- 
rifices, the games, the theatres, afforded 
constant opportunities of inflaming and 
giving vent to the paroxysms of popular 
fury, with which it disburdened itself of its 
awful apprehensions. The cry of “ The 
Christians to the lions!” was now no 
longer the wanton clamour of individual 
or party malice; it was not murmured 
by the interested, and eagerly re-echoed 
by the bloodthirsty, who rejoiced in the 
exhibition of unusual victims; it was the 
deep and general voice of fanatic terror, 
solemnly demanding the propitiation of the 
wrathful gods by the sacrifice of these 
impious apostates from their worship.t 


τῶ Ee TD eg ψύοξι, εἰ οτος 
* Fuitenim populo hic sermo, cum sustulisset ad 


bellum gladiatores inet populum sublatis voluptati- 
bus vellet cogere ad philosophiam.—Jul. Cap., p. 204. 

1 The miracle of the thundering legion (see pos- 
tea), after having suffered deadly wounds from for- 
mer assailants, was finally transfixed by the critical 
spear of Moyle (Works, vol.ii.). Is it improbable 
that it was invented or wrought up from a casual 


New levies invade the repose of 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


The Christians were the authors of all the 
calamities which were brooding over the 
world, and in vain their earnest apologists 
appealed to the prosperity of the empire 
since the appearance of Christ in the 
reign of Augustus, and showed that the 
great enemies of Christianity, the emper- 
ors Nero and Domitian, were likewise the 
scourges of mankind.* 

ΠῚ. Was then the philosopher superior 
to the vulgar superstition? In 3 he char- 
what manner did his personal acter of the 
character affect the condition of &™perer. 
the Christians? Did he authorize by any 
new edict a general and systematic per- 
secution, or did he only give free scope to 
the vengeance of the awe-struck people, 
and countenance the timid or fanatic con- 
cessions of the provincial governors to the 
riotous demand of the populace for Chris- 
tian blood? Did he actually repeal or sus- 
pend, or only neglect to enforce, the r \ilder 
edicts of his predecessors, which secured 
to the Christians a fair and public trial be- 
fore the legal tribunal?} - The acts as- 
cribed to Marcus Aurelius, in the meager 
and unsatisfactory annals of his reign, are 
at issue with the sentiments expressed in 
his grave and lofty Meditations. He as- 
sumes in his philosophical lucubrations, 
which he dictated during his campaigns 
upon the Danube, the tone of profound re- 
ligious sentiment, but proudly disclaims 
the influence of superstition upon his mind. 
Yet in Rome he either shared, or con- 
descended to appear to share, all the ter-_ 


rors of the people. The pestilence, said γ-: , 


to have been introduced from the East by _ 
the soldiers on their return from the Par- 
thian campaign, had not yet ceased its rav- 
ages, when the public mind was thrown 
into a state of the utmost depression by 
the news of the Marcomannic war. M. 
Aurelius, as we shall hereafter see, did 
not, in his proper person, countenance to 
the utmost the demands of the popular 
superstition. For all the vulgar arts of 
magic, divination, and vaticination, the 


occurrence into its present form, as ἃ kind of coun- 
terpoise to the reiterated charge which was advan- 
ced against the Christians, of having caused by 
their impiety all the calamities inflicted by the bar- 
barians on the empire ? 

* Melito apud Routh, Reliq. Sacr., 1, 111. 
pare Tertullian, Apologet., v. aap 

+ There is an edict of the Emperor Aurelian in 
the genuine acts of St. Symphorian, in which Pagi, 
Ruinart, and Neander (i, 106) would read the 
name of M. Aurelius instead of Aurelianus. Their 
arguments are, in my opinion, inconclusive, and the 
fact that Aurelian is named among the persecuting 
emperors in the treatise ascribed to Lactantius (de 
Mort. Persecutor.), in which his edicts (scripta) 
against the Christians are distinctly named, out- 
weighs their conjectural objections. 


Com- 


#2 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ἢ emperor declares his sovereign contempt ; 


yet on that occasion, besides the public 
religious ceremonies, to which we shall 
presently allude, he is said himself to have 
tampered with the dealers in the secrets 
of futurity; to have lent a willing ear to 
the prognostications of the Chaldeans and 
to the calculations of astrology. If these 
facts be true, and all this was not done in 
mere compliance with the general senti- 
ment, the serene composure of Marcus 
himself may at times have darkened into 
Private sen- terror; his. philosophic apathy 


timents of may not always have been ex- 
the emperor - 

in his Medi: δρΐ from the influence of shud- 
tations, dering devotion. In issuing an 


edict against the Christians, Marcus may 
have supposed that he was consulting the 
public good by conciliating the alienated 
favour of the gods. But the superiority 


_ Of the Christians to all the terrors of death 


uppears at once to have astonished and 
wounded the Stoic pride of the emperor. 
Philosophy, which was constantly dwell- 
ing on the solemn question of the immor- 
tality of the soul, could not comprehend 
the eager resolution with which the Chris- 
tian departed from life, and in the bitter- 
ness of jealousy sought out unworthy mo- 
tives for the intrepidity which it could not 
emulate. ‘“ How great is that soul which 
is ready, if it must depart from the body, 
to be extinguished, to be dispersed, or still 
to subsist! and this readiness must pro- 
ceed from the individual judgment, not 
from mere obstinacy, like the Christians, 


_ but deliberately, solemnly, and without 


tragic display.”* The emperor did not 
choose to discern that it was in the one 


6886 the doubt, in the other the assurance, 


of the eternal destiny of the soul which 
constituted the difference. Marcus no 
doubt could admire, not merely the dig- 
nity with which the philosopher might de- 
part on his uncertain but necessary dis- 
embarcation from the voyage of life, and 
the bold and fearless valour with which 
his own legionaries or their barbarous an- 
tagonists could confront death on the field 
of battle, but at the height of his wisdom 
he could not comprehend the exalted en- 
thusiasm with which the Christian trusted 


* The emperor’s Greek is by no means clear in 
this remarkable passage. Ψιλὴν παράταζιν is usu- 
ally translated, as in the text, ‘‘mere obstinacy.” A 
recent writer renders it “‘ ostentation or parade.” 1 
suspect an antithesis with ἐδικῆς κρίσεως, and that it 
refers to the manner in which the Christians arrayed 
themselves as a body against the authority of the 
persecutors ; and should render the words omitted 


_ In the text ὥστε καὶ ἄλλον πεῖσαι, and without that 


tragic display which is intended to persuade others 
to follow our example. The Stoic pride would 
stand alone in the dignity of an intrepid death. 


Ἢ 


231 


in the immortality and blessedness of the 
departed soul in the presence of God. 

There can be little doubt that Marcus 
Antoninus issued an edict by which the 
Christians were again exposed to all the de- 
nunciations of common informers, whose 
zeal was now whetted by some share, if 
not by the whole, of the confiscated prop- 
erty of delinquents. The most distin- 
guished Christians of the East were sacri- 
ficed to the base passions of the meanest 
of mankind by the emperor, who, with 
every moral qualification to appreciate the 
new religion, closed his ears, either in 
the stern apathy of Stoic philosophy, or 
the more engrossing terrors of heathen 
bigotry. 

10 is remarkable how closely the more 
probable records of Christian martyrology 
harmonize with the course of events, du- 
ring the whole reign of M. Aurelius, and 
illustrate and justify our view of the causes 
and motives of their persecution.* 

It was on the 7th of March, 161, that the 
elder Antoninus, in the charitable 
words of a Christian apologist, 
sunk in death into the sweetest 5166 0,7 
and M. Aurelius assumed the reins of em- 
pire. He immediately associated with 


A.D. 161. 


himself the other adopted son of Antonine, — 


who took the name of L. Verus. One 
treacherous year of peace gave the hope 
of undisturbed repose, under the beneficent 
sway which carried the maxims of a se- 
vere and humane philosophy into the ad- 
ministration of public affairs. Mild to all 
lighter delinquencies, but always ready to 
mitigate the severity of the law, the em- 
peror was only inexorable to those more 
heinous offences which endanger the hap- 
piness of society. While the emperor 
himself superintended the course of jus- 
tice, the senate resumed its ancient hon- 
ours. The second year of his 
reign the horizon began to dark- 
en. During the reign of the first Anto- 
nine, earthquakes, which shook down some 
of the Asiatic cities, and fires, which rav- 
aged those of the West, had excited con- 
siderable alarm ; but these calamities as- 


* A modern writer, M. Ripault (Hist. Philosoph- 
ique de Mare Aurele), ascribes to this time the 
memorable passage of Tertullian’s Apology: ‘ Ex- 
istiment omnis public cladis, omnis popularis in- 
commodi, Christianos esse causam. Si Tiberis as- 
cendit in menia, si Nilus non ascendit in arva, si 
celum stetit, si terra movil, si_fames, si lues, statim 
Christianos ad leones.” Tout ce qui suit les cultes 
de l’empire, s’éléve de toutes parts contre les Chré- 
tiens. On attribue a ce qu’on appelle Jeur impiété, 
le déchainement des fléaux, sous Jesquelles gémis- 
sent tous les hommes sans privilége ni exemption, 
sans distinction de réligion, ii., 86. Tillemont, 
Hist. des Emp., ii., 609. : 

t Quadratus apud Xiphilin., Antonin., 3. 


A.D. 165. 


τὰ 


2 
232 


» sumed a more dire and destructive char- 
acter during the reign of Aurelius. Rome 
itself was first visited with a terrible in- 
undation.* The Tiber swept away all the 

᾿ Cattle in the neighbourhood, threw down 
a great number of buildings ; among the 
rest, the magazines and granaries of corn, 
which were chiefly situated on the banks 

of the river. This appalling event was 
followed by a famine, which pressed heav- 
ily on the poorer population of the capital. 
At the same time, disturbances took place 
in Britain; the Catti,a German tribe, rav- 

-aged Belgium; and the Parthian war, 
which commenced under most disastrous 
circumstances, the invasion of Syria, and 
the loss of three legions, demanded the 
presence of his colleague in the empire. 
Though the event was anngunced to be 
prosperous, yet intelligence of doubtful 
and hard-won victories seemed to intimate 
that the spell of Roman conquest was be- 
ginning to lose its power.+ After four 
Av.16. years Verus returned, bearing 
Calamities of the trophies of victory ; but, at 
theempire. the same time, the seeds of a 
calamity which outweighed all the barren 
honours which he had won on the shores 
of the Euphrates. His army was infected 
with a pestilence, which superstition as- 
cribed to the plunder of a temple in Se- 
leucia or Babylonia. The rapacious sol- 
diers had opened a mystic coffer, inscribed 
with magical signs, from which issued a 
pestilential air, which laid waste the whole 
world. , This fable is a vivid indication of 
the state of the public mind.t More ra- 
tional observation traced the fatal malady 
from Ethiopia and Egypt to the Eastern 
army, which it followed from province to 
province, mouldering away its strength as 
it proceeded, even to the remote frontiers 
of Gaul and the northern shores of the 
Rhine. Italy felt its most dreadful rava- 
ges, and in Rome itself the dead bodies 
were transported out of the cty, not on 


* Capitol., M. Antonin., p. 168. 

+ Sed in diebus Parthici belli, persecutiones 
Christianorum, quarta jam post Neronem vice, in 
Asia et Gallia graves precepto ejus extiterunt, mul- 
tique sanctorum martyrio coronatisunt. This loose 
language of Orosius (for the persecution in Gaul, 
if not in Asia, was much later than the Parthian 
war) appears to connect the calamities of Rome 
with the persecutions. 

1 This was called the annus calamitosus. There 
is a strange story in Capitolinus of an impostor who 
harangued the populace from the wild fig-tree in the 
Campus Martius, and asserted that if, in throwing 
himself from the tree, he should be turned into a 
stork, fire would fall from heaven, and the end of 
the world was at hand: ignem de celo lapsurum 
finemque mundi affore diceret. As he fell, he 
loosed a stork from his bosom. Aurelius, on his 
confession of the imposture, released him.—Cap. 
Anton., 13. 


Ne 


" 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ae J 6 * 
the decent bier, but Ἢ aped up in wag- 
ons. Famine es the miseries, aa 
perhaps increased the virulence of the 
plague.* Still the hopes of peace began 
to revive the drooping mind; and flatter- 


ing medals were struck, which promised: 


the return of golden days. Ona sudden, 
the empire was appalled with the intelli- 
gence of new wars in all quarters. The 
Moors laid waste the fertile provinces of 
Spain; a rebellion of shepherds withheld 
the harvests of Egypt from the capital. 
Their defeat only added to the dangerous 
glory of Avidius Cassius, who, before long, 
stood forth as a competitor for the empire. 
A vast confederacy of nations, from the 
frontiers of Gaul to the borders of Illyri- 
cum, comprehending some of the best- 
known and most formidable of the German 
tribes, with others, whose dissonant races 
were new to the Roman ears, had arisen 
with a simultaneous movement.t The 
armies were wasted with the Parthian 
campaigns and the still more destructive 
plague. The Marcomannic has been com- 
pared with the second Punic war, though 
at the time, even in the paroxysm of ter- 
ror, the pride of Rome would probably 
not have ennobled an irruption of barba- 
rians, however formidable, by such a com- 
parison. The presence of both the em- 
perors was immediately demanded. Mar- 
cus, indeed, lingered in Rome, probably to 
enrol the army (for which purpose he 
Swept together recruits from all quarters, 
and even robbed the arena of its bravest 
gladiators), certainly to perform the most 
solemn and costly religious ceremonies. 


- 


Every rite was celebrated which could _ 
propitiate the Divine favour or allay the ~ 


popular fears. Priests were summoned ~ 


from all quarters; foreign rites perform- — 
ed ;} lustrations and funereal-banquets or 


seven days purified the infected city, It 2: 
was no doubt on this occasion that the 


unusual number of victims provoked the 


sarcastic wit, which insinuated that if the — 


emperor returned victorious there would 
be adearth of oxen.§. Precisely ¢pristian 
at this time the Christian mar- martyrdoms, 
tyrologies date the commence- 4-P- 166. 


* Julius Cap., Ant. Phil., 21. 

t See the List in Capitol., Ρ. 200. 

1 Peregrinos ritus impleverit. Such seems the 
uncontested reading in the Augustan history ; yet 
the singular fact that at such a period the emperor 
should introduce foreign rites, as well as the unu- 
sual expression, may raise a suspicion that some 
word with an opposite meaning is the genuine ex- 
pression of the author. : 

§ This early pasguinade was couched in the form 
of an address from the white oxen to the emperor, 
If you conquer, we are undone. Οἱ βόες οἱ λευκοὶ 
Mapk τῶ Καίσαρι, ἂν dé ov νικήσῃς, ἥμες ἀπωλ- 
όμεϑα.---Αταϊῃ. Marc., xxv., 4. : 


Ps 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


a Φ 


ment of the pers eution under Aurelius. | idly apostatized in the hourof trial. Ger- « 


In Rome itself, Justin, the apologist of 
Christianity, either the same or the fol- 
lowing year, ratified with his blood the 
sincerity of his belief in the doctrines for 
which he had abandoned the Gentile phi- 
losophy. His death is attributed to the 
jealousy of Crescens, a Cynic, whose au- 
dience had been drawn off by the more at- 
tractive tenets of the Christian Platonist. 
Justin was summoned before Rusticus, 
one of the philosophic teachers of Aure- 
lius, the prefect of the city, and command- 
ed to perform sacrifice. On his refusal 
and open avowal of his Christianity, he 
was scourged and put to death. It is by 
no means improbable that, during this cri- 
sis of religious terror, mandates should 
have been issued to the provinces to imi- 
tate the devotion of the capital, and every- 
where to appease the offended gods by 
sacrifice. Such an edict, though not des- 
ignating them by name, would, in its ef- 
fects, and perhaps in intention, expose the 
Christians to the malice of their enemies. 
Even if the provincial governors were left 
of their own accord to imitate the exam- 
ple of the emperor, their own zeal or loy- 
alty would induce them to fall in with the 
popular current ; and the lofty humanity, 
which would be superior at once to super- 
Stition, to interest, and to the desire of 
popularity, which would neglect the op- 
portunity of courting the favour of the em- 
peror and the populace, would be a rare 
and singular virtue upon the tribunal of a 
provincial ruler. + 

The persecution raged with the greatest 
Persecution VlOlence in Asia Minor. It was 
in AsiaMit- here that the new edicts were 
ee Sah promulgated, so far departing 
from the humane regulations of the for- 
mer emperors that the prudent apologists 
venture to doubt their emanating from the 
_ imperial authority.* By these rescripts 
the delators were again let loose, and were 
stimulated by the gratification of their ra- 
pacity as well as of their revenge out of 
the forfeited goods of the Christian vic- 
tims of persecution. 

The fame of the aged Polycarp, whose 
death the sorrowing Church of 
Smyrna related in an epistle to the 
Christian community at Philomelium or 
Philadelphia, which is still extant, and 
bears every mark of authenticity,t has ob- 
scured that of the other victims of heathen 
Ed τ: οὖν a: 
malice or superstition. Of these victims 
the names of two only have survived ; one 
__ who manfully endured, the other who tim- 


Polycarp. 


« 


* Melito apud Euseb., Eccl. Hist., iv., 20. 
t In Cotelerii Patres Apostolici, 11.) 195. 
Ge 


‘above each other, and, with his eyes up- 


933 


manicus appeared ; was forced to descend 
into the arena; he fought gallantly, until 
the merciful proconsul entreated him to 
consider his time of life. He then provo- 
ked the tardy beast, and in an instant ob- 
tained his immortality. The impression 
on the wondering people was that of in- 
dignation rather than pity. The cry was 
redoubled, ‘“‘ Away with the godless! let 
Polycarp be apprehended!” ‘The second, 
Quintus, a Phrygian, had boastfully exci- 
ted the rest to throw themselves in the 
way of the persecution. He descended in 
haste into the arena; the first sight of the 
wild beasts so overcame his hollow cour- 
age that he consented to sacrifice. 
Polycarp was the most distinguished 
Christian of the East; he had heard the 
apostle St. John; he had long presided 
with the most saintly dignity over the see 
of Smyrna. Polycarp neither ostenta- 
tiously exposed himself, nor declined such 
measures for security as might be consist- 
ent with his character. He consented to 
retire into a neighbouring village, from 
which, on the intelligence of the approach 
of the officers, he retreated to another. 
His place of concealment being betrayed 
by two slaves, whose confession had been 
extorted by torture, he exclaimed, ‘‘ The 
will of God be done ;” ordered food to be 
prepared for the officers of justice; and 
requested time for prayer, in which he 
spent two hours. He was placed upon an 
ass, and on a day of great public con- 
course conducted towards the town. He 
was met by Herod the Ivenarch and his 
father Nicetas, who took him, with con- 
siderate respect, into their own carriage, 
and vainly endeavoured to persuade him to 
submit to the two tests by which the 
Christians were tried, the salutation of the. 
emperor by the title of Lord, and sacrifice. 


On his determinate refusal their compas- τ 


sion gave place to contumely; he was 
hastily thrust out of the chariot and con- 
ducted to the crowded stadium. On the 
entrance of the old man upon the public 
scene, the excited devotion of the Chris- 
tian spectators imagined that they heard a 
voice from heaven, “ Polycarp, be firm!” 
The heathen, in their vindictive fury, shout- 
ed aloud that Polycarp had been appre- 
hended. The merciful proconsul entreated 
him, in respect to his old age, to disguise his 
name. He proclaimed aloud that he was 
Polycarp: the trial proceeded. ‘ Swear,” 
they said, “by the genius of Cesar; re- 
tract and say, Away with the godless.” 
The old man gazed in sorrow at the frantic , 
and raging benches of the spectators, rising _ 


ἃ « 
« oe 


Ἵ ἜΣ 


Ἂν 


"» 
4) 


234 


lifted to heaven, said, “Away with the 
godless!” The proconsul urged him far- 
ther: “Swear, and I release thee; blas- 
pheme Christ.” “Eighty-and-six years 
have I served Christ, and he has never done 
me an injury ; how can J blaspheme my 
King and my Saviour?” The proconsul 
again commanded him to swear by the 
genius of Cesar. Polycarp replied by 
avowing himself a Christian, and by re- 
questing a day to be appointed on which 
he might explain before the proconsul the 
blameless tenets of Christianity. ‘ Per- 
suade’ the people to consent,” replied the 
compassionate but overawed ruler. ‘* We 
Owe respect to authority; to thee I will 
explain the reasons of my conduct, to the 
populace I will make no explanation.” 
The old man knew too well the ferocious 
passions raging in their minds, which it 
had been vain to attempt to allay by the 
rational arguments of Christianity. The 
proconsul threatened to expose him to the 
wild beasts. ‘“’Tis well for me to be 
speedily released from this life of misery.” 
He threatened to burn himalive. “TI fear 
not the fire that burns for a moment ; thou 
knowest not that which burns forever and 
ever.” His countenance was full of peace 
and joy, even when the herald advanced 
into the midst of the assemblage and thrice 
proclaimed, “ Polycarp has professed him- 
self a Christian.” The Jews and heathens 
(for the former were in great numbers, and 
especially infuriated against the Chris- 
tians) replied with an overwhelming shout, 
“This is the teacher of all Asia, the over- 
thrower of our gods, who has perverted so 
many from sacrifice and the adoration of 
the gods.” They demanded of the asiarch, 
the president of the games, instantly to let 
loose a lion upon Polycarp. He excused 
himself by alleging that the games were 
over. A general cry arose that Polycarp 
should be burned alive. The Jews were 
again as vindictively active as the heathens 
in collecting the fuel of the baths and other 
combustibles to raise up a hasty yet ca- 
pacious funeral pile. He was speedily un- 
robed; he requested not to be nailed to the 
stake ; he was only bound to it. 

The calm and unostentatious prayer of 
Polycarp may be considered as imbody- 
ing the sentiments of the Christians of 
that period. “Ὁ Lord God Almighty, the 
Father of the well-beloved and ever bless- 
ed Son Jesus Christ, by whom we have 
received the knowledge of thee ; the God 
of angels, powers, and of every creature, 
and of the whole race of the righteous 
who live before thee, I thank thee that 
thou hast graciously thought me worthy 
of this day and this hour, that I may re- 


” 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ‘. 


| ceive a portion in.the number of thy mar- 


tyrs, and drink of Christ’s cup, for the res- 
urrection to eternal life, both of body and 
soul, in the incorruptibleness of the Holy 
Spirit; among whom may I be admitted 
this day 85 ἃ rich and acceptable sacrifice, 
as thou, O true and faithful God, hast pre- 
pared, and foreshown, and accomplished. 
Wherefore I praise thee for all thy mer- 
cies; I bless thee ; I glorify thee, with the 
eternal and heavenly Jesus Christ, thy 
beloved Son, to whom, with thee and the 
Holy Spirit, be glory now and forever.” 

The fire was kindled in vain. It arose 
curving like an arch around the serene 
victim, or, like a sail swelling with the 
wind, left the body unharmed. To the 
sight of the Christians he resembled a 
treasure of gold or silver (an allusion to 
the gold tried in the furnace) ; and deli- 
cious odours, as of myrrh or frankincense, 
breathed from his body. An executioner 
was. sent in to despatch the victim; his 
side was pierced, and blood enough flowed 
from the aged body to extinguish the 
flames immediately around him.* 

The whole of this narrative has the sim- 
ple energy of truth: the prudent yet res- 
olute conduct of the aged bishop: the 
calm and dignified expostulation of the 
governor; the wild fury of the populace; 
the Jews eagerly seizing the opportunity 
of renewing their unslaked hatred to the 
Christian name, are described with the 
simplicity of nature. The supernatural 
part οἷν the transaction is no more than 
may be ascribed to the high-wrought im- 
agination, of the Christian spectators, deep- 
ening evéry casual incident into a won- 
der. The voice from heaven, heard only 


by Christian ears; the flame from the’ 


hastily-piled wood, arching over the un- 
harmed body; the grateful odours, not 
impossibly from aromatic woods, which 
were used to warm the baths of the more 
luxurious, and which were collected for 
the sudden execution; the effusion of 
blood,t which might excite wonder from 
the decrepit frame of a man at least a hun- 
dred years old. Even the vision of Poly- 
carp himself,{ by which he was forewarn- 


* The Greek account adds a dove, which soared 
from his body, as it were his innocent departing 
soul. For περίστερα, however, has been very inge- 
niously substituted ex’ aptorepd.—See Jortin’s Re- 
marks on Ecclesiastical History, 1., 316. 

+ According to the great master of nature, Lady 
Macbeth’s diseased memory is haunted with a 
similar circumstance at the murder of Duncan. 
““Who would have thought the old man to have 
had so much blood in him.”—Macbeth, act v., sc. 1. 

1 The difficulty of accurately reconciling the 
vision with its fulfilment has greatly perplexed the 
writers who insist on its preternatural origin.—Jor 
tin, p. 307. ; 


ἀ" 


ed of his approaching fate, was not unlike- 
ly to arise before his mind at that perilous 
crisis. Polycarp closed the nameless train 
of Asiatic martyrs.* 

Some few years after, the city of Smyr- 
na was visited with a terrible earthquake ; 
a generous sympathy was displayed by 
the inhabitants of the neighbouring cities ; 
provisions were poured in from ail quar- 
ters; homes were offered to the house- 
less ; carriages furnished to convey the 
infirm and the children from the scene of 
ruin. They received them as if they had 
been their parents or children. The rich 
and the poor vied in the offices of charity, 
and, in the words of the Grecian sophist, 
thought that they were receiving rather 
than conferring a favour.t A Christian 
historian may be excused if he discerns 
in this humane conduct the manifest prog- 
ress of Christian benevolence ; and that 
benevolence, if not unfairly ascribed to 
the influence of Christianity, is heightened 
by the recollection that the sufferers were 
those whose amphitheatre had so recent- 
ly been stained with the blood of the aged 
martyr. If, instead of beholding the re- 
tributive hand of Divine vengeance in the 
smouldering ruins of the city, they hasten- 
ed to alleviate the common miseries of 
Christian and of pagan with equal zeal 
and liberality, it is impossible not to trace 
at once the extraordinary revolution in the 
sentiments of mankind, and the purity of 
the Christianity which was thus so supe- 
rior to those passions which have so often 
been fatal to its perfection. 

At this period of enthusiastic excite- 
ment—of superstition on the one hand, re- 
turning in unreasoning terror to its forsa- 
ken gods, and working itself up by every 
means to a consolatory feeling of the Di- 
vine protection; of religion on the other, 
relying in humble confidence on the pro- 
tection of an all-ruling Providence—when 
the religious parties were, it might seem, 
aggrandizing their rival deities, and tracing 
their conflicting powers throughout the 
whole course of human affairs, to every 
mind each extraordinary event would be 
deeply coloured with supernatural influ- 
ence, and, whenever any circumstance 
really bore a providential or miraculous 
appearance, it would be ascribed by each 
party to the favouring interposition of its 
own god. 

Such was the celebrated event which 
was long current in Christian history 


* Karéravoe τὸν διωγμὸν. 

t Tillemont, Hist. des Emp, ii., p. 687. The 
philosopher Aristides wrote an oration on this 
event. 


᾿ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


235 


as the legend of the thunder- yfiracte of 
ing legion.* Heathen histori- the thunder 
ans, medals still extant, and the 1s lesion. 
column which bears the name of Anto- 
ninus at Rome, concur with Christian tra- 
dition in commemorating the extraordi- 
nary deliverance of the Roman army, du- 
ring the war with the German nations, 
from a situation of the utmost peril and 
difficulty. If the Christians at any time 
served in the imperial armies{—if military 
service was a question, aS seems extreme- 
ly probable, which divided the early Chris- 
tians,t some considering it too closely 
connected with the idolatrous practices of 
an oath to the fortunes of Czesar and the 
worship of the standards, which were to 
the rest of the army, as it were, the house- 
hold gods of battle, while others were less 
rigid in their practice, and forgot their 
piety in their allegiance to their sovereign, 
and their patriotism to their country—at 
no time were the Christians more likely 
to overcome their scruples than at this 
critical period. The armies were recruit- 
ed by unprecedented means; and many 
Christians who would before hav® hesi- 
tated to enrol themselves might less re- 
luctantly submit to the conscription, or 
even think themselves justified in engaging 
in what appeared necessary and defensive 
warfare. There might then have been 
many Christians in the armies of M. Au- 
relius, but that they formed a whole sep- 
arate legion is manifestly the fiction of a 
later age. In the campaign of the year 
174, the army advanced incautiously into 
a country entirely without water, and in 
this faint and enfeebled state was exposed 
to a formidable attack of the whole bar- 
barian force. Suddenly, at their hour of 
most extreme distress, a copious and re- 
freshing rain came down, which supplied 
their wants; and while their half-recruited 
strength was still ill able to oppose the 
onset of the enemy, a tremendous storm, 
with lightning and hailstones of an enor- 
mous size, drove full upon the adversary, 
and rendered his army an easy conquest 
to the reviving Romans.) Of this awful 
yet seasonable interposition, the whole 
ss Sao) ας ον nese! ὡς 

* See Moyle’s Works, vol. ii. Compare Routh, 
Relig. Sacre, i, 153, with authors quoted [and Mo- 
sheim’s Instit. of Eccles. Hist., vol. i., p. 103, 104, 
n. (15)]. 

t Tertullian, in a passage already quoted, states 
distinctly militamus vobiscum. 

1 Neander has developed this notion with his 
usual ability in this-part of his History of the 
Church. 

§ In the year after this victory (A.D. 175), the 
formidable rebellion of Avidius Cassius disturbed 
the Fast, and added to the perils and embarrass- 
ments of the empire. 


236 


army acknowledged the preternatural, the 
Divine origin. By those of darker super- 
Sstition it was attributed to the incantations 
of the magician Arnuphis, who controlled 
the elements to the service of the emperor. 
The medals struck on the occasion, and 
the votive column erected by Marcus him- 
self, render homage to the established 
deities, to Mercury and to Jupiter.* ‘The 
more rational pagans, with a flattery which 
received the suffrage of admiring posterity, 
gave the honour to the virtues of Marcus, 
which demanded this signal favour from 
approving Heaven.t The Christian, of 
course, looked alone to that one Almighty 
God whose providence ruled the whole 
course of nature, and saw the secret opera- 
ion of his own prayers meeting with the 
favourable acceptance of the Most High.t 
* While the pagans ascribed the honour 
of this deliverance to their own Jove,” 
writes Tertullian, “ they unknowingly bore 
testimony to the Christian’s God.” 

The latter end of the reign of Marcus 
Aurelius§ was signalized by another scene 
of margyrdom, in a part of the empire far 
distant from that where persecution had 
before raged with the greatest violence, 
though not altogether disconnected from 
it by the original descent of the sufferers. || 

The Christians of Lyons and Vienne 
Martyrs of Appear to have been a religious 
Vienne. colony from Asia Minor or Phry- 
A.D. 177. sia, and to have maintained a 
close correspondence with those distant 
communities. There is something remark- 
able in the connexion between these re- 
gions and the East. To this district the 
two Herods, Archelaus and Herod Antipas, 
were successively banished; and it is sin- 
gular enough that Pontius Pilate, after his 


* Mercury, according to Pagi, appears on one of 
the coins relating to thisevent. Compare Reading’s 
note in Routh, 1. c. 

+ Lampridius (in vit.) attributes the victory to 
the Chaldeans. Marcus, de Seipso (1. i., c. 6), al- 
lows that he had the magician Amuphis in his army. 


Chaldea mago ceu carmina ritu 
Armavere Deos, seu, quod reor, omne Tonantis, 
Obsequium Marci mores potuere mereri. 
Claud., vi., Cons. Hon. 


= In Jovis nomine Deo nostro testimonium red- 
didit. Tertullian ad Scapulam, p.20. Euseb., Hist. 
Ἐπ 66}. v., 5. 

§ If we had determined to force the events of this 
period into an accordance with our own view of the 
persecutions of M. Aurelius, we might have adopted 
the chronology of Dodwell, who assigns the martyrs 
of Lyons to the year 167; but the evidence seems 
in favour of the later date, 177.—See Mosheim. 
Lardner, who, if not by his critical sagacity, com- 
mands authority by his scrupulous honesty, says, 
“Nor do [ expect that any learned man, who has a 
concern for his reputation as a writer, should at- 
tempt adirect confutation of this opinion.”— Works, 
4to edit., i., 360, || Euseb., Ecc. Hist., v., 1 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


recall from Syria, was exiled to the same 
neighbourhood. — 

There now appears a Christian com- 
munity, corresponding in Greek with the 
mother church.* It is by no means im- 
probable that a kind of Jewish settlement 
of the attendants on the banished sover- 
eigns of Judea might have been formed 
in the neighbourhood of Vienne and Lyons, 
and maintained a friendly, no doubt a mer- 
cantile, connexion with their opulent breth- 
ren of Asia Minor, perhaps through the 
port of Marseilles. Though Christianity 


does not appear to have penetrated into’ 


Gaul till rather a later period,t it may have 
travelled by the same course, and have 
been propagated in the Jewish settlement 
by converts from Phrygia or Asia Minor. 
Its Jewish origin is perhaps confirmed by 
its adherence to the Judeo-Christian tenet 
of abstinence from blood.f 

The commencement of this dreadful, 
though local persecution, was an ebullition 
of popular fury. It was about this period 
when the German war, which had slumber- 
ed during some years of precarious peace, 
again threatened to disturb the repose of 
the empire. Southern Gaul, though secure 
beyond the Rhine, was yet at no great dis- 
tance from the incursions of the German 
tribes, and it is possible that personal ap- 
prehensions might mingle with the general 
fanatic terror which exasperated the hea- 


thens against their Christian fellow-citi-. 
The Christians were on a sudden 


zens. 
exposed to a general attack of the popu- 
lace. Clamours soon grew to personal 
violence ; they were struck, dragged about 
the streets, plundered, stoned, shut up in 
their houses, until the more merciful hos- 
tility of the ruling authorities gave orders 
for their arrest and imprisonment until the 
arrival of the governor. Ope man of birth 
and rank, Vettius Epagathus, boldly un- 
dertook their defence against the vague 
charges of atheism and impiety: he was 
charged with being himself a Christian, 
and fearlessly admitted the honourable 
accusation. The greater part of the Chris- 
tian community adhered resolutely to their 
belief; the few whose courage failed in 
the hour of trial, and who purchased their 
security by shameful submission, never- 
theless did not abandon their more cour- 


* Epistola Viennensium et Lugdunensium, in 
Routh, 1., 265. j 4 

+ Serius Alpes transgressa is the expression of 
a Christian writer, Sulpicius Severus. ΟΝ. 

+ “ How can those eat infants to whom it is not 
lawful to eat the blood of brutes?” Compare, how- 
ever, Tertullian’s Apology, ch. 9, and Origen con- 
tra Celsum, viii., from whence it appears that this 
abstinence was more general among the early Chris- 
tians. 


-. 


» ὦ 


ΠΥ, y δ. . 


γε 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 237 


ageous and suffering brethren ; but, αἱ con- 
siderable personal danger, continued to 
alleviate their sufferings by kindly offices. 
Some heathen slaves were at length com- 
pelled, by the dread of torture, to confirm 
the odious charges which were so general- 
ly advanced against the Christians: ban- 
quets on human flesh; promiscuous and 
incestuous concubinage; Thyestian feasts, 
and (idipodean weddings. The extorted 
confessions of these miserable men ex- 
asperated even the more moderate of the 
heathens, while the ferocious populace had 
now free scope for their sanguinary cruel- 
y. The more distinguished victims were 
Sanctus, a deacon of Vienne; a new con- 
vert named Maturus, and Attalus, of Phry- 
gian descent, from the city of Pergamus. 
They were first tortured by means too 
horrible to describe, if without such de- 
scription the barbarity of the persecutors 
and the heroic endurance of the Chris- 
tian martyrs could be justly represented. 
Many perished in the suffocating air of the 
noisome dungeons, many had their feet 
strained to dislocation in the stocks; the 
more detested victims, after every other 
means of torture were exhausted, had hot 
plates of iron placed upon the most sensi- 
tive parts of their bodies. 

Among these victims was the aged Bish- 
op of Lyons, Pothinus, now in his ninetieth 
year, who died in prison after two days, 
from the ill usage which he had received 
from the populace., His feeble body had 
failed, but his mind remained intrepid: 
when the frantic rabble environed him 
with their insults, and demanded, with con- 
tumelious cries, ““ Who is the God of the 
Christians?” he calmly replied, “ Wert 
thou worthy, thou shouldst know.” 

_ But the amphitheatre was the great pub- 
lic scene of popular barbarity and of Chris- 
tian endurance. They were exposed to 
wild beasts, which, however, do not seem 
to have been permitted to despatch their 
miserable victims, and made to sit in a 
heated iron chair till their flesh reeked 
upward with an offensive odour. 

A rescript of the emperor, instead of al- 
laying the popular phrensy, gave ample 
license to its uncontrolled violence. Those 
who denied the faith were to be released ; 
those who persisted in it condemned to 
death. 

But the most remarkable incident in this 
Martyrdom fearful and afflicting scene, and 
of Blandina. the most characteristic of the 
social change which Christianity had be- 


gun to work, was this, that the chief hon- 
ours of this memorable martyrdom were 
assigned to a female and a slave. Even 
the Christians themselves scarcely appear 
aware of the deep and universal influence 
of their own sublime doctrines. The mis- 
tress of Blandina, herself a martyr, trem- 
bled lest the weak body, and, still more, the 
debased condition of the lowly associate in 
her trial, might betray her to criminal con- 
cession. Blandina shared in all the most 
excruciating sufferings of the most distin- 
guished victims ; she equalled them in the 
calm and unpretending superiority to every 
pain which malice, irritated and licensed, 
as it were, to exceed, if it were possible, 
its own barbarities on the person of a slave, 
could invent. 
peculiar vengeance of the persecutors, 
whose astonishment probably increased 
their malignity, for new and unprecedented 
tortures, which she bore with the same 
equable magnanimity. ) 

Blandina was first led forth with Sanc- 
tus, Maturus, and Attalus, and no doubt 
the ignominy of their public exposure was 
intended to be heightened by their associ- 
ation with a slave. The wearied execu- 
tioners wondered that her life could endure 
during the horrid succession of torments 
which they inflicted. Blandina’s only re- 
ply was, “I am a Christian, and no wick- 
edness is practised among us.” 

In the amphitheatre she was suspended 
to a stake, while the combatants Maturus 
and Sanctus derived vigour and activity 
from the tranquil prayers which she ut- 
tered in her agony, and the less savage 
wild beasts kept aloof from their prey. 
A third time she was brought forth, as a 
public exhibition of suffering, with a youth 
of fifteen named Ponticus. During every 
kind of torment her language and her ex- 
ample animated the courage and confirm- 
ed the endurance of the boy, who at length 
expired under the torture. Blandina re- 
joiced at the approach of death as if she 
had been invited to a wedding banquet, 
and not thrown to the wild beasts. She 
was at length released. After she had 
been scourged, placed in the iron chair, 
enclosed in a net, and, now in a state of 
insensibility, tossed by a bull, some more 
merciful barbarian transpierced her witha 
sword. ‘The remains of all these martyrs, 
after remaining long unburied, were cast 
into the Rhone, in order to mock and ren- 
der still more improbable their hopes of a 
resurrection. 


She was selected by the > 


238 . 


teh 
wer, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. sa 


ὁ δ 


CHAPTER VIII. 


| FOURTH PERIOD. CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SUCCESSORS OF M. AURELIUS. 


Sucu was the state of Christianity at the 
Fourth Commencement of the fourth period, 
period. between its first promulgation and 
its establishment under Constantine. The 
golden days of the Roman empire had al- 
ready begun to darken, and closed forever 
with the reign of Marcus the philosopher. 
The empire of the world became the prize 
of bold adventure or the precarious gift of 
alawless soldiery. During ‘little more 
Rapid sue- than a century, from the acces- 
cession of sion of Commodus to that of Dio- 


a tg0. clesian, more than twenty em- 
to 284. perors (not to mention the pa- 


geants ofa day, and the competitors for the 
throne who retained a temporary author- 
ity over some single province) flitted like 
shadows along the tragic scene of the im- 
perial palace. A long line of military ad- 
venturers, often strangers to the name, to 
the race, to the language of Rome— Afri- 
cans and Syrians, Arabs and Thracians— 
seized the quickly-shifting sceptre of the 
world. The change of sovereign was al- 
most always a change of dynasty, or, by 
some strange fatality, every attempt to 
re-establish an hereditary succession was 
thwarted by the vices or imbecility of the 
second generation. M. Aurelius is suc- 
ceeded by the brutal Commodus ; the vig- 
orous and able Severus by the fratricide 
Caracalla. One of the imperial historians 
has made the melancholy observation, that 
of the great men of Rome scarcely one 
left a son the heir of his virtues ; they had 
either died without offspring or had left 
such heirs that it had been better for man- 
kind if they had died leaving no posterity.* 
In the weakness and insecurity of the 
Insecurity or throne lay the strength and safe- 
the throne ty of Christianity. During such 
Coriktanis a period no systematic policy 
was pursued in any of the lead- 

ing internal interests of the empire. It 
Was a government of temporary expedi- 
ents, of individual passions. The first and 
commanding object of each succeeding 
head of a dynasty was to secure his con- 
tested throne, and to centre upon himself 


* Neminem prope magnorum virorum optimum 
et utilem filium reliquisse satis claret. Denique 
aut sine liberis viri interierunt, aut tales habuerunt 
plerique, ut melits fuerit de rebus humanis sine pos- 
teritate discedere.—Spartiani Severus, Aug. Hist., 
p- 360. 


the wavering or divided allegiance of the 


provinces. Many of the emperors were 
deeply and inextricably involved in foreign 
wars, and had no time to devote to the 
social changes within the pale of the em- 
pire. The tumults or the terrors of Ger- 
man, or Gothic, or Persian inroad, effected 
a perpetual diversion from the slow and 
silent internal aggressions of Christianity. 
The frontiers constantly and imperiously 
demanded the presence of the emperor, and 
left him no leisure to attend to the feeble re- 
monstrances of the neglected priesthood: 
the dangers of the civil absorbed those of 
the religious constitution. ‘Thus Christian- 
ity had another century of regular and pro- 
gressive advancement to arm itself for the 
inevitable collision with the temporal au- 
thority, till, in the reign of Dioclesian, it 
had grown far beyond the power of the 
most unlimited and arbitrary despotism to 
arrest its invincible progress; and Con- 
stantine, whatever the motives of his con- 
version, no doubt adopted a wise and ju- 
dicious policy in securing the alliance, 
rather than continuing the strife with an 
adversary which divided the wealth, the 
intellect, if not the property and the popu- 
lation of the empire. 


The persecutions which took place Δ 


ring this interval were the hasty causes or _ 
consequences of the personal persecutions 
hostility of the emperors, not ‘uring this 
: 5 period. 

the mature and deliberate policy 

of a regular and permanent government. 
In general, the vices and the detestable 
characters of the persecutors would tend 
to vindicate the innocence of Christianity, 
and to enlist the sympathies of mankind 
in its favour rather than to deepen the 
general animosity, Christianity, which 
had received the respectful homage of 
Alexander Severus, could not lose in pub- © 
lic estimation by being exposed to the 
gladiatorial fury of Maximin. Some of 
the emperors were almost as much stran- 
gers to the gods as to the people and to 
the senate of Rome. They seemed to 
take a reckless delight in violating the an- 
cient majesty of the Roman religion. 
Foreign superstitions almost equally new, 
and scarcely less offensive to the general 
sentiment, received the public, the pre-em- 
inent homage of the emperor. Commo- 
dus, though the Grecian Hercules was at 


a 


wy 


- ee, 


ah 


ft HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. , 


once his model, his type, and his deity, 
was an ardent votary of the Isiac Myste- 
ries ; and at the Syrian worship of the Sun, 
in all its foreign and Oriental pomp, Ela- 
gabalus commanded the attendance of the 
trembling senate. 

1 Marcus Aurelius was, as it were, the 
Commodus. last effort of expiring Polythe- 
A.D.180to ism, or, rather, of ancient phi- 
τ losophy, to produce ἃ perfect 
man, according to the highest ideal con- 
ception of human reason, the brutal Com- 
modus might appear to retrograde to the 
savage periods of society. Commodus 
was a gladiator on the throne; and if the 
mind, humanized either by the milder spir- 
it of the times or by the incipient influence 
of Christianity, had begun to turn in dis- 
taste from the horrible spectacles which 
flooded the arena with human carnage, the 
disgust would be immeasurably deepened 
by the appearance of the emperor as the 
uel actor in these sanguinary scenes. 

ven Nero’s theatrical exhibitions had 


3 something of the elegance of a polished 


age; the actor in one of the noble trage- 
dies of ancient Greece, or even the accom- 
plished musician, might derogate from the 
dignity of an emperor, yet might, in some 
degree, excuse the unseemliness of his 
pursuits by their intellectual character. 
But the amusements and public occupa- 
tions of Commodus had long been con- 
signed by the general contempt and abhor- 
rence to the meanest of mankind, to bar- 
barians and slaves ; and were as debasing 
_to the civilized man as unbecoming in the 


head of the empire.* ‘The courage which 


Commodus displayed in confronting the 
hundred lions which were let loose in the 
arena, and fell by his shafts (though in fact 
the imperial person was carefully guarded 
against real dangers), and the skill with 
which he clave with an arrow the slender 
neck of the giraffe, might have commanded 
the admiration of a flattering court. But 
when he appeared as a gladiator, gloried 
in the acts, and condescended to receive 
the disgraceful pay of a profession so in- 
famous as to degrade forever the man of 
rank or character who had been forced 
upon the stage by the tyranny of former 
emperors, the courtiers, who had been 
bred in the severe and dignified school of 
the philosopher, must have recoiled with 
shame, and approved, if not envied, the 
more rigid principles of the Christians, 
which kept them aloof from such degra- 
ding spectacles. Commodus was an avow- 
ed proselyte of the Egyptian religion, but 
his favourite god was the Grecian Hercu- 
les. He usurped the attributes and placed 
* ΖΔ} Lampridii, Commodus, in August. Hist. 


x" 


x 


239 


his own head on the statues of this deity, 
which was the impersonation, as it were, 
of brute force and corporeal strength. But 
a deity which might command adoration 
in a period of primeval barbarism, when 
man lives in a state of perilous warfare 
with the beasts of the forests, in a more 
intellectual age sinks to his proper level. 
He might be the appropriate god of a gladi- 
ator, but not of a Roman emperor.* 
Everything which tended to desecrate 
the popular religion to the feelings of the 
more enlightened and intellectual must 
have strengthened the cause of Christian- 
ity; the more the weaker parts of pagan- 
ism, and those most alien to the prevailing 
sentiment of the times, were obtruded on 
the public view, the more they must have 
contributed to the advancement of that 
faith which was rapidly attaining to the 
full growth of a rival to the established re- 
ligion. The subsequent deification of Com- 
modus, under the reign of Severus, in wan- 
ton resentment against the senate, pre- 
vented his odious memory from sinking 
into oblivion. His insults upon the more 
rational part of the existing religion could 
no longer be forgotten, as merely emana- 
ting from his personal character. Com- 
modus, advanced into a god after his death, 
brought disrepute upon the whole Poly- 
theism of the empire. Christianity was 
perpetually, as it were, at hand, and ready 
to profit by every favourable juncture. By 
a singular accident, the ruffian Commodus 
was personally less inimically disposed to 
the Christians than his wise and amiable 
father. His favourite concubine, Martia, 
in some manner connected with the Chris- 
tians, mitigated the barbarity of his tem- 
per, and restored to the persecuted Chris- 
tians a long and unbroken peace, which 
had been perpetually interrupted by the 
hostility of the populace and the edicts 
of the government in the former reign. 
Christianity had no doubt been rigidly re- 
pelled from the precincts of the court du- 
ring the life of Marcus by the predomi- 
nance of the philosophic faction. From 
this period, a Christian party occasionally 
appears in Rome: many families of dis- 
tinction and opulence professed Christian 


* In the new fragments of Dion Cassius recover- + 
ed by M. Mai there is an epigram pointed against 
the assumption of the attributes of Hercules by 
Commodus. The emperor had placed his own head 
on the colossal statue of Hercules, with the inscrip- 
tion Lucius Commodus Hercules, 

Διὸς παῖς Καλλίνικος Ἡρακλῆς, 
Θὺύκ εἰμὶ Λεύκιος, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκάζουσι με. 
The point is not very clear, but it appears to be a 
protest of the god against being confounded with the 
emperor.—Mal, Fragm. Vatic., il., 225: 
+ Spartiani, Severus, Hist. Aug, p. 345. 


τσ 


ia 


tenets, and it is sometimes found in con- 
nexion with the imperial family. Still 
Rome, to the last, seems to have been the 
centre of the pagan interest, though other 
causes will hereafter appear for this curi- 
ous fact in the conflict of the two religions. 

Severus wielded the sceptre of the 
Reion ofSe. WOrld with the vigour of the 
verus. A.D. Older empire. But his earlier 
19410 210. years were occupied in the es- 
tablishment of his power over the hostile 
factions of his competitors and by his 
Eastern wars; his later by the settlement 
of the remote province of Britain.* Se- 
verus was at one time the protector, at 
another the persecutor, of Christianity. 
Local circumstances appear to have in- 
fluenced his conduct on both occasions 
to the Christian party. A Christian named 
Proculus, a dependant, probably, upon his 
favourite freed slave Evodus, had been so 
fortunate as to restore him to health by 
anointing him with oil, and was received 
into the imperial family, in which he re- 
tained his honourable situation till his 
death. Not improbably through the same 
connexion, a Christian nurse and a Chris- 
Infancy of tian preceptor formed the dispo- 
Caracalla. sition of the young Caracalla; 
and, till the natural ferocity of his charac- 
ter ripened under the fatal influence of 
jealous ambition, fraternal hatred, and un- 
bounded power, the gentleness of his man- 
ners and the sweetness of his temper 
enchanted and attached his family, his 
friends, the senate, and the people of 
Rome. The people beheld with satisfac- 
tion the infant pupil of Christianity turning 
aside his head and weeping at the barbar- 
ity of the ordinary public spectacles, in 
which criminals were exposed to wild 
beasts t The Christian interest at the 
court repressed the occasional outbursts 
of popular animosity: many Christians of 
rank and distinction enjoyed the avowed 
favour of the emperor. Their security 
may partly be attributed to their calm de- 
termination not to mingle themselves up 
Peaceful con- With the contending factions for 
duct ofthe the empire. During the con- 
Chnstiaus. flict of parties they had refused 
to espouse the cause either of Niger or 
Albinus. Retired within themselves, they 
rendered their prompt and cheerful obe- 
dience to the ruling emperor. The im- 
-placable vengeance which Severus wreak- 
“ed on the senate for their real or suspected 
inclination to the party of Albinus, his re- 
morseless execution of so many of the 
noblest of the aristocracy, may have placed 
- * Compare Tillemont, Hist. des Empereurs, iii., 


part 1., p. 146. 
1 Spartian., Anton., Caracalla, p. 404. 


+ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | » 7 
“ 


ina stronger - Ἢ happier fortune, and 
commended the unimpeachable loyalty, of 
the Christians. The provincial governors, 
as usual, reflected the example of the 
court; some adopted merciful expedients 
to avoid the necessity of carrying the law 
into effect against those Christians ( 

were denounced before their tribunals 

while the more venal humanity of others 


~ > 
- 


extorted a considerable profit from 1ΠπΠ6΄ 


Christians for their security. The unlaw- 
ful religion in many places purchased its 
peace at the price of a regular tax, which 
was paid by other illegal, and mostly in- 
famous, professions. This traffic with the 
authorities was sternly denounced by some 
of the more ardent believers as degrading 
to the religion, and an ignominious barter 
of the hopes and glory of martyrdom.* 


Such was the flourishing and peaceful. 


State of Christianity during the Persecution 
early part of the reign of Seve- in the Fast. 
rus. Inthe East, at a later period, he em- 
braced a sterner poliey. During 3 
the conflict with Niger, ieee αὐ a 
maritans had espoused the losing, the Jews 
the successful, party. The edicts of Se- 
verus were, on the whole, favourable to the 
Jews, but the prohibition to circumcise 
proselytes was re-enacted during his resi- 
dence in Syria, inthe tenth year of his reign. 
The same prohibition against the admission 
of new proselytes was extended to the 
Christians. But this edict may have been 
intended to allay the violence of the hostile 
factions in Syria. Of the perse- Christianigy 
cution under Severus there are not persecu- 
few, if any, traces in the West. as Se? 
, : est. 
It is confined to Syria, perhaps 
Cappadocia, to Egypt, and to Africa; and 
in the latter provinces appears as the act 
of hostile governors, proceeding upon the 
existing laws rather than the consequence 
of any recent edict of the emperor. The 
Syrian Eusebius may have exaggerated 
local acts of oppression, of which the sad 
traces were recorded in his native country, 
into a general persecution : he admits that 
Alexandrea was the chief scene of Chris- 
tian suffering. The date and the probable 
scene of the persecution may lend ¢uses. 
a clew to its origin. From Syria the em- 


* Sed quid non timiditas persuadebit, quasi et 
fugere scriptura permittat, et redimere precipiat. 
* * * Nescio dolendum an erubescendum sit cum 
in matricibus beneficiariorum et curiosorum, inter 
tabernarios et lanios et fures balnearum et aleones 
et lenones, Christiani quoque vectigales continen- 
tur.—Tertull., de fuga, c 13.  atyy 

+t Nous ne trouvons rien de considérable tou- 
chant les martyrs que la persécntion de Sevére a pu 
faire a Rome et en Italie—Tillemont. St. Ande- 
ole, and the other martyrs in Gaul (Tillemont, p- 
160), are of more than suspicious authority. 


at 
peror, exactly at this time, proceeded to 
ι 4. ΒΞ Η 
δ ypt. He surveyed with won- 
Bem deg interest the monuments of 
Egyptian glory and of Egyptian supersti- 
tion,* the temples of Memphis, the Pyra- 


_. mids, a oie. the Memnonium. 
_ . The plague 


alone prevented him from con- 


~~ tinuing his excursions into Ethiopia. The 


? 


a 


dark and relentless. mind of Severus ap- 
pears to have been strongly impressed 
with the religion of Serapis. In either 
character, as the great Pantheistic deity, 
which absorbed the attributes and func- 
tions of all the more ancient gods of Egypt, 
or in his more limited character as. the 
Pluto of their mythology, the lord of the 
realm of departed spirits, Serapist was 
likely to captivate the imagination of Se- 
verus, and to suit those gloomier moods 
in which it delighted in brooding over the 
secrets of futurity ; and, having realized 
the proud prognostics of greatness which 
his youth had watched with hope, now be- 
“gan to dwell on the darker omens of de- 
cline and dissolution.{ The hour of im- 
perial favour was likely to be seized by 
the Egyptian priesthood to obtain the mas- 
tery, and to wreak their revenge on this 
new foreign religion, which was making 
such rapid progress throughout the prov- 
ince and the whole of Africa. Whether 
or not the emperor actually authorized 
the persecution, his countenance would 
strengthen the pagan interest, and encour- 
age the obsequious prefect) in adopting 
violent measures. Lzetus would be vindi- 
cating the religion of the emperor in as- 
serting the superiority of Serapis ; and the 
superiority of Serapis could be by no 
means so effectually asserted as by the 
oppression of his most powerful adversa- 
ries. Alexandrea was the ripe and preg- 
nant soil of religious feud and deadly ani- 
mosity. The hostile parties which di- 
vided the city—the Jews, the pagans, and 
the Christians—though perpetually blend- 
ing and modifying each other's doctrines, 
and forming schools in which Judaism alle- 
gorized itself into Platonism; Platonism, 
having assimilated itself to the higher 
Egyptian mythology, soared into Christi- 
anity ; and a Platonic Christianity, from a 
religion, became a mystic philosophy, 
awaited, nevertheless, the signal for perse- 
cution, and for license to draw off insangui- 


* Spartian., Hist. Aug., p. 553. 

¢ Compare de Guigniaut, Serapis et son Origine. 

{ Spartian had the advantage of consulting the 
autobiography cf the Emperor Severus. Had time 
but spared us the original, and taken the whole Au- 
gustan history in exchange ! 

§ His name was Letus.—Euseb., Eccl. Hist., 


Vi, 2. 
Ha 


ν _ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


nary factions, and to settle the controver- 
sies of the schools by bloody tumults in the 
streets.* The perpetual syncretism of 
opinions, instead of leading to peace and 
charity, seemed to inflame the deadly ani- 
mosity ; and the philosophical spirit which 
attempted to blend all the higher doctrines 
into a lofty Eclectic system, had no effect 
in harmonizing the minds of the different 
sects to mutual toleration and amity. It 
was now the triumph of paganism. The 
controversy with Christianity was carried 
on by burning their priests and torturing 
their virgins, until the catechetical or ele- 
mentary schools of learning by which the 
Alexandrean Christians trained up their 
pupils for the reception of their more mys- 
terious doctrines were deserted, the young 
Origen alone labouring with indefatigable 
and successful activity to supply the void 


caused by the general desertion of the. 


persecuted teachers.t 

The African prefect followed the ex- 
ample of Letus in Egypt. In no 
part of the Roman empire had Chris- 
tianity taken more deep and permanent 
root than in the province of Africa, then 
crowded with rich and populous cities, 
and forming, with Egypt, the granary of 
the Western world, but which many cen- 
turies of Christian feud, Vandal invasion, 
and Mohammedan barbarism have blasted 
to a thinly-peopled desert. Up to this pe- 
riod, this secluded region had gone on ad- 
vancing in its uninterrupted course of civ- 
ilization. Since the battle of Munda, the 
African province had stood aloof from the 
tumults and desolation which attended the 
changes in the imperial dynasty. As yet 
it had raised no competitor for the empire, 
though Severus, the ruling monarch, was 
of African descent. The single legion, 
which was considered adequate to protect 
its remote tranquillity from the occasional 
incursions of the Moorish tribes, had been 
found sufficient for its purpose. The pa- 
ganism of the African cities was probably 
weaker than in other parts of the empire. 
It had no ancient and sacred associations 
with national pride. The new cities had 
raised new temples to gods foreign to the 
region. The religion of Carthage,t if it 


Africa. 


* Leonidas, the father of Ongen, perished in this 
persecution, 
ing him in his imprisonment, and, if possible, in his 
martyrdom, by the prudent stratagem of his mother, 
who concealed ali his clothes. The boy of seven- 
teen sent a letter to his father, entreating him not 
to allow his parental affection for himself and his 
six brothers to stand in his way of obtaining the 
martyr’s crown.—Euseb., vi., 2. The property of, 
Leonidas was confiscated to the imperial treasury. 
—Ibid. + Euseb., Ecel. Hist., vi., 2. 

t Compare Minter, Relig. der Carthager. Tho 


Origen was only kept away from join-— 


ae 


᾿ " 


* 


koe 
- 


% 


Wwe 


= 


242 


had not ewJirely perished with the final de- 
struction of the city, maintained but a 
feeble hold upon the Italianized inhabi- 
tants. The Carthage of the empire was 
a Roman city. If Christianity tended to 
mitigate the fierce spirit of the inhabitants 
of these burning regions, it acquired itself 
a depth and impassioned vehemence, which 
perpetually broke through all restraints of 
moderation, charity, and peace. From 
Tertullian to Augustine, the climate seems 
to be working into the language, into the 
esseuce of Christianity. Here disputes 
madden into feuds; and feuds, which in 
other countries were allayed by time or 
died away of themselves, grew into obsti- 
nate, implacable, and irreconcilable fac- 
tions. ; 
African Christianity had no communion 
Aftican with the dreamy and speculative 
Christianity. genius of the East. It sternly 
" rejected the wild and poetic impersona- 


_ tions, the daring cosmogonies, of the Gnos- 


tic sects: it was severe, simple, practical 
in its creed ; it governed by its strong and 
appr nous hold upon the feelings, by pro- 
round and agitating emotion. It eagerly 
received the rigid asceticism of the anti- 
materialist system, while it disdained the 
fantastic theories by. which it accounted 
for the origin of evil. The imagination 
had another office than that of following 
out its own fanciful creations: it spoke 
directly to the fears and to the passions ; 
it delighted in realizing the terrors of the 
final judgment; in arraying in the most 
appalling language the gloomy mysteries 
of future retribution. This character ap- 
pears in the dark splendour of Tertullian’s 
writings; engages him in contemptuous 
and relentless warfare against the Gnos- 
tic opinions, and their latest and most dan- 
gerous champion, Marcion;; till at length 
it hardens into the severe yet simpler en- 
thusiasm of Montanism. ‘It appears al- 
lied with the stern assertion of ecclesias- 
tical order and sacerdotal domination in 
the earnest and zealous Cyprian ; it is still 
manifestly working, though in a chasten- 
ed aud loftier form, in the deep and im- 
passioned, but comprehensive mind of 
Augustine. 

Tertullian alone belongs to the present 

period, and Tertullian is, perhaps, the rep- 
resentative and the perfect type of this 
“Mfricanism. It is among the most re- 
" markable illustrations of the secret uni- 
worship of the Dea Cwiestis, the Queen of Heaven, 
should perhaps be excepted. See, forward, the 
reign of Elagabalus. Even in the fifth century the 
Queen of Heaven, according to Salvian (de Guber- 
natione Dei, lib. viii.), shared the worship of Car- 
thage with Christ. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ty which connected the whole Christian 
world, that opinions first propagated on 
the shores of the Euxine found their most 
vigorous antagonist on the coast of Afri- 
ca, while a new and fervid enthusiasm 
which arose in Phrygia captivated the 
kindred spirit of Tertullian. Montanism 
harmonized with African Chris- ; 
tianity in the Simplicity of its 
creed, which did not depart from the pre- 
dominant OT ee ste in the ex- 
treme rigour of its fasts (for, while Gnos- 
ticism gute the religion of Jesus and his 
apostles,-Montanism outbid the Gnostics 
in its austerities ;* it admitted marriage 
as a necessary evil, but it denounced sec- 
ond nuptials as an mexpiable sint); above 
all, in its resolving religion into inward 
emotion. There is a singular correspond- 
ence between Phrygian heathenism and 
the Phrygian Christianity of Montanus and 
his followers. The Orgiasm, the inward 
rapture, the working of aDivine influence 
upon the soul till it was wrought up to a 


Montanism. 


| forth the priests of Cybele, and females of 
a highly excitable temperament, into the 
Western provinces;¢ whom the vulgar 
beheld with awe, as manifestly possessed 
by the divinity; whom the philosophic 
party, equally mistaken, treated with con- 
tempt as impostors. So, with the follow- 
ers of Montanus (and women were his 
most ardent votaries), with Prisca and 
Maximilla, the apostles of his sect, the 
pure, and meek, and peaceful spirit of 
Christianity became a wild, a visionary, 
a frantic enthusiasm: it worked parox- 
ysms of intense devotion ; it made the soul 
partake of all the fever of physical excite- 
aE eee Eee 


* The Western churches were as yet generally 
averse to the excessive fasting subsequently intro- 
duced to so great an extent by the monastic spirit 
See the curious vision of Attalus, the martyr of 
Lyons, in which a fellow-prisoner, Alcibiades, who 
had long lived on bread and water alone. was re- 
proved for not making free use of Goad’s creatures, 
and thus giving offence to the Church. The 
churches of Lyons and Vienne having been found- 
ed from Phrygia, were anxious to avoid the least 
imputation of Montanism.—Euseb., Eccles. Hist., 
v.,3 


according to Apollonius apud Euseb, v., 18. 

t The effect of national character and tempera- 
ment on the opinions and form of religion did not 
escape the observation of the Christian writers. 
There is a curious passage on the Phrygian nation- 
al character in Socrates, H. E., iv., 28: ‘* The Phry- 
gians are a chaste and temperate people; they sel- 
dom swear: the Scythians and Thracians ara 
choleric ; the Eastern nations more disposed to im- 
morality ; the Paphlagonians and Phrygians to nei- 
ther ; they do not care for the theatre or the games; 
prostitution is unusual.” Their suppressed. pas- 
sions seem to have broken out at all periods in re- 
ligious emotions. 


ὅν " 


state of holy phrensy, had continually sent 


"+ The prophetesses abandoned their husbands, | 


%. 
ment. As in all ages where the mild and 
rational faith of Christ has been too calm 
and serene for persons brooding to mad- 
ness over their own internal emotions, it 
proclaimed itself a.religious advancement, 
a more sublime and spiritual Christianity. 
Judaism was the infancy, Christianity the 
youth, the revelation of the Spirit the 
manhood of the human soul. It was this 
Spirit, this Paraclete, which resided in all 
its fulness in the bosom of Montanus; his 
adversaries asserted that he gave himsel 
out as the Paraclete ; but itis more pro 
able that his vague and mystic langua 


was misunderstood, or possibly misrep-} 


resented, by the malice of his adversaries. 
In Montanism the sectarian, the exclusive 
spirit, was at its height; and this claim to 
higher perfection, this seclusion from the 
vulgar race of Christians, whose weakness 
had been too often shown in the hour of 
trial ; who had neither attained the height 
of his austerity, nor courted martyrdom, 
nor refused all ignominious compromises 
with the persecuting authorities with the 


unbending rigour which he demanded, 
would farther commend the claims 
of tanism to the homage of Tertul- 
lian. 


]ς During this persecution Tertullian stood 
Apology of forthas the apologist of Christian- 
Tertullian. ‘ity; and the tone of his apology 
is characteristic, not only of the individual, 
but of his native country, while it is no 
less illustrative of the altered position of 
Christianity. ‘The address of Tertullian 
to Scapula, the prefect of Africa, is no 
longer in the tone of tranquil expostula- 
tion against the barbarity of persecuting 
blameless and unoffending men, still less 
that of humble supplication. Every sen- 
tence breathes scorn, defiance, menace. 
It heaps contempt upon the gods of pa- 
ganism; it avows the determination of 
the Christians to expel the demons from 
the respect and adoration of mankind. It 
condescends not.to exculpate the Chris- 
tians from being the cause of the calami- 
ties which had recently laid waste the 
province: the torrent rains, which had 
swept away the harvests; the fires, which 
had heaped with ruin the streets of Car- 
thage ; the sun, which had been preter- 
naturally eclipsed when at its meridian, 
during an assembly of the province at 
Utica. All these portentous signs are une- 
quivocally ascribed to the vengeance of 
the Christian’s God visiting the guilt of 
obstinate idolatry. e persecutors of 
the Christians are w: d by the awful 
examples of Roman dignitaries who had 
been stricken blind and eaten with worms, 
as the ὦ ὁπ of Heaven for their 


, Bws 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


243° 


injustice and cruelty to the worshippers 
of Christ. Scapula himself is sternly ad- 
monished to take warning by their fate ; 
while the orator, by no means deficient, 
at the same time, in dexterous address, 
reminds him of the humane policy of 
others: “Your cruelty will be our glory. 
Thousands of both sexes, and of every 
rank, will eagerly crowd to martyrdom, ex- 
haust your fires, and weary your swords. 
varthage must be decimated ; the princi- 
al persons in the city, even perhaps 
most intimate friends and kin- 
pefggerificed Vainly will you 
ist God. Magistrates are but 
will suffer the common lot of 


men, 


mortality; but Christianity will endure as 


and the dura- 
be coeval with 


long as the Roman empii 
tion of the empire will 
that of the world.” i 

History, even Christian history, is con- 


fined to more general views of public af- 


fairs, and dwells too exclusively on what 
may be called the high places of human 
life; but, whenever a glimpse is afforded 
of lowlier and of more common life, it is, 
perhaps, best fulfilling its office of pre- 
senting a lively picture of the times if 
it allows itself occasionally some more 
minute detail, and illustrates the manner 
in which the leading events of particular 
periods affected individuals not in the high- 
est station. 

Of all the histories of martyrdom, none 
is SO unexaggerated in its tone Mantyrdams 
and language, so entirely unen- of Perpetua 
cumbered with miracle; none ἅμ Felicitas. 
abounds in such exquisite touches of na- 
ture, or, on the whole, from its minuteness 
and circumstantiality, breathes such an 
air of truth and reality, as that of Perpetua 
and Felicitas, two African females. ‘Theiz 
death is ascribed in the Acts to the year 
of the accession of Geta,* the son of Seve 


* The external evidence to the authenticity εἴ 
these Acts is not quite equal to the internal. Thr 7 
were first published by Lucas Holstenius, from a 
MS. in the convent of Monte Casino: re-edited y 
Valesius at Paris, and by Ruinart, in his Acta Syn- 
cera Martyrum, p. 90, who collated two other 
MSS. ‘There appear, however, strong indications 
that the Acts of these African Martyrs are trans- 
lated from the Greek; at least it is difficult other- 
wise to account for the frequent untranslated Greek 
words and idioms in the text. The following are 
examples: C. iii., turbarum beneficio, yapiv' c. iv., 
hene venisti, tegnon, τεκνὸν" viii., in oramate, a vis- 
ion, ὀρᾶματι" diadema or diastema, an interval, διασ- 
Tha’ C..X., afe, agi Xii., agios, agios, agios. 

‘There are, indeed, some suspicious marks of Mon- 
tanism, which perhaps prevented these Acts from 
being more generally known. 

It isnot quite clear where these martyrs suffered. 
Valesius supposed Carthage; others, in that one of 
the two towns called Tuburbium which was situ 
ated in proconsular Africa. : 


i» 


9 
& 


Με 


244 


rus. Though there was no general perse- 
cution at that period, yet, as the Christéans 

held their lives at all times lia- 
eS a ble to the outburst of popular re- 
sentment, or the caprice of an arbitrary 
proconsul, there is much probability that 
a time of general rejoicing might be that 
in which the Christians, who were always 


accused of a disloyal reluctance to mingle 


in the popular festivities, and who kept 
aloof from the public sacrifices on such 
anniversaries, would be most exposed to 
persecution. The youthful catechumens, 
Revocatus and Felicitas, Saturninus and 
Secundulus, were apprehended, and with 


them Vivia Perpetua, a woman of good 
family, liberal education, and honourably 


married. Perpetua was about twenty-two 
years old; her father and mother were 
living; she had two brothers—one of 
them, like herself, a catechumen—and an 
infant at her breast. The history of the 
martyrdom is related by Perpetua herself, 
and is said to have been written by her 
own hand: ‘* When we were in the hands 
of the persecutors, my father, in his tender 
affection, persevered in his endeavours to 
pervert me from the faith.* ‘ My father, 
this vessel, be it a pitcher or anything 
else, can we call it by any other name” 
‘Certainly not,’ he replied. ‘Nor can I 
call myself by any name but that of 
Christian?’ My father looked as if he 


‘could have plucked my eyes out; but he 


only harassed me, and departed, persuaded 
by the arguments of the devil. Then, after 
being a few days without seeing my father, 
I was enabled to give thanks to God, and 
his absence was tempered to my spirit. 
After a few days we were baptized, and 
the waters of baptism seemed to give 
power of endurance to my body. Again 
a few days, and we were cast into prison. 
I was terrified; fon I had never before 
seen such total darkness. O miserable 
day! from the dreadful heat of the prison- 
ers crowded together, and the insults of 
the soldiers. But I was wrung with so- 
licitude for my infant. Two of our dea- 
cons, however, by the payment of money, 
obtained our removal for some hours in 
the day to a more open part of the prison. 
Each of the captives then pursued his 
usual occupation; but I sat and suckled 
my infant, who was wasting away with 
hunger. In my anxiety, I addressed and 
consoled my mother, and commended my 
child to my brother; and I began to pine 
away at seeing them pining away on my 
account. And for many days I suffered 


* Dejicere, to cast me down, is the expressive 
phrase, not uncommon among the early Christians. 


a 


᾿ τῶν δι . 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. " 


“ 


this anxiety, and accustomed my child to 
remain in the prison with me; and I im- 
mediately recovered my strength, and wag 
relieved from my toil and trouble for my 
infant, and the prison became to me like a 
palace; and I was happier there than 1 
should have been anywhere else. 

‘My brother then said to me, ‘ Perpetua, 
you are exalted to such dignity that you 
may pray for a vision, and it shall be 
shown you whether our doom is martyr- 


dom or release.’” This is the language 
of Montanism; but the vision is exactly 


that which might haunt the slumbers of 


the Christian in a high state of religious 


enthusiasm ; it showed merely the familiar 
images of the faith arranging themselves 
into form. She saw a lofty ladder of gold 
ascending to heaven; around it were 
swords, lances, hooks; and a great dra- 
gon lay at its foot, to seize those who 
would ascend. Saturus, a distinguished 
Christian, went up first, beckoned her to 
follow, and controlled the dragon by the 
name of Jesus Christ. She ascended, and 
found herself in a spacious garden, in which 
sat a man with white hair, in the garb of 
a shepherd, milking his sheep,* with many 
myriads around him. He welcomed her, 
and gave her a morsel of cheese; and * I 
received it with folded hands, and ate it; 
and all the saints around exclaimed ‘ Amen.’ 
I awoke at the sound, with the sweet taste 
in my mouth, and I related it to my broth- 
er; and we knew that our martyrdom was 
at hand, and we began to have no hope in 
this world. ’ 

“ After a few days there was a rumour 
that we were to be heard. And my father 
came from the. city, wasted away with 
anxiety, to pervert me; and he said, ‘ Have 
compassion, O my daughter! on my gray ~ 
hairs; have compassion on thy father, if 
he is worthy of the name of father. If I 
have thus brought thee up to the flower of 
thine age, if I have preferred thee to all 
thy brothers, do not expose me to this 
disgrace. Look on thy brother; look on 
thy mother and thy aunt; look on thy 
child, who cannot live without thee. Do 
not destroy us all.’ Thus spake my fa- 
ther, kissing my hands in his fondness, 
and throwing himself at my feet; and in 
his tears he called me, not his daughter, 
but his ba (domina). And I was 
grieved for eresaerairs of my father, 
because he alone of all our family, did not 
rejoice in my martyrdom: and 1 consoled 
him, saying, ‘In this trial, what God wills 

* Bishop Minter, in his Sinnbilder der alten 
Christen, refers to this passage to illustrate one 
of the oldest bas-reliefs of Christian art.—H. i., p. 
62, 


' 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 245 


will take place. Know that we are not in 
our own power, but in that of God.’ And 
he went away sorrowing. ms 

“ Another day, while we were at dinner, 
we were suddenly seized and carried off 
to trial; and we came to the town. ‘The 
report spread rapidly, and an immense 
multitude was assembled. We were 
placed at the bar; the rest were interro- 
gated, and made their confession. And it 
came to my turn; and my father instantly 
appeared with my child, and he drew me 
down the step, and said in a beseeching 
tone, ‘Have compassion on your infant ;’ 
and Hilarianus the procurator, who exer- 
cised the power of life and death for the 
proconsul Timinianus, who had died, said, 


‘Spare the gray hairs of your parent; 


spare your infant; offer sacrifice for the 
welfare of the emperor.’ And I answered, 
‘I will not sacrifice.’ ‘Art thou a Chris- 
tian” said Hilarianus. I answered, ‘I am 
a Christian.’ And while my father stood 
there to persuade me, Hilarianus ordered 
him to be thrust down and beaten with 
rods. And the misfortune of my father 
grieved me; and I was as much grieved 
‘for his old age as if I had been scourged 
myself. He then passed a sentence on us 
all, and condemned us to the wild beasts; 
and we went back in cheerfulness to the 
prison. And because I was accustomed 
to suckle my infant, and to keep it with 
me in the prison, I sent Pomponius the 
deacon to seek it from my father. But 
my father would not send it ; but, by the 
will of God, the child no longer desired 
the breast, and I suffered no uneasiness, 
lest at such a time I should be afflicted by 
the sufferings of my child or by pains in 
my breasts.” 

Her visions now grow more frequent 
and vivid. The name of her brother Di- 
nocrates suddenly occurred to her in her 
prayers. He had died at seven years old, 
of a loathsome disease, no doubt without 
Christian baptism. She had a vision in 
which Dinocrates appeared in a place of 
profound darkness, where there was a pool 
of water, which he could not reach on ac- 
count of his small stature. In a second 
vision Dinocrates appeared again; the 
pool rose up and touched him, and he 
drank a full goblet of the water. ‘“ And 
when he was satisfied he went away to 
play, as infants are wont, and I awoke; 
and I knew that he was translated from 
the place of punishment.”* 

Again a few days, and the keeper of the 
prison, profoundly impressed by their con- 
duct, and beginning to discern “ the power 


* This is evidently a kind of purgatory. 


of God within them,” admitted many of the 
brethren to visit them for mutual consola- 
tion. ‘And as the day of the games ap- 
proached, my father entered, worn out with 
affliction, and began to pluck his beard, and 
to throw himself down with his face upon 
the ground, and to wish that he could hast- 
en his death, and to speak words which 
might have moved any living creature. 
And I was grieved for the sorrows of his 
old age.” ‘The night before they were to 
be exposed in the arena, she dreamed that 
she was changed to a man; fought and 
triumphed over a huge and terrible Egyp- 
tian gladiator; and she put her foot upon 
his head, and she received the crown, and 
passed out of the Vivarian gate, and knew 


‘that she had triumphed, not over man, but 


over the devil. The vision of Saturus, 
which he related for their consolation, 
was more splendid. He ascended into the 
realms of light, into a beautiful garden, and 
to a palace, the walls of which were light; 
and there he was welcomed, not only by 
the angels, but by all the friends who had 
preceded him in the glorious career. It is 
singular that, among the rest, he saw a 
bishop and a priest, among whom there 
had been some dissension. And while 
Perpetua was conversing with them, the 
angels interfered and insisted on their per- 
fect reconciliation. Some kind of blame 
seems to be attached to the Bishop Opta- 
tus, because some of his flock appeared as, 
if they came from the factions of the cir- 
cus, with the spirit of mortal strife not yet 
allayed. 

The narrative then proceeds to another 


instance of the triumph of faith over the © 


strongest of human feelings, the love of a 
young mother for her offspring. — Felicitas 
was in the eighth month of her pregnancy. 
She feared, and her friends shared in her 
apprehensions, that on that account her 
martyrdom might be delayed. They pray- 
ed together, and her travail came on. In 
her agony at that most painful period of 
delivery she gave way to her sufferings. 
‘** How then,” said one of the servants of 
the prison, “if you cannot endure these 
pains, will you endure exposure to the 
wild beasts ?” She replied, “I bear now 
my own sufferings; then there will be one 
within me who will bear my sufferings for 
me, because I shall suffer for his sake.” 
She brought forth a girl, of whom a Chris- 
tian sister took the charge. 

Perpetua maintained her calmness to 
the end. While they were treated with 
severity by a tribune, who feared lest they 
should be delivered from the prison by en- 
chantment, Perpetua remonstrated with a 
kind of mournful pleasantry, and said that, 


246 


if ill used, they would do no eredit to the 
birthday of Czsar: the victims ought to 
be fattened for the sacrifice. But their 
language and demeanour were not always 
so calm and gentle; the words of some 
became those of defiance, almost of in- 


τος sult; and this is related with as much ad- 


é 
ἮΝ 


iration as the more tranquil sublimity of 
e former incidents. ΤῸ the people who 
“gazed on them, in their importunate curi- 
osity, at their agape, they said, “Is not 
to-morrow’s spectacle enough to satiate 
your hate? To-day you look on us with 
friendly faces, to-morrow you will be our 
deadly enemies. Mark well our counte- 
nances, that you may know them again on 
the day of judgment.” And to Hilarianus 
on his tribunal they said, “ Thou judgest 
us, but God will judge thee.” At this lan- 
guage the exasperated people demanded 
that they should be scourged. When taken 
out to execution they declined, and were 
permitted to decline, the profane dress in 
which they were to be clad: the men, that 
of the priests of Saturn; the women, that 
of the priestesses of Ceres.* They came 
forward in their simple attire, Perpetua 
singing psalms. The men were exposed 
to leopards and bears; the women were 
hung up naked in nets, to be gored by a 
furious cow. But even the excited popu- 
lace shrunk with horror at the spectacle 
of two young and delicate women, one re- 
-eently recovered from childbirth, in this 
state. They were recalled by acclama- 
tion, and in mercy brought forward again, 
clad in loose robes.t Perpetua was toss- 
ed, her garment was rent ; but, more con- 
scious of her wounded modesty than of 
pain, she drew the robe over the part of 
her person which was exposed. She then 
calmly clasped up her hair, because it did 
not become a martyr to suffer with dishev- 
elled locks, the sign of sorrow. She then 
raised up the fainting and mortally- wound- 
ed Felicitas, and the cruelty of the popu- 
lace being for a time appeased, they were 
permitted to retire. Perpetua seemed 
rapt in ecstasy, and, as if awaking from 
sleep, inquired when she was to be expo- 
sed to the beast. She could scarcely be 
made to believe what had taken place; 
her last words tenderly admonished her 
brother to be steadfast in the faith. We 
may close the scene by intimating that all 
were speedily released from their suffer- 
ings and entered into their glory. Per- 


"- 
ἘΤΉΪΒ was an 
bed to the devil. 
+ Iam not sure that I am correct in this part of 
the version ; it appears to me tobe the sense. ‘Ita 
revocate discinguntur” is paraphrased by Lucas 
Holstenius, revocate et discinctis indute. 


ual circumstance, and ascri- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ᾿ 


petua guided with her own hand the mer- 
ciful sword of the gladiator which relieved 
her from her agony. y 


This African persecution, which laid the _ 


seeds of future schisms and fatal Garacaiia 
feuds, lasted till at least the sec- Geta. A.D. 
ond year of Caracalla. From 2!!-2!7. 

its close, except during the short reign of 
Maximin, Christianity enjoyed uninter- 
rupted peace till the reign of Decius.* 
But during this period occurred a remark- 
able event in the religious history of Rome. 
The pontiff of one of the wild forms of the 
Nature-worship of the East appeared in 
the city of Rome as emperor; the ancient 
rites of Baalpeor, but little changed in the 
course of ages, intruded themselves into 
the sanctuary of the Capitoline Jove, and 
offended at once the religious majesty and 
the graver decency of Roman manners.t 
Elagabalus derived his name from the Syr- 
ian appellative of the sun; he giagabaius 
had been educated in the pre- emperor. 
cinets of the temple; and the 4-D- 2/8. 
Emperor of Rome was lost and absorbed 
in the priest of an effeminate superstition. 
The new religion did not steal in under the 
modest demeanour οἵ ἃ stranger, claiming. 
the common rites of hospitality, as the na- 
tional faith of a subject people: it entered 
witha public pomp, as though to supersede 
and eclipse the ancestral deities of Rome. 


Lr) 


The god Elagabalus was conveyed in sol- © 


emn procession through the wondering 
provinces; his symbols were received with 
all the honour of the Supreme Deity. The 
conical black stone which was adored at 
Emesa was no doubt, in its origin, one of 
those obscene symbols which appear in 
almost every form of the Oriental Nature- 
worship. The rudeness of ancient art had 
allowed it to remain in less offensive shape- 
lessness ; and, not improbably, the original 
symbolic meaning had become obsolete. 
The Sun had become the visible type of 
Deity and the object of adoration. The 
mysterious principle of generation, of 
which, in the primitive religion of nature, 
he was the type and image, gave place to 
the noblest object of human idolatry, the 
least debasing representative of the Great 
Supreme. The idol of Emesa entered 
Rome in solemn procession; a magnifi- 
cent temple was built upon the Palatine 
Hill; a number of altars stood round, on 
which every day the most sumptuous offer- 
ings—hecatombs of oxen, countless sheep, 


*From 212 to 249: Caracalla, 211; Macrinus, 
217; Elagabalus, 218; Alexander Severus, 222; 
Maximin and the Gordians, 235-244; Philip, 244; 
Decius, 249. ; 

+ Lampridii, Heliogabalus. Dion Cass., 1. lxxix. 
Herodian., v. 


5 


“ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the most costly aromatics, the choicest 
wines—were Offered; streams of blood and 
wine were constantly flowing down; while 
the highest dignitaries of the empire—com- 
manders of legions, rulers of provinces, 
the gravest senators—appeared as humble 
ministers, clad in the loose and flowing 
robes and linen sandals of the East, among 
the lascivious dances and the wanton mu- 
sic of Oriental drums andcymbals. These 
degrading practices were the only way to 
civiland military preferment. The whole 
senate and equestrian order stood around; 
and those who played ill the part of ado- 
ration, or whose secret murmurs incau- 
tiously betrayed their devout indignation 
(for this insult to the ancient religion of 
Rome awakened some sense of shame in 
the degenerate and servile aristocracy), 
were put to death. The most sacred and 
patriot:z sentiments cherished above all 
the hallowed treasures of the city the Pal- 
ladium, the image of Minerva. Popular 
veuprnion worshipped in distant awe the 
‘unseen deity, for profane eye might never 
‘bet the virginimage. The inviolability 
_ of the Roman dominion was inseparably 
connected with the uncontaminated sanc- 
tity of the Palladium. The Syrian decla- 
red his intention of wedding the ancient 
tutelary goddess to his foreign deity. The 
image was publicly brought forth, expo- 
sed to the sullying gaze of the multi- 
tude, solemnly wedded, and insolently re- 
pudiated by the unworthy stranger. A 
Worship ore appropriate bride was found 
of thesun in the kindred Syrian deity, wor- 
inRome. shipped under the name of As- 
tarte in the East, in Carthage as the Queen 
of Heaven—Venus Urania, as translated 
into the mythological language of the West. 
She was brought from Carthage. ‘The 
whole city—the whole of Italy—was com- 
manded to celebrate the bridal festival ; 
and the nuptials of the two foreign deities 
might appear to complete the triumph over 
the insulted divinities of Rome. Nothing 
was sacred to the voluptuous Syrian. He 
introduced the manners as well as the re- 
ligion of the East ; his rapid succession of 
wives imitated the polygamy of an Ori- 
ental despot; and his vices not merely 
corrupted the morals, but insulted the most 
sacred feelings of the people. He tore a 
vestal virgin from her sanctuary to suffer 
his polluting embraces; he violated the 
sanctuary itself; attempted to make him- 
self master of the mystic coffer in which 
the sacred deposite was enshrined ; it was 
said that the pious fraud of the priesthood 
deceived him with a counterfeit, which he 
dashed to pieces in his anger. It was 
openly asserted that the worship of the 


247 


sun, under his name of Elagabalus, was to 
supersede all other worship. If we may be- 
lieve the biographies in the Augustan His- 
tory, a more ambitious scheme Religious 
of a.universal religion had dawn- ™novations 
ed upon the mind of the emper- by Elapabas 
or; aud that the Jewish, the Sa- lus. 
maritan, even the Christian, were to be 
fused and recast into one great system, of 
which the sun was to be the central object 
of adoration.* At all events, the deities 
of Rome were actually degraded before 
the public gaze into humble ministers of 
Elagabalus. Every year of the emperor’s 
brief reign, the god was conveyed from his 
Palatine temple to a suburban edifice of 
still more sumptuous magnificence. The 
statue passed in a car drawn by six horses. 
The emperor of the world, his eyes stain- 
ed with paint, ran and danced before it 
with antic gestures of adoration. The 
earth was strewn with gold dust; flowers 
and chaplets were scattered by the people, 
while the images of all the other gods, 
the splendid ornaments and vessels of all 
their temples, were carried, like the spoils 
of subject nations, in the annual ovation | 
of the Phenician deity. Even human sac- 
rifices, and, if we may credit the monstrous 
fact, the most beautiful sons of the noblest 
families, were offered on the altar of this 
Moloch of the East.t 

It is impossible to suppose that the weak 
and crumbling edifice of paganism was not 
shaken to its base by this extraordinary 
revolution. An ancient religion cannot 
thus be insulted without losing much οὗ 
its majesty: its hold upon the popular 
veneration is violently torn asunder. With 
its more sincere votaries, the general ani- 
mosity to foreign, particularly to Eastern 
religions, might be inflamed or deepened ; 
and Christianity might share in some part 
of the detestation excited by the excesses 
of a superstition so opposite in its nature. 
But others, whose faith had been shaken, 
and whose moral feelings revolted by a 
religion whose essential character was 
sensuality, and whose licentious tendency 
had been so disgustingly illustrated by the 
unspeakable pollutions of its imperial pa- 
tron, would hasten to embrace that purer 
faith which was most remote from the re- 
ligion of Elagabalus. 

From the policy of the court, as well as 


* Id agens ne quis Rome Deus nisi Heliogabulus 
coleretur. Dicebat preterea, Judeorum et Sama- 
ritanorum religiones, et Christianam devotionem, 
illuc transferendam, ut omnium culturarum secre- 
tum Heliogabalisacerdotium teneret, p. 461. 

+ Cedit et humanas hostias, lectis ad hoc pueris 
nobilibus et decoris per omnem Italiam patrimis et 
matrimis, credo ut major esset utrique parenti do 
lor.—Lamprid., Heliogabalus. 


1 


3 


ΕἾ 


on 


‘ 


248 


Alexander the pure and amiable character of 


Severus the successor of Elagabalus, the 
πε int more offensive parts of this for- 


eign superstition disappeared with 
their imperial patron. But the old Roman 
religion was not reinstated in its jealous 
and unmingled dignity. Alexander Seve- 
rus had been bred in another school; and 
the influence which swayed him, during 
the earlier part at least of his reign, was 
of a different character from that which 
had formed the mind of Elagabalus. It 
was the mother of Elagabalus who, how- 
ever she might blush with shame at the 
impurities of her effeminate son, had con- 
secrated him to the service of the deity in 
Emesa. ‘The mother of Alexander Seve- 
rus, the able, perhaps crafty and rapacious 
Mammea, had at least held inter- 
course with the Christians of Syr- 
184. She had conversed with the celebra- 
ted Origen. and listened to his exhorta- 
tions, if without conversion, still not with- 
out respect. Alexander, though he had 
neither the religious education, the pontif- 
ical character, nor the dissolute manners 
of his predecessor, was a Syrian, with no 
hereditary attachment to the Roman form 
of paganism. He seems to have affected 


Mammea. 


_ a kind of universalism : he paid decent re- 


4 


4! 


hs 


ἦν 


a 


spect to the gods of the Capitol; he held 
in honour the Egyptian worship, and en- 
larged the temples of Isis and Serapis. 
In his own palace, with respectful indif- 
ference, he enshrined, as it were, his house- 
hold deities, the representatives of the dif- 
ferent religious or theophilosophic sys- 
_ tems which were prevalent in the Roman 
empire : Orpheus, Abraham, Christ, and 
Apollonius of Tyana. The first of these 
represented the wisdom of the mysteries, 
the purified Nature-worship, which had la- 
boured to elevate the popular mythology 
into a noble and coherent allegorism. It 
is singular that Abraham, rather than Mo- 
ses, was placed at the head of Judaism: 
_ it is possible that the traditionary sanctity 
which attached to the first parent of the 
Jewish people, and of many of the Arab 
tribes, and which was afterward imbod- 
ied in the Mohammedan Koran, was float- 
ing in the East, and would comprehend, 
as it were, the opinions, not only of the 
Jews, but of a much wider circle of the 
Syrian natives. In Apollonius was cen- 
tred the more modern Theurgy, the ma- 
gic which commanded the intermediate 
spirits between the higher world and the 
- world of man; the more spiritual Polythe- 
‘ism, which had released the subordinate 
deities from their human form, and main- 
tained them in a constant intercourse with 
the soul of man. Christianity in the per- 


% 


4 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


son of its founder, even where it did not 
command authority as a religion, had nev- 
ertheless lost the character under which 
it had so long and so unjustly laboured, of 
animosity to mankind. Though he was 
considered but as one of the sages who 
shared in the homage paid to their benefi- 
cent wisdom, the followers of Jesus had 
now lived down all the bitter hostility 
which had so generally prevailed against 
them. The homage of Alexander Seve- 
rus may be a fair test of the general sen- 
timent of the more intelligent heathen of 


his ime.* It is clear that the exclusive 


spirit of Greek and Roman civilization is 
broken down: it is not now Socrates or 
Plato, Epicurus or Zeno, who are consid- 
ered the sole guiding intellects of human 
wisdom. These Eastern barbarians are 
considered rivals, if not superior, to 
philosophers of Greece. ‘The world is be- 
traying its irresistible yearning towards 
a religion; and these were the first over- 
tures, as it were, to more general submis- 
sion. ᾿ 

In the reign of Alexander Severus at 
least commenced the great ΠΩΣ 
change in the outward appear- the relation 
ance of Christianity. Christian of Christian- 


bishops were admitted even at ἡ 'S07et: 


the court in a recognised official charac- 
ter; and Christian churches began to rise 
in different parts of the empire, and to pos- 
sess endowments in land.t To the as- 
tonishment of the heathen, their religion 
had as yet appeared without temple or al- 
tar; their religious assemblies had been 
held in privacy: it was yet a domestic 
worship. Even the Jew had his public 
synagogue or his more secluded proseu- 
cha; but where the Christians met was 
indicated by no separate and distinguished 
dwelling; the cemetery of their dead, the 
sequestered grove, the private chamber, 
contained their peaceful assemblies. Their 
privacy was at once their -security and 
their danger. On the one hand, First 
there was no well-known edifice Christian 
in which the furious and excited churches. 
rabble could surprise the general body of 
the Christians, and wreak its vengeance 

* Jablonski wrote a very ingenious essay to show 
that Alexander Severus was converted to Gnostic 
Christianity.—Opuscula, vol. iv. Compare Heyne, 
Opuscula, vi., p. 169, et seqq. [and Mosheim’s Inst. 
of EB. H., vol. i., p. 154]. ἡ 

+ Tillemont, as Gibbon observes, assigns the date 
of the earliest Christian churches to the reign of Al- 
exander Severus; Mr. Moyle to that of Gallienus. 
The difference is very slight, and, after all, the 
change from a private building set apart for a par- 
ticular use, anda public one of no architectural pre- 


tensions, may have been almost imperceptible. 
The pas of Lampridius appears conclusive in 
favour of Tillemont, ᾿ 


% 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


by indiscriminate massacre ; on the other, 
the jealousy of the government against all 
private associations would be constantly 
kept on the alert; and a religion without 
a temple was so inexplicable a problem to 
pagan feeling, that it would strengthen 
and confirm all the vague imputations of 
atheism or of criminal license in these 
mysterious meetings, which seemed to 
shun the light of day. Their religious 
usages must now have become much bet- 
ter known, as Alexander borrowed their 
mode of publishing the names of those 
who were proposed for ordination, and es- 
tablished a similar proceeding with regard 
to all candidates for civil office; and a 
piece of ground in Rome, which was liti- 
gated by a company of victuallers, was 
awarded by the emperor himself to the 
Christians, upon the principle that it was 
better that it should be devoted to the wor- 
ship of God in any form than applied to a 
profane and unworthy use.* 

These buildings were no doubt, as yet, 
of modest height and unpretending form ; 
but the religion was thus publicly recog- 
nised as one of the various forms of wor- 
ship which the government did not pro- 
hibit from opening thé gates of its temples 
to mankind. 

The progress of Christianity during all 
this period, though silent, was uninter- 
rupted. The miseries which were grad- 
ually involving the whole Roman empire, 
from the conflicts and the tyranny of a 
rapid succession of masters, from taxa- 
tion gradually becoming more grinding and 
burdensome, and the still multiplying in- 
roads and expanding devastations of the 
barbarians, assisted its progress. Many 
took refuge in a religion which promised 
beatitude in a future state of being from 
the inevitable evils of this life. 

But in no respect is its progress more 
Influence or €Vident and remarkable than in 
Christianity the influence of Christianity on 
on ‘heathen- heathenism itself. ‘Though phi- 

‘ losophy, which had long been 
the antagonist and most dangerous enemy 
of the popular religion, now made appa- 
rently common cause with it against the 
common enemy, Christianity, yet there 
had been an unperceived and amicable ap- 
proximation between the two religions. 
Heathenism, as interpreted by philosophy, 
almost found favour with some of the 
more moderate Christian apologists ; while, 
as we have seen in the altered tone of 
the controversy, the Christians have rare- 

occasion to defend themselves against 


those horrible charges of licens ess, | 


᾿ oe Alexander Severus. 
I . 
κυ. ὲ ‘ κ᾿ 


249 


incest, and cannibalism, which, till recent- 
ly, their adyocates had been constrained 
to notice. The Christians endeavoured 
to enlist the earlier philosophers in their 
cause; they were scarcely content with 
asserting that the nobler Grecian philoso- 
phy might be designed to prepare the hu- 
man mind for the reception of Christian- 
ity ; they were almost inclined to endow 
these sages with a kind of prophetic fore- 
knowledge of its more mysterious doc- 
trines. “I have explained,” says the Chris- 
tian in Minucius Felix, “ the opinions of 
almost all the philosophers, whose most. 
illustrious glory it is that they have wor- 
shipped one God, though under various. 
names; so that one might suppose either 
that the Christians of the present day are 
philosophers, or that the philosophers of 
old were already Christians.”* ὧν: 
But these advances on the part of Chris- 
tianity were more than met by paganism. 
The heathen religion, which prevailed at 
least among the more enlightened pagans 
during this period, and which, differently 
modified, more fully developed, gait as 
we shall hereafter find, exalted still more 
from a philosophy into a religion, Julian 
endeavoured to reinstate as the Change in 
established faith, was almost as heathenism. 
different from that of the older Greeks and 
Romans, or even that which prevailed at 


the commencement of the empire, as it Ὁ 


was from Christianity. It worshipped in 
the same temples ; it performed, to a cer- | 
tain extent, the same rites; it actually ab-— 
rogated the local worship of no one of 
multitudinous deities of paganism. But 
over all this, which was the real religion, 
both in theory and practice, in the older. 
times, had risen a kind of speculative 
Theism, to which the popular worship ac- 
knowledged its humble subordination. On 
the great elementary principle of Chris- 
tianity, the unity of the Supreme God, 
this approximation had long been silently 
made. Celsus, in his celebrated contro- 


+ 


- 


* 


> » 
‘i Ἂ 
» 


versy with Origen, asserts that this phil- © 


osophical notion of the Deity is perfectly 
reconcilable with paganism. ‘ We also 
can place a Supreme Being above the 
world and above all human things, and 
approve and sympathize in whatever may 
be taught of a spiritual rather than mate- 
rial adoration of the gods; for with the 
belief in the gods, worshipped in every 
land and by every people, harmonizes the 
belief in a Primal Being, a Supreme God, 


who has given to every land its guardian, 


to every people its presiding deity. The 


* I am here again considerably indebted to 
Tschimer, Fall des Heidenthums, p. 334-401. 
ἤ i ‘ 


" i 


“4 


ἢ 


250 HISTORY OF 
unity of the Supreme Being, and the con- 
sequent unity of the design of the uni- 
verse, remains, even if it be admitted that 
each people has its gods, whom it must 
worship in a peculiar manner, according 
to their peculiar character; and the wor- 
ship of all these different deities is reflect- 
ed back to the Supreme God, who has ap- 
pointed them, as it were, his delegates and 
representatives. ‘Those who argue that 
men ought not to serve many masters ln- 
pute human weakness to God. God is not 
jealous of the adoration paid to subordi- 
nate deities; he is superior in his nature 
to degradation and insult. Reason itself 
might justify the belief in the inferior de- 
ities, which are the objects of the estab- 
lished worship. For, since the Supreme 
God can only produce that which is im- 
mortal and imperishable, the existence of 
mortal beings cannot be explained, unless 
we distinguish from him those inferior de- 
ities, and assert them to be the creators of 
mortal beings and of perishable things.”’* 

From this time paganism has changed, 
Paganism NOt merely some of its funda- 
becomes mental tenets, but its general 
serious. “character ; it has become serious, 
solemn, devout. In Lucian, unbelief seem- 
ed to have reached its height, and as rapid- 
ly declined. The witty satirist of Poly- 
theism had no doubt many admirers ; he 
had no imitators. A reaction has taken 
place; none of the distinguished statesmen 
of the third century boldly and ostenta- 
tiously, as in the times of the later repub- 
lic, display their contempt for religion. 
Epicureanism lost, if not its partisans, its 
open advocates. ‘The most eminent wri- 
ters treat religion with decency, if not 
with devout respect; no one is ambitious 
of passing for a despiser of the gods. And 
with faith and piety broke forth all the 
aberrations of religious belief and de- 
vout feeling, wonder-working mysticism, 
and dreamy enthusiasm, in their various 
forms.t 

This was the commencenient of that 
new Platonism, which from this time ex- 
ercised a supreme authority, to the extinc- 
tion of the older forms of Grecian philos- 
ophy, and grew up into a dangerous an- 
tagonist of Christianity. It aspired to be 
a religion as well as a philosophy, and 
gradually incorporated more and more of 
such religious elements from the creeds 
of the Oriental philosophers as would har- 
monize with its system. It was extrava- 
gant, but it was earnest ; wild, but serious. 
It created a kind of literature of its own. 


* Qrigen contra Celsum, lib. vii. 
+ Tschirner, p. 40]. 


" . it 
CHRISTIANITY. 


" 


The Life of Apollonius of Tyana Apotionius. 


was a grave romance, in which it of Tyana. 
imbodied much of its Theurgy, its power 
of connecting the invisible with the visible 
world; its wonder-working, through the 
intermediate demons at its command, 
which bears possibly, but not clearly, an 
intentional, certainly a close, resemblance 
to the Gospels. 
its purpose the poetry and philosophy of 
older Greece. Such of the mythic legends 
as it could allegorize, it retained with every 
demonstration of reverence; the rest it 
either allowed quietly to fall into oblivion, 
or repudiated as lawless fictions of the 
poets. The manner in which poetry was 
transmuted into moral and religious alle- 
gory is shown in the treatise of 
Porphyrius on the cave of the 
nymphs in the Odyssey. The skill, as 
well as the dreamy mysticism, with which 
this school of writers combined the dim 
traditions of the older philosophy and the 
esoteric doctrines of the mysteries, to give 
the sanction of antiquity to their own 
vague but attractive and fanciful theories, 
appears in the Life of Pythag- rife of py- 
oras, and in the work on the thagoras, 
Mysteries by a somewhat later writer, 
Jamblichus. 

After all, however, this philosophic pa- 
ganism could exercise nO Very ppitosophie 
extensive influence. Its votaries paganism 
were probably far inferior in 2° popular. 
number to any one of those foreign reli- 
gions introduced into the Greek and Ro- 
man part of the empire; and its strength 
perhaps consisted in the facility with 
which it coalesced with any one of those 
religions, or blended them up together in 
one somewhat discordant syncretism. The 
same man was philosopher, Hierophant at 
Samothrace or Eleusis, and initiate in the 
rites of Cybele, of Serapis, or of Mithra. 
Of itself, this scheme was far too abstract 
and metaphysical to extend beyond the 
schools. of Alexandrea or of Athens. 
Though it prevailed afterward in influ- 
encing the heathen fanaticism of Julian, 
it eventually retarded but little the extine- 
tion of heathenism. It was merely a sort 
of refuge for the intellectual few; a self- 
complacent excuse, which enabled them 
to assert, as they supposed, their own 
mental superiority, while they were en- 
deavouring to maintain or to revive the 
vulgar superstition, which they themselves 
could not but in secret contemn. The 
more refined it became, the less was it 
suited for common use, and the less it 
harmonized with the ordinary paganism. 
Thus that which, in one respect, elevated 
it into a dangerous rival of Christianity, 


Porphyrius; 


It seized and moulded to. 


ν΄. % ad 
T. = 

at the en ae deprived it of its power. 
It had borrowed much from Christianity, 
or, at least, had been tacitly modified by 
its influence ; but it was the speculative 
rather than the practical part, that which 
constituted its sublimity rather than its 
popularity, in which it approximated to 
the Gospel. We shall encounter this new 
paganism again before long, in its more 
perfect and developed form. 

The peace which Christianity enjoyed 
Maximin. Under the virtuous Severus was 
A.D. 235. disturbed by the violent accession 
of a Thracian savage.* It was enough to 
have shared in the favour of Alexander to 
incur the brutal resentment of Maximin. 
The Christian bishops, like all the other 
polite and virtuous courtiers of his peace- 
ful predecessor, were exposed to the sus- 
picions and the hatred of the rude and 
warlike Maximin. Christianity, however, 
suffered, though in a severer degree, the 
common lot of mankind. 

The short reign of Gordian was un- 
Gordian. CVentfal in Christian history. The 
A.D.238 emperors, it has been justly ob- 
“244. served, who were born in the Asi- 
atic provinces, were in general the least 
unfriendly to Christianity. Their religion, 
whatever it might be, was less uncongenial 
to some of the forms of the new faith; it 
was akind of Eclecticism of different East- 
ern religions, which in general was least 
inclined to intolerance: at any rate, it was 
uninfluenced by national pride, which was 
now become the main support of Roman 
Philip.:ys Paganism. Philip the Arabiant is 
A.D. 234. claimed by some of the earliest 
Christian writers as a convert to the Gos- 
pel. But the extraordinary splendour with 
which he celebrated the great religious 
rites of Rome refutes at once this state- 
ment. Yet it might be fortunate that a 
sovereign of his mild sentiments towards 
Secular the new faith filled the throne at 
games. ἃ period when the secular games, 
A.D. 247. which commemorated the thou- 
sandth year of Rome, were celebrated with 
unexampled magnificence. The majesty, 
the eternity of the empire were intimately 
connected with the due performance of 
these solemnities. ΤῸ their intermission 
after the reign of Dioclesian, the pagan 
historian ascribes the fall of Roman great- 
ness. The second millennium of Rome 
commenced with no flattering signs; the 
times were gloomy and menacing; and 
the general and rigid absence of the Chris- 
tians from these sacred national ceremo- 
nies, under a sterner or more bigoted em- 
peror, would scarcely have escaped the 


* Euseb., Ecc. Hist., vi., 28. t Euseb., vi., 34. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


251 


severest animadversions of the govern- 
ment. Even under the present circum- 
stances, the danger of popular tumult 
would be with difficulty avoided or re- 
strained. Did patriotism and national 
pride incline the Roman Christians to 
make some sacrifice of their severer prin- 
ciples; to compromise for a time their 
rigid aversion to idolatry, which was thus 
connected with the peace and prosperity 
of the state? 

The persecution under Decius, both in 
extent and violence, is the most pecius, a.D. 
uncontested of those which the 249-251. 
ecclesiastical historians took pains to raise 
to the mystic number of the ten plagues of 
Egypt. It was almost the first measure 
of a reign which commenced in successful 
rebellion, and ended, after two years, in 
fatal defeat. The Goths delivered the 
Christians from their most formidable op- 
pressor, yet the Goths may have been 
the innocent authors of their calamities. 
The passions and the policy of the em- 
peror were concurrent motives for his 
hostility. ‘The Christians were now a rec- 
ognised body in the state; however care- 
fully they might avoid mingling in the po- 
litical factions of the empire, they were 
necessarily of the party of the emperor, 
whose favour they had enjoyed. His 
enemies became their enemies. Maxi- 
min persecuted those who had appeared at 
the court of Alexander Severus; Decius 
hated the adherents—as he supposed, the 
partisans—of the murdered Philip.* The 
Gothic war shook to the centre the edi- 
fice of Roman greatness. Roman pagan- 
ism discovered in the relaxed morals of 
the people one of the causes of the decline 
of the empire; it demanded the revival 
of the censorship. This indiscriminating 
feeling would mistake, in the blindness of 
aversion and jealousy, the great ouuses of 
silent corrective of the popular the Decian 
morality for one of the princi. Persecution, 
pal causes of depravation. The partial 
protection of a foreign religion by a -for- 
eign emperor (now that Christianity had 
begun to erect temple against temple, 
altar against altar, and the Christian bish- 
op met the pontiff on equal terms around 
the imperial throne) would be considered 
among the flagrant departures from the 
sound wisdom of ancient Rome. The 
descendant of the Decii, however his ob- 
scure Pannonian birth might cast a doubt 
on his hereditary dignity, was called upon 
to restore the religion as well as the man- 
ners of Rome to their ancient austere pu- 
rity ; to vindicate its insulted supremacy 


+ 


* Euseb., vi., 39. 


252 


from the rivalship of an Asiatic and mod- 
ern superstition. The persecution of De- 
cius endeavoured to purify Rome itself 
from the presence of these degenerate 
enemies to her prosperity. The Bishop 
Fabianus, Fabianus was one of the first vic- 
bishopor tims of his resentment; and the 
Rome. Christians did not venture to 
raise a successor to the obnoxious office 
during the brief reign of Decius. The 
example of the capital was followed in 
many of the great cities of the empire. 
In the turbulent and sanguinary Alexan- 
drea, the zeal of the populace outran that 
of the emperor, and had already com- 
menced a violent local persecution.* An- 
tioch lamented the loss of her bishop, 
Babylas, whose relics were afterward 
worshipped in what was still the volup- 
tuous grove of Daphne. Origen was ex- 
posed to cruel torments, but escaped with 
tS his life. But Christian enthusi- 
of Christian. 25M, by being disseminated over 
ity less a wider sphere, had naturally 
BEEBE - lost some of its first vigour. 
With many it was now an hereditary 
faith, not embraced by the ardent convic- 
tion of the individual, but instilled into the 
mind, with more or less depth, by Chris- 
tian education. ‘The Christian. writers 
now begin to deplore the failure of genu- 
ine Christian principles, and to trace the 
divine wrath in the affliction of the church- 
es. Instead of presenting, as it were, a 
narrow, but firm and unbroken front to the 
enemy, a much more numerous, but less 
united and less uniformly resolute force 
now marched under the banner of Christi- 
anity. Instead of the serene fortitude with 
which they formerly appeared before the 
tribunal of the magistrate, many now stood 
pale, trembling, and reluctant, neither 
ready to submit to the idolatrous ceremo- 
ny of sacrifice, nor prepared to resist even 
unto death. The fiery zeal of the African 
churches appears to have been most sub- 
ject to these paroxysms of weakness ;} 
it was there that the fallen, the Lapsi, 
formed a distinct and too numerous class, 
whose readmission into the privileges of 
the faithful became a subject of fierce con- 
troversy ;{ and the Libellatici, who had 
purchased a billet of immunity from the ra- 
pacious government, formed another par- 
ty, and were held in no less disrepute by 


* Euseb,, vi., 40, 41. 

{ Dionysius apud Eusebium, vi., 41. 

1 The severer opinion was called the heresy of 
Novatian ; charity and orthodoxy, on this occa- 
sion, concurred.—Euseb., vi., sub fin.; vii. 4, 5. 
Another controversy arose on the rebaptizing here- 
ties, in which Cyprian took the lead of the severer 
party.—Euseb., vii., 3. 


on 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


those who, inthe older spirit of the faith, 
had been ready or eager to obtain the 


crown of marae ν 
Carthage was disgraced by the criminal 


weakness even of some among her cler- - 


gy. A council was held to decide this 
difficult point, and the decisions of the 
council were tempered by moderation and 
humanity. None were perpetually and 
forever excluded from the pale of salva- 
tion; but they were absolved, according 
to the degree of criminality which might 
attach to their apostacy. Those who sac- 
rificed, the most awful and scarcely expia- 
ble offence, required long years of peni- 
tence and humility ; those who had only 
weakly compromised their faith by ob- 
taining or purchasing billets of exemption 
from persecution, were admitted to shorter 
and easier terms of reconciliation.* 
Valerian, who ascended the throne three 
years after the death of Decius, Valerian. 
had been chosen by Decius to re- A-D. 254. 
vive in his person the ancient and hon- 


ourable office of censor, and the general - 


admiration of his virtues had ratified the 
appointment of the emperor. It was no 
discredit to Christianity that the com- 
mencement of the censor’s reign, who 
may be supposed to have examined with 
more than ordinary care its influence on 
the public morals, was favourable to their 
cause. Their security was restored, and 
for a short time persecution ceased. The 
change which took place in the sentiments 


* The horror with which those who had sacri- 
ficed- were beheld by the more rigorous of their 
brethren may be conceived from the energetic lan- 
guage of Cyprian: Nonne quando ad Capitolium 
sponte ventum est, quando ultro ad obsequium diri 
facinoris accessum est, labavit gressus, caligavit as- 
pectus, tremuerunt viscera, brachia conciderunt? 
Nonne sensus obstupuit, lingua hesit, sermo defe 
cit?. . Nonne ara illa, quo moriturus accessit, ro- 
gus illi fuit? Nonne diaboli altare quod foetore 
tetro fumare et redolere conspexerat, velut funus et 
bustum vit# suz horrere, ac fugere debebat. . . Ipse 
ad aram hostia, victima ipse venisti. ImmolAsti 
illic salutem tuam, spem tuam, fidem tuam, funes- 
tis illis igmibus concremasti.—Cyprian, de Lapsis. 
Some died of remorse; with some the guilty food 
actedas poison. But the following was the most ex- 
traordinary occurrence, of which Cyprian declares 
himself to have been an eyewitness. An infant 
had been abandoned by its parents in their flight. 
The nurse carried it to the magistrate. Being too 
young to eat meat, bread steeped in wine offered in 
sacrifice was forced into its mouth. Immediately 
that it returned to the Christians, the child, which 
Could not speak, communicated the sense of its 
guilt by cries and convulsive agitations. It refused 
the sacrament (then administered to infants), closed 
its lips, and averted its face. The deacon forced it 
into its mouth. The consecrated wine would not 
remain in the contaminated body, but was cast up 
again. In what a high-wrought state of enthusi- 
asm must men have been who would relate and be- 
lieve such statements as miraculous ? 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 253 


or obscurity. Cyprian passed rapidly 
through the steps of Christian initiation, 
almost as rapidly through the first grada- 
tions of the clerical order. On the vacan- 
cy of the bishopric of Carthage, his reluc- 
tant diffidence was overpowered by the 
acclamations of the whole city, who en- 
vironed his house, and compelled him, by 
their friendly violence, to assume the dis- 
tinguished, and, it might be, dangerous 
office. He yielded to preserve the peace 
of the city.* 

Cyprian entertained the loftiest notions 
of the episcopal authority. The severe 
and inviolable unity of the outward and 
visible Church appeared to him an inte- 
gral part of Christianity, and the rigid 
discipline enforced by the episcopal ordei 
the only means of maintaining that unity. 
The pale which enclosed the Church from 
the rest of mankind was drawn with the 
most relentless precision. It was the ark, 
and all without it were left to perish in the 
unsparing deluge.t The growth of he- 
retical discord or disobedience was inex- 
piable, even by the blood of the trans- 
gressor. He might bear the flames with . 
equanimity ; he might submit to be torn 
to pieces by wild beasts: there could be 
no martyr without the Church. Tortures 
and death bestowed not the crown of im- 
mortality; they were but the just retribu- 
tion of treason to the faith.f 

The fearful times which arose during 
his episcopate tried these stern and lofty 
principles, as the questions which arose 
out of the Decian persecutions did his 
judgment and moderation. Cyprian, who 
embraced without hesitation the severer 
opinion with regard to the rebaptizing her- 
etics, notwithstanding his awful horror of 
the guilt of apostacy, acquiesced in, if he 
did not dictate, the more temperate decis- 
ions of the Carthaginian synod concern- 
ing those whose weakness had betrayed 
them either into the public denial or a 
timid dissimulation of the faith. 

The first rumour of persecution desig- 


and cond of Valerian is attributed to 
the influence of a man deeply versed in 
magical arts.* The censor was enslaved 
by a superstition which the older Romans 
would have beheld with little less abhor- 
rence than Christianity itself. It must be 
admitted that Christian superstition was 
too much inclined to encroach upon the 
province of Oriental magic ; and, the more 
the older Polytheism decayed, the more 
closely it allied itself with this powerful 
agent in commanding the fears of man. 
The adepts in those dark and forbidden 
sciences were probably more influential 
opponents of Christianity with all classes, 
from the emperor, who eniployed their 
mystic arts to inquire into the secrets of 
futurity, to the peasant, who shuddered at 
their power, than the ancient and establish- 
ed priesthood. 

Macrianus is reported to have obtained 
such complete mastery over the mind of 
Valerian as to induce him to engage in the 
most guilty mysteries of magic, to trace 
the fate of the empire in the entrails of hu- 
man victims. The edict against 
the Christians, suggested by the 
animosity of Macrianus, allowed the com- 
munity to remain in undisturbed impuni- 
ty, but subjected all the bishops who re- 
fused to conform, to the penalty of death, 
and seized all the endowments of their 
churches into the public treasury. 

The dignity of one of its victims con- 
Cyprian, ferred a melancholy celebrity on 
bishop of the persecution of Valerian. ‘The 
Carthage. most distinguished prelate at this 
time in Western Christendom was Cyp- 
rian, bishop of Carthage. If not of hon- 
ourable birth or descent, for this appears 
doubtful, his talents had raised him to 
eminence and wealth. He taught rhet- 
oric at Carthage, and, either by this hon- 
ourable occupation or by some other 
means, had acquired an ample fortune. 
Cyprian was advanced in life when he em- 
braced the doctrines of Christianity ; but 
he entered on his new career, if with the 
mature reason of age, with the ardour and 
freshness of youth. His wealth was de- 
voted to pious and charitable uses; his 
rhetorical studies, if they gave clearness 
and order to his language, by no means 
chilled its fervour or constrained its vehe- 
mence. He had the African temperament 
of character, and, if it may be so said, of 
style; the warmth, the power of commu- 
nicating its impassioned sentiments to the 
_ reader; perhaps not all the pregnant con- 
ciseness nor all the energy of 'lertullian, 
but, at the same time, little of his rudeness 


A.D. 257. 


* Epist. xiv. : 

+ Si potuit evadere quisquam, qui extra arcam 
Noe fuit, et qui extra ecclesiam foris fuerit, evadit. 
—Cyprian, de Unitate Ecclesie. 

1 Esse martyr non potest, qui in ecclesia non est. 

Ardeant licet flainmis et ignibus traditi, vel ob- 
jecti bestiis animas suas ponant, non erit illa’fidei 
corona, sed peena perfidie, nec religiose virtutis ex~ 
itus gloriosus, sed desperationis interitus.— De 
Unit. Eccles. é 

Et tamen neque hoc baptisma (sangutnis) hereti- 
co prodest, quamvis Christum confessus, et extra 
ecclesiam fuerit occisus.— Epist. Ixxiii. 

‘Though I give my body to be burned, and have 
not charity, it profiteth me nothing.”—1 Cor., xiil., 

Is there no difference between the spirit of St. 


* Euseb., vii., 10. Paul and of Cyprian? 


4 


7 


254 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


nated the Bishop of Carthage for its vic- 
tim. ‘“ Cyprian to the lions!” was the loud 
and unanimous outcry of infuriated pagan- 
ism. Cyprian withdrew from the storm, 
not, ahs subsequent courageous beha- 
viour showed, from timidity—but neither 
approving that useless and sometimes Os- 
tentatious prodigality of life, which be- 
trayed more pride than humble acqui- 
escence in the Divine will—possibly from 
the truly charitable reluctance to tempt his 
enemies to an irretrievable crime. He 
withdrew to some quiet and secure retreat, 
from which he wrote animating and con- 
solatory letters to those who had not been 
so prudent or so fortunate as. to escape 
the persecution. His letters describe the 
relentless barbarity with which the Chris- 
tians were treated; they are an authentic 
and contemporary statement of the suffer- 
ings which the Christians endured in de- 
fence of their faith. If highly coloured by 
the generous and tender sympathies, or by 
the ardent eloquence of Cyprian, they have 
nothing of legendary extravagance. ‘The 
utmost art was exercised to render bodily 
suffering more acute and intense; it was 
a continued strife between the obstinacy 
and inventive cruelty of the tormentors 
and the patience of the victim.* During 
the reign of Decius, which appears to have 
been one continued persecution, Cyprian 
stood aloof in his undisturbed retreat. He 
returned to Carthage probably on the com- 
mencement,of Valerian’s reign, and had a 
splendid opportunity of Christian revenge 
upon the city which had thirsted for his 
blood. A plague ravaged the whole Ro- 
Plague in Mian world, and its most destruc- 
Carthage. tive violence thinned the streets 
of Carthage. It went spreading on from 
house to house, especially those of the 
lower orders, with awful regularity. The 
streets were strewn with the bodies of the 
dead and dying, who vainly appealed to the 
laws of nature and humanity for that as- 
sistance of which those who passed them 
by might soon stand inneed. General dis- 
trust spread through society. Men avoid- 
ed or exposed their nearest relatives; as 
if, by excluding the dying, they could ex- 
clude death.t No one, says the deacon 


ἃ, Toleratis usque ad consummationen gloriz du- 
rissimam questionem, nec cessis:is suppliciis, sed 
yobis potius supplicia cesserunt. 

Steterunt tuti torquentibus fortiores, et pulsantes 
et laniantes ungulas pulsata ac laniata membra 
vicerunt. Inexpugnabilem fidem superare non po- 
tuit seviens diu plaga repetita quamvis rupta com- 
page viscerum ; torquerentur in servis Dei jam non 
membra, sed vulnera —Cyprian, Epist. viii. ad Mar- 
tyres Compare Fpist. Ixti. 

+ Pontius, in Vita Cypriani. “Horrere omnes, fu- 
gere, vitare contagium ; exponere suosimpie ; quasi 


‘enemies. 


ὌΝ" 
Pontius, writing of the population of Gar- 
thage in general, did as he would be done | 
by. Cyprian addressed the Christians in 
the most earnest and effective A.D. 955, 
language. He exhorted them to Conduct of 
show the sincerity of their be- rr τὰ 
lief in the doctrines oftheir mas- tians. 
ter, not by confining their acts of kindli- 
ness to their own brotherhood, but by 
extending them indiscriminately to their 
The city was divided into dis- 
tricts ; offices were assigned >to all the 
Christians ; the rich lavished their wealth, 
the poor their personal exertions; and 
men, perhaps just emerged from the mine 
or the prison, with the scars or the muti- 
lations of their recent tortures upon their 
bodies, were seen exposing their lives, if 
possible, to a more honourable martyr- 
dom; as before the voluntary victims of 
Christian faith, so now of Christian char- 
ity. Yet the heathen party, instead of 
being subdued, persisted in attributing this 
terrible scourge to the impiety of the 
Christians, which provoked the angry 
gods; nor can we wonder if the zeal of 
Cyprian retorted the argument, and traced 
rather the retributive justice of the Al- 
mighty for the wanton persecutions in- 
flicted on the unoffending Christians. 

Cyprian did not again withdraw on the 
commencement of the Valerian cyprian’s 
persecution. He was summoned retreat. 
before the proconsul, who communicated 
his instructions from the emperor, to com- 
pel all those who professed foreign reli-— 
gions to offer sacrifice. Cyprian refused | 
with tranquil determination. He was ban- % 
ished from Carthage. Heremainedinhis — 
pleasant retreat rather than place of exile, — 
in the small town of Ceribis, near the sea- _ 
shore, in a spot shaded with verdant — 
groves, and with a clear and healthful 
stream of water. It was provided with 
every comfort and even luxury in which | 
the austere nature of Cyprian would per- 
mit itself to indulge.* But when his hour — ᾿ 
came, the tranquil and collected dignity 
of Cyprian in no respect fell below his 
lofty principles. . 

On the accession of a new proconsul, 
Galerius Maximus, Cyprian was Returto 
either recalled or permitted to re- Carthage. ; 
turn from his exile. He resided in his “ 


. 


own gardens, from whence he received a _ 
summons to appear before the proconsul. — 
mie eruaerieen ἀρ ας ee aS ee ea 
cum illo peste morituro, etiam mortem ipsam ali- 
quis posset excludere. τῇ ἢ τῷ 

* If” says Pontius, who visited his master in 
his retirement, ‘instead of this sunny and agree- 
able spot, it had been a waste and rocky solitude, 
the angels which fed Elijah and Daniel would have . 
ministered to the holy Cyprian.” 


* ἢ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


He would not listen to the earnest solici- 
tations of his friends, who entreated him 
again to consult his safety by withdraw- 
ing to some place of concealment. His 
trial was postponed for a day; he was 
treated while in custody with respect and 
even delicacy. But the intelligence of the 
apprehension of Cyprian drew together 
the whole city: the heathen, eager to be- 
hold the spectacle of his martyrdom ; the 
Christians, to watch in their affectionate 
zeal at the doors of ‘his prison. In the 
morning he had to walk some distance, 
and was violently heated by the exertion. 
A Christian soldier offered to procure him 
dry linen, apparently from mere courtesy, 
but in reality to obtain such precious relics, 
steeped in the “ bloody sweat” of the mar- 
tyr. Cyprian intimated that it was useless 
to seek remedy for inconveniences which 
perhaps that day would pass away for- 
ever. After a short delay the proconsul 
appeared. The examination was brief: 
“Art thou Thascius Cyprian, the bishop 
of so many impious men? ‘The most sa- 
ered emperor commands thee to sacrifice.” 
Cyprian answered, “I will not sacrifice.” 


_* Consider well,” rejoined the proconsul. 


“ Execute your orders,” answered Cypri- 
an; “ the case admits of no consideration.” 

Galerius consulted ‘with his council, and 
then reluctantly* delivered his sentence. 
“Thascius Cyprian, thou hast lived long 
in thy impiety, and assembled around thee 
many men involved in the same wicked 


- conspiracy. Thou hast shown thyself an 


enemy alike to the gods and the laws of 
the empire ; the pious and sacred emperors 
have in vain endeavoured to recall thee to 


᾿ς the worship of thy ancestors. Since, then, 


thou hast been the chief author and leader 
of these most guilty practices, thou shalt 
be an example to those whom thou hast 
deluded to thy unlawful assemblies, Thou 
must expiate thy crime with thy blood.” 
Cyprian said, “ God be thanked.”t The 
Bishop of Carthage was carried into a 
neighbouring field and beheaded. He 
maintained his serene composure to the 
last. It was rémarkable that but a 
few days afterward the proconsul died. 
Though he had been in bad health, this 
circumstance was not likely to be lost 


upon the Christians. 


Δ." 


᾿ 


τ In the Acta, vix wgré is the expression ; it may 
however, mean that he spoke with difficulty, on ac- 


count of his bad health. 


4 + { have translated this sentence, as the Acts of 


Cyprian are remarkable for their simplicity and 
total absence of later legendary ornament ; and par- 
ticularly for the circumstantial air of truth with 
which they do justice to the regularity of the whole 
proceeding. Compare the Life of Cyprian by the 


255 


Everywhere, indeed, the public mind 
was no doubt strongly impress- Miserable 
ed with the remarkable fact, death of the 
which the Christians would lose Prapeuors. 
no opportunity of enforcing on. ity. 
the awe-struck attention, that their ene- 
mies appeared to be the enemies of Heay- 
en. An early and a fearful fate appeared 
to be the inevitable lot of the persecutors 
of Christianity. Their profound and ear- 
nest conviction that the hand of Divine 
Providence was perpetually and visibly 
interposing in the affairs of men, would 
not be so deeply imbued with the spirit 
of their Divine Master as to suppress the 
language of triumph, or even of vengeance, 
when the enemies of their God and of them- 
selves either suffered defeat and death, or, 
worse than an honourable death, a cruel 
and insulting captivity. The death of 
Decius, according to’ the pagan account, 
was worthy of the old republic. He was 
environed by the Goths; his son was kill- 
ed by an arrow; he cried aloud that the 
loss of a single soldier was nothing to the 
glory of the empire ; he renewed the bat- 
tle, and fell valiantly. The Christian wri- 
ters strip away all the more ennobling in- 
cidents. According to their account, hav- 
ing been decoyed by the enemy, or misled 
by a treacherous friend, into a marsh where 
he could neither fight nor fly, he perished 
tamely, and his unburied body was left to 
the beasts and carrion fowls.* The eap- 
tivity of Valerian, the mystery which hung 
over his death, allowed ample scope to the 
imagination of those whose national hatred 
of the barbarians would attribute the most 
unmanly ferocity to the Persian conquer- 
or, and of those who would consider their 
God exalted by the most cruel and deba- 
sing sufferings inflicted on the oppressor of 
the Church. Valerian, it was said, was 
forced to bend his back, that the proud 
conqueror might mount his horse as from 
a footstool; his skin was flayed off, ac- 
cording to one more modern account, while 
he was alive, stuffed, and exposed to the 
mockery of the Persian rabble. 

The luxurious and versatile Gallienus 
restored peace to the Church. The gapienus 
edict of Valerian was rescinded ; alone. 
the bishops resumed their public Δ." 76 
functions; the buildings were restored, 
and their property, which had been con- 
fiscated by the state, restored to the right- 
ful owners. f 

The last transient collision of Christian- 
ity with the government before its final con- 


Deacon Pontius; the Acts, in Ruinart, p. 216; 
Cave’s Lives of the Apostles, &c., art, Cyprian. 

. * Orat, Constant. ajgud Euseb., c. xxiv. Lac- 
tant., de Mort. Persec { Euseb., vii., 13; x., 23. 


Fin 


256 


Aurelian, flict under Dioclesian, took place, 

A.D.27i- or was at least threatened, du- 
213. ring the administration of the great 
Aurelian. The reign of Aurelian, occupied 
by warlike campaigns in every part of the 
world, left little time for attention to the 
internal police or the religious interests 
of the empire. The mother of Aurelian 
was priestess of the sun at Sirmium, and 
the emperor built a temple to that deity, 
his intairy god, at Rome. But the dan- 
gerous wars of Aurelian required the con- 
current aid of all the deities who. took an 
interest in the fate of Rome. The sa- 
cred ceremony of consulting the Sibylline 
books, in whose secret and mysterious 
leaves were written the destinies of Rome, 
took place at his command. The severe 
emperor reproaches the senate for their 
want of faith in these mystic volumes, or 
of zeal in the public: service, as though 
they had been infected by the principles 
of Christianity. 

But no hostile measures were taken 
against Christianity in the early part. of 
his reign; and he was summoned to take 
upon himself the extraordinary office of ar- 
biter in a Christian controversy. A new 
empire seemed rising in the Kast, under 
the warlike Queen of Palmyra. Zenobia 
extended her protection, with politic indif- 
ference, to Jew, to pagan, and to Chris- 
tian. It might almost appear that a kin- 
dred spiritual ambition animated her fa- 
Paulof vourite, Paul of Samosata, the 
Samosata. bishop of Antioch, and that he as- 
pired to found a new religion, adapted to 
the kingdom of Palmyra, by blending to- 
gether the elements of paganism, of Juda- 
ism, and of Christianity. Ambitious, dis- 
solute, and rapacious, according to the rep- 
resentations of his adversaries, Paul of 
Samosata had been advanced to the im- 
portant see Of Antioch; but the zealous 
vigilance of the neighbouring bishops soon 
discovered that Paul held opinions, as to 
the mere human nature of the Saviour, 
more nearly allied to Judaism than-to the 
Christian creed. The pride, the wealth, 
the state of Paul no less offended the feel- 
ings, and put to shame the more modest 
demeanour and humbler pretensions of 
former prelates. He had obtained, either 
from the Roman authorities or from Ze- 
nobia, a civil magistracy, and prided him- 
self more on his title of ducenary than of 
Christian bishop. He passed through the 
streets environed by guards, and preceded 

~and followed by multitudes of attendants 
and supplicants, whose petitions he receiv- 
ed and read with the stately bearing of a 
public officer rather than the affability of a 
prelate. His conduct in the ecclesiastical 


Ce 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


- 


assemblies was equally overbearing: he 
sat on a throne, and while he indulged him- 
self in every kind of theatric gesture, re- 


sented the silence of those who did not. 


receive him with applause or pay homage 
to his dignity. His magnificence disturb- 
ed the modest solemnity of the ordinary 
worship. Instead of the simpler music of 
the church, the hymns, in which the voices 
of the worshippers mingled in fervent, if 
less harmonious unison, Paul organized a 
regular choir, in which the soft tones of 
female voices, in their more melting and 
artificial cadences, sometimes called to 
mind the voluptuous rites of paganism, 
and could not bé heard without shuddering 
by those accustomed to the more unadorn- 
ed ritual.* The Hosannas, sometimes in- 
troduced as a kind of salutation to the bish- 
op, became, it was said, the chief part of 
the service, which was rather to the glory 
of Paul than of the Lord. This introduc- 
tion of a new and effeminate ceremonial 
would of itself, with its: rigid adversaries, 
have formed a ground for the charge of 
dissolute morals, against which may be 
fairly urged the avowed patronage’ of the 
severe Zenobia.{ But the pomp of Paul’s 
expenditure did not interfere with the ac- 
cumulation of considerable wealth, which 
he extorted from the timid zeal of his par- 
tisans, and, it was said, by the venal ad- 
ministration of the judicial authority of his 
episcopate, perhaps of his civil magistra- 
cy. But Paul by no means stood alone; 
he had a powerful party among the ec- 
clesiastical body, the chorepiscopi of the 
country districts, and the presbyters of the 
city. He setat defiance the synod of bish- 
ops, who. pronounced a solemn sentence 
of excommunication :} and, seeure under 
the protection of the Queen of Palmyra, 


J 


“ 


if her ambition should succeed in wresting ἣν 


Syria, with its noble capital, from the pow- 
er of Rome, and in maintaining her strong 
and influential position between the con- 
flicting powers.of Persia and the empire, 
Paul might hope to share in her triumph, 
and establish his degenerate but splendid 
form of Christianity in the very seat of its 
primitive apostolic foundation. Paul had 


a 


staked his success upon that of his war- — 


like patroness ;. and, on the fall of Zenob ae 
the bishops appealed to Aurelian to expel _ 


the rebel against their authority, and the 
partisan of the Palmyrenes, who had taken 
arms against the majesty of the empire, 


* τῶν καὶ ἄκουσας av τις φρίξειεν. Such is the ex- 
pression in the decree of excommunication issued 
by the bishops —Enseb., vit, 30. 

+ Compare Routh, Relig. Sacr., ii, 505. 


1 See the sentence in Eusebius, vii., 30, and in ᾿ 


Routh, Reliquiz Sacra, il., 465, et seq. ὙΔ 


» 


> 


ἃ 


aw τὰν ; τῇ 7] * 


¢ 
ε 


- 


7 


ἥν), - 
a 2 


from his episcopal dignity at Antioch. Au- 


relian did not altogether refuse to interfere 
in this unprecedented cause, but, with laud- 
able impartiality, declined any actual cog- 


“ nizance of the affair, and transferred the 
sentence from the personal enemies of 
Paul, the bishops of Syria, to those of 


Rome and Italy. By their sentence Paul 
was degraded from his episcopate. 

The sentiments of Aurelian changed to- 
wards Christianity near the close of his 
reign. ‘The severity of his character, reck- 
less of human blood, would not, if com- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


» 
257 


oo WA ' 
mitted in the strife, have hesitated at any 
measures to subdue the rebellious spirit of 
his subjects. Sanguinary edicts were is- 
sued, though his death prevented their gen- 
eral promulgation ; and in the fate of Aure- 
lian the Christians discovered another in- 
stance of the Divine vengeance, which ap- 
peared to mark their enemies with the 
sign of inevitable and appalling destruc- 
tion. , 

Till the reign of Dioclesian, the church- 
es reposed in undisturbed but enervating 
security. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE PERSECUTION 


Tue final contest between paganism and 
A.D. 994, Christianity drew near. Almost 
three hundred years had elapsed 

since the Divine Author of the new re- 
ligion had entered upon his mortal life in 
a small village in Palestine ;* and now, 
having gained so powerful an ascendancy 
over the civilized world, the Gospel was 
to undergo its last and most trying ordeal 
before it should assume the reins of em- 
pire and become the established religion 
of the Roman world. It was to sustain 
the deliberate and systematic attack of 
the temporal authority, arming in almost 
every part of the empire, in defence of the 
ancient Polytheism. At this crisis it is 
Peace of the Important to survey the state of 
Chrisuans. Christianity, as well as the char- 
acter of the sovereign, and of the govern- 
ment which made this ultimate and most 
vigorous attempt to suppress the triumph- 
ant progress of the new faith. The last 
fifty years, with a short interval of men- 
aced, probably of actual, persecution du- 
ring the reign of Aurelian, had passed in 
Ὁ peace and security. The Christians had 
become, not merely a public, but an impo- 
_ sing and influential body; their separate 
existence had been recognised by the law 


»* of Gallienus ; their churches had arisen in 
~ most of the cities of the empire; as yet, 


. ably with no great pretensions to ar- 
_chitectural grandeur, though no doubt or- 
namented by the liberality of the worship- 
pers, and furnished with vestments and 
chalices, lamps, and chandeliers of silver. 
The number of these buildings was con- 
stantly on the increase, or the crowding 


* Dioclesian began his reign A.D. 284. The 
commencement of the persecution is dated A.D. 


Kx 


UNDER DIOCLESIAN. 


, ᾿ 

multitudes of proselytes demanded the ex- 
tension of the narrow and humble walls. 
The Christians no longer declined or re- 
fused to aspire to the honours of the state. 
They filled offices of distinction, and even 
of supreme authority, in the provinces and 
in the army; they were exempted, either 
by tacit connivance or direct indulgence, 
from the accustomed sacrifices. Progress of 
Among the more immediate at- Christianity. 
tendants on the emperor, two or three 
openly professed the Christian faith ; Pris- 
ca, the wife, and Valeria, the daughter of 
Dioclesian and the wife of Galerius, were 
suspected, if not avowed, partakers in the 
Christian mysteries.* If it be impossible 
to form the most remote approximation 
to their relative numbers with that of the 
pagan population, it is equally erroneous 
to estimate their strength and influence 
by numerical calculation. All political 
changes are wrought by a compact, organ- 
ized, and disciplined minority. The mass 
of mankind are shown by experience, and 
appear fated by the constitution of our 
nature, to follow any vigorous impulse 
from a determined and incessantly aggress- 
ive few. 

The long period of prosperity had pro- 
duced in the Christian communi- 
ty its usual consequences, some 
relaxation of morals : but Chris- 
tian charity had probably suf- or christian 
fered more than Christian puri- charity. 
ty. The more flourishing and extensive 
the community, the more the pride, perhaps 
the temporal advantages of superiority, 
predominated over the Christian motives 
which led men to aspire to the supreme 
functions inthe Church. Sacerdotal dom- 


Relaxation 
of Christian 
morals. 


* Euseb., Eccl. Hist., viii., 1. 


eo 


# 
ve 


208 wy 
ination began to exercise its awful pow- 
ers, and the bishop to assume the lan- 
guage and the authority of the vicegerent 
of God. Feuds distracted the bosom of 
the peaceful communities, and disputes 
sometimes proceeded to open violence. 
Such is the melancholy confession of the 
Christians themselves, who, according to 
the spirit of the times, considered the dan- 
gers and the afflictions to which they were 
exposed in the light of Divine judgments ; 
and deplored, perhaps with something of 
the exaggeration of religious humiliation, 
the visible decay of holiness and peace.* 
But it is the strongest proof of the firm 
hold of a party, whether religious or po- 
litical, upon the public mind, when it may 
offend with impunity against its own pri- 
mary principles. ‘That which at one time 
is a sign of incurable weakness or ap- 
proaching dissolution, at another seems 
but the excess of healthful energy and the 
evidence of unbroken vigour. 

The acts of Dioclesian are the only 
trustworthy history of his char- 
acter. ‘The son of a slave, or, 
at all events, born of obscure and doubtful 
parentage, who could force his way to 
sovereign power, conceive and accomplish 
the design of reconstructing the whole 
empire, must have been a man at least 
of strong political courage, of profound, if 


Dioclesian. 


‘not always wise and statesmanlike views. 


In the person of Dioclesian the emperor 
of Rome became an Oriental monarch. 
The old republican forms were disdainful- 
iy cast aside; consuls and tribunes gave 
way to new officers with adulatory and 
un-Roman appellations. Dioclesian him- 
self assumed the new title of Dominus or 
‘Lord, which gave offence even to the ser- 
vile and flexible religion of his pagan sub- 
jects, who reluctantly, at first, paid the 
homage of adoration to the master of the 
world. 

Nor was the ambition of Dioclesian of 
Change in 2 Narrow or personal character. 
the state of With the pomp he did not affect 
‘the empire. the solitude of an Eastern des- 
pot. The necessity of the state appeared 
to demand the active and perpetual pres- 
ence of more than one person invested in 
sovereign authority, who might organize 
the decaying forces of the different divis- 
ions of the empire against the menacing 
hosts of barbarians on every frontier. 
Two Augusti and two Cesars shared the 
dignity and the cares of the public admin- 
istration :Ὁ a ‘measure, if expedient for the 


* Euseb., Eccl. Hist., viii., 1. 

+ In the Leben Constantins des Grossen, by Man- 
80, there is a good discussion on the autnority and 
relative position of the Augusti and the Cesars. 


‘i | HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ῷ 


᾿: 


security, fatal to the prosperity of the ex- 
hausted provinces, which found themselves 
burdened with the maintenance of four im- 
perial establishments. A new system of 
taxation was imperatively demanded and 
relentlessly introduced,* while the emper 
or seemed to mock the bitter and ill-sup- 
pressed murmurs of the provinces by his 
lavish expenditure in magnificent and or- 
namental buildings. That was attributed 
to the avarice of Dioclesian which arose 
out of the change in the form of govern- 
ment, and in some degree out of his sump- 
tuous taste in that particular department, 
the embellishment, not of Rome only, but 
of the chief cities of the empire: Milan, 
Carthage, and Nicomedia. At one time 
the all-pervading government aspired, af- 
ter a season of scarcity, to regulate the 
prices of all commodities, and of all inter- 
change, whether of labour or of bargain 
and sale, between man and man. ‘This 
singular and gigantic effort of well-meant 
but mistaken despotism has come to light 
in the present day.t 

_ Among the innovations introduced by 
Dioclesian, none, perhaps, was Neglect of 
more closely connected with the Rome. 
interests of Christianity than the virtual 
degradation of Rome from the capital of 
the empire, by the constant residence of 
the emperor in other cities. Though the 
old metropclis was not altogether neglect- 
ed in the lavish expenditure of the public 
wealth upon new edifices, either for the 
convenience of the people or the splendour 
of public solemnities, yet a larger share 
fell to the lot of other towns, particularly 
of Nicomedia.{ In this city the emperor 
more frequently displayed the new state 
of his imperial court, while Rome was 
rarely honoured by his presence ; nor was__ 
his retreat, when wearied with political 
strife, on the Campanian coast, in the Bay 
of Baiw, which the older Romans had girt 
with their splendid seats of retirement and 
luxury ; it was on the Illyrian and barba- 
rous side of the Adriatic that the palace 
of Dioclesian arose, and his agricultural 
establishment spread its narrow belt of 
fertility. The removal of the seat of gov- 
ernment more clearly discovered the mag- 
nitude of the danger to the existing insti- 
tutions from the progress of Christianity. 
The East was no doubt more fully peo- 


* The extension of the rights of citizenship to 
the whole empire by Caracalla made it impossible 
to maintain the exemptions and immunities which 
that privilege had thus lavishly conferred. 

+ Edict of Dioclesian, published and illustrated 
by Col. Leake. It is alluded to in the Treatise de 
Mortibus Persecut., c. vii. : 

1 Ita semper dementabat, Nicomediam studens 
urbi Rome coequare.—De Mort. Persecut., c. 7. 


᾿ 


ἐ 


om νι. ὟΝ 


% 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 


pled with Christians than any part of the 
Western world, unless, perhaps, the prov- 
ince of Africa; at all events, their relative 
rank, wealth, and importance much more 
nearly balanced that of the adherents of 
the old Polytheism.* In Rome the an- 
cient majesty of the national religion must 
still have kept down in comparative ob- 
scurity the aspiring rivalry of Christianity. 
The pretor still made way for the pontifi- 
cal order, and submitted his fasces to the 
vestal virgin, while the Christian bishop 
pursued his humble and unmarked way. 
The modest church or churches of the 
Christians lay hid, no doubt in some se- 
questered street or in the obscure Trans- 
teverine region, and did not venture to con- 
trast themselves with the stately temples 
on which the ruling people of the world 
and the sovereigns of mankind had for 
ages lavished their treasures. However 
the Church of the metropolis of the world 
might maintain a high rank in Christian 
estimation, might boast its antiquity, its 
apostolic origin, or, at least, of being the 
scene of apostolic martyrdom, and might 
number many distinguished proselytes in 
all ranks, even in the imperial court, still 
paganism, in this stronghold of its most 
gorgeous pomp, its hereditary sanctity, its 
intimate connexion with all the institu- 
tions, and its incorporation with the whole 
ceremonial of public affairs, in Rome 
must have maintained at least its outward 
supremacy. But, incomparison with the 


* Tertullian, Apolog., c. 37. Mr. Coneybeare 
(Bampton Lectures, page 345) has drawn a curious 
inference from a passage in this chapter of Tertul- 
lian, that the majority of those who had a right of 
citizenship in those cities had embraced the Chris- 
tian faith, while the mobs were its most furious op- 
ponents. Itappears unquestionable that the strength 
of Christianity lay in the middle, perhaps the mer- 
cantile, classes. The last two books of the Paida- 
gogos of Clement of Alexandrea, the most copious 
authority for Christian manners at that time, in- 
veighs against the vices of an opulent and luxurious 
community, splendid dresses, jewels, gold and sil- 
ver vessels, rich banquets, gilded litters and char- 
jots, and private baths. The ladies kept Indian 
birds, Median peacocks, monkeys, and Maltese dogs, 
instead of maintaining widows and orphans; the 
men had multitudes of slaves. The sixth chapter 
of the third book, “that the Christian alone is 
rich,” would have been unmeaning if addressed to 
a poor community. 

+ In a letter of Cornelius, bishop of Rome, writ- 
ten during or soon after the reign of Decius, the 
ministerial establishment of the Church of Romeis 
thus stated: One bishop, forty-six presbyters, seven 
deacons, seven subdeacons, forty-two acolyths or 
attendants, fifty-two exorcists, readers, and door- 
keepers, fifteen hundred widows and poor.—Euseb., 
vi., 43. 

Optatus, lib. ii., states that there were more than 
forty churches in Rome at the time of the persecu- 
tion of Dioclesian. It has been usual to calculate 
one church for each presbyter, which would sup- 


~ A 


᾿ 


* 
259 


less imposing dignity of the municipal gov- 
ernment or the local priesthood, the Bish- 
op of Antioch or N icomedia was a far 
greater person than the predecessor of the 
popes among the consulars and the senate, 


the hereditary aristocracy of the old Ro- 


man families, or the ministers of the ru- 
ling emperor. In Nicomedia the Chris- 
tian Church, an edifice at least of consid- 
erable strength and solidity, stood on an 
eminence commanding the town, and con- 
spicuous above the palace of the sover- 
elgn. 

‘Disclose might seem born to accom- 
plish that revolution which took place 
so soon after, under the reign of Constan- 
tine. The new constitution of the empire 
might appear to require a reconstruction 
of the religious system. ‘The emperor, 
who had not scrupled to accommodate the 
form of the government, without respect 
to the ancient majesty of Rome, to the 
present position of affairs ; to degrade the 
capital itself into the rank of a provincial 
city ; and to prepare the way, at least. for 
the renioval of the seat of government to 
the East, would have been withheld by no 
scruples of veneration for ancient rites or 
ancestral ceremonies if the establishment 
of a new religion had appeared to harmo- 
nize with his general policy. But his mind 
was not yet ripe for such ἃ Religion of 
change, nor perhaps his knowl- Dioclesian. 
edge of Christianity, and its profound and 
unseen influence, sufficiently extensive. 
In his assumption of the title Jovius, while 
his colleague took that of Herculius, Dio- 
clesian gave a public pledge of his attach- 
ment to the old Polytheism. Among the 
cares of his administration, he by no means 
neglected the purification of the ancient 
religions.* In paganism itself, that silent 
but manifest change, of which New pagan- 
we have already noticed the ‘sm. 
commencement, had been creeping on. 
The new philosophic Polytheism which 
Julian attempted to establish on the ruins 
of Christianity was still endeavouring to 
supersede the older poetic faith of the hea- 
then nations. It had not even yet come 
to sufficient maturity to offer itself as a 
formidable antagonist to the religion of 
Christ.. This new paganism, as we have 
observed, arose out of the alliance of the 
philosophy and the religion of the old 
world. These once implacable adversa- 
ries had reconciled their difference and 


pose a falling off, at least no increase, during the 
interval. But some of the presbyters reckoned by 
Cornelius may have been superannuated or in pris- 
on, and their place supplied by others. 

* Veterrime religiones castissimé curate. —Au- 
rel. Vict. de Cesar. 


ὌὍΨ. 


᾿ > 
x: 


ad 
“ 


. 2 
260 oo 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


coalesced against the common enemy. | dered, according to the notions of the times, 
Christianity itself had no slight influence | such imperfect allegiance to the sovereign 


upon the formation of the new system; 


ἣν and now an Eastern element, more and | Dioclesian; 
᾿ more strongly dominant, mingled with the 


whole, and lent it, as it were, a visible ob- 
ject of worship. From Christianity the 
new paganism had adopted the unity of 
the Deity, and scrupled not to degrade 
all the gods of the older world into subor- 
dinate demons or ministers. The Chris- 
Worship of tians had incautiously held the 
the sun. same language: both concurred 
in the name of demons; but the pagans 
used the phrase in the Platonic sense, as 
good but subordinate spirits, while the 
Same term spoke to the Christian ear as 
expressive of malignant and diabolic agen- 
cy. But the Jupiter Optimus Maximus was 
not the great supreme of the new system. 
The universal deity of the East, the Sun, 
to the philosophic was the emblem or rep- 
resentative, to the vulgar the Deity. Di- 
oclesian himself, though he paid so much 
deference to the older faith as to assume 
the title of Jovius, as belonging to the Lord 
of the world, yet on his accession, when 
he would exculpate himself from all con- 
cern in the murder of his predecessor Nu- 
merian, he appealed in the face of the ar- 
my to the all-seeing deity of the sun. It 
is the oracle of Apollo of Miletus, consult- 
ed by the hesitating emperor, which is to 
decide the fate of Christianity. ‘The met- 
aphorical language of Christianity had un- 
consciously lent strength to this new ad- 
versary ; and, in adoring the visible orb, 
some no doubt supposed that they were 
not departing far from the worship of the 
“Sun of Righteousness.’* 

But though it might enter into the im- 
agination of an imperious and powerful 
Sovereign to fuse together all these con- 
flicting faiths, the new paganism was be- 
ginning to advance itself as the open and 
most dangerous adversary of the religion 
of Christ. Hierocles, the great hiero- 
phant of the Platonic paganism, is dis- 


tinctly named as the author of the perse- | 


cution under Dioclesian.+ 

Thus, then, an irresistible combination 
of circumstances tended to precipitate the 
fatal crisis. The whole political scheme 


_ of Dioclesian was incomplete, unless some 


distinct and decided course was taken with 
these self-governed corporations, who ren- 


* Hermogenes, one of the older heresiarchs, ap- 
plied the text, “he has placed his tabernacle in the 
sun,” to Christ, and asserted that Christ had put off 
his body in the sun.—Pantznus apud Routh, Reli- 
quiz Sacre, i., 339. 

t Another philosophic writer published a work 
against the Christians.—See Fleury, p. 452, from 
Tertullian. 


" 


power. But the cautious disposition of 
] his deeper insight, perhaps, 
into the real nature of the struggle which 
would take place ; his advancing age, and, 
possibly, the latent and depressing influ-_ 
ence of the malady which may then have — 
been hanging over him, and which, ashort — 
ume after, brought him to the brink of the 
grave ;* these concurrent motives would 
induce him to shrink from violent meas- 
ures ; to recommend a more temporizing 
policy ; and to consent, with difficult re- 
luctance, to the final committal of the im- 
perial authority in a contest in which the 
complete submission of the opposite par-_ 
ty could only be expected by those who _ 
were altogether ignorant of its strength, | 
The imperial power had much to lose in 
an unsuccessful contest; it was likely to 
gain, if successful, only a temporary and 
external conquest. On the one hand, it 
was urged by the danger of permitting a 
vast and self-governed body to coexist 
with the general institutions of the em- 
pire; on the other, if not a civil War, a 
contest which would array one part of al- 
most every city of the empire against the 
other in domestic hostility, might appear 
even of more perilous consequence to the 
public welfare. 

The party of the old religion, now 
strengthened by the accession Seiidhnieis 
of the philosophic faction, risk- of the philo- 
ed nothing, and might expect Sephic party. 
much, from the vigorous, systematic, and 
universal intervention of the civil author- 
ity. It was clear that nothing less would © 
restore its superiority to the decaying 
cause of Polytheism. Nearly three cen- 
turies of tame and passive connivance or 
of open toleration had only increased the 
growing power of Christianity, while it 
had not in the least allayed that spirit of 
moral conquest which avowed that its ul- 
timate end was the total extinction of 
idolatry. ~ 

But in the army the parties were placed 
in more inevitable opposition; and in the 
army commenced the first overt aets of 
hostility, which were the prognostics of 
the general persecution.t Nowhere did 
the old Roman religion retain so much 

* The charge of derangement, which rests on the 
authority of Constantine, as related by Eusebius, is 
sufficiently confuted by the dignity of his abdica- 
tion, the placid content with which he appeared to 
enjoy his peaceful retreat, the respect paid to him 
by his turbulent and ambitious colleagues, and the 
involuntary influence which he still appeared to ex- 
ercise over the affairs of the empire. __ 

t Ἔκ τῶν ἐν σρτατείαις ἀδελφῶν καταρχομένου 
τοῦ duwynov.—Euseb., viii., 1, Compare ch. iy. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


hold upon the mind as among the sacred. 
Without sacrifice to the givers 


eagles. ri 
of victory, the superstitious soldiery woul 


advance, divested of their usual confidence, 


against the enemy ; and defeat was ascri- 
bed to some impious omission in the cere- 
monial of propitiating the gods. ‘The 
Christians now formed no unimportant 
- part in the army: though permitted by the 
 yuling authorities to abstain from idola- 
trous conformity, their contempt of the 
- auspices which promised, and of the rites 
which ensured, the Divine favour, would be 
looked upon with equal awe and animosity. 
The unsuccessful general and the routed 
army would equally seize every excuse to 
cover the misconduct of the one or the 
cowardice of the other. In the pride of 
victory, the present deities of Rome would 
share the honour with Roman valour: the 
assistance of the Christians would be for- 
gotten in defeat; the resentment of the 
gods, to whom the defeat would be attrib- 
uted, would be ascribed to the impiety of 
their godless comrades. An incident of 
this kind took place during one of his cam- 
paigns in the presence of Dioclesian. ‘The 
army was assembled round the altar: the 
sacrificing priest in vain sought for the 
accustomed signs in the entrails of the 
victim ; the sacrifice was again and again 
repeated, but always with the same result. 
The baffled soothsayer, trembling with 
awe or with indignation, denounced the 
presence of profane strangers. ‘The Chris- 
tians had been seen, perhaps boasted that 
they had made the sign of the cross, and 
put to flight the impotent demons of idol- 
atrous worship. ‘They were apprehended 
and commanded to sacrifice ; and a gener- 
al edict issued that all who refused to pay 
honour to the martial deities of Rome 
should be expelled the army. It is far 
from improbable that frequent incidents 
of this nature may have occurred; if in 
the unsuccessful campaign of Galerius in 
the East, nothing was more likely to im- 
bitter the mind of that violent emperor 
against the whole Christian community. 
Nor would this animosity be allayed by 
the success with which he retrieved his 
former failure. While the impiety of the 
Christians would be charged with all the 
odium of defeat, they would never be per- 
mitted to participate in tke glories of vic- 
tory. 

During the winter of the year of Christ 
Deliberations 302-3, the great question of the 
concerning policy to be adopted towards the 
Christianity. Christians was debated, first in 
a private conference between Dioclesian 
and Galerius. Dioclesian, though urged 
by his more vehement partner in the em- 


* 

261 
. . 
pire, was averse from sanguinary proceed- 
ings, from bloodshed and confusion; he 
was inclined to more temperate measures, 


pel them from the palace and the army. 
The palace itself was divided by conflict- 
ing factions. Some of the chief officers of 
Dioclesian’s household openly professed 
Christianity ; his wife and his daughter 
were at least favourably disposed to the 
same cause; while the mother of Gale- 
rius, a fanatical worshipper, probably of 
Cybele, was seized with a spirit of prose- 
lytism, and celebrated almost every day a 
splendid sacrifice, followed by a banquet, 
at which she required the presence of the 
whole court. The pertinacious resistance 
of the Christians provoked her implacable 
resentment; and her influence over her 
son was incessantly employed to inflame 
his mind to more active animosity. Dio- 
clesian at length consented to summon a 
council, formed of some persons ; 
versed in the administration of the ©"? 
law and some military men. Of these, 
one party were already notoriously hos- 
tile to Christianity ;* the rest were cour- 
tiers, who bent to every intimation of the 
imperial favour. Dioclesian still prolong- 
ed his resistance,f till, either to give great- 
er solemnity to the decree, or to identify 
their measures more completely with the’ 
cause of Polytheism, it was determined 
to consult the oracle of Apollo at Miletus. 
The answer of the oracle might be antici- 
pated; and Dioclesian submitted to the ir- 
resistible united authority of his friends, 
of Galerius, and of the god, and content- 
ed himself with moderating the severity of 
the edict. Galerius proposed that all who 
refused to sacrifice should be burned alive : 
Dioclesian stipulated that there should be 


-no loss of life. A fortunate day was chosen 


for the execution of the imperial faict of per- 
decree. The feast of Termina- secution. 

lia was inseparably connected with the 
stability of the Roman power; that power 
which was so manifestly endangered by 
the progress of Christianity. At the dawn 
of day the prefect of the city ap- Its pubii- 
peared at the door of the church in cation. 


* Hierocles the philosopher was probably a 
member of this council. Mosheim, p. 922 [and 
Instit. of E. H., vol. i., p. 208, ἢ. (5); and Lactant., 
de Mort. Persec., cap. 16]. 

+ According to the unfriendly representation of 
the author of the Treatise de Mort. Pers. [cap. 
11], whose view of Dioclesian’s character is con- 
firmed by Eutropius, it was the crafty practice of 
Dioclesian to assume all the merit of popular meas- 
ures as emarating from himself alone, while in 
those which were unpopular he pretended to act 
altogether by the advice of others. 


hich would degrade the Christians from © 
every post of rank or authority, and ἐχ- ° é 


a 


“ 


262 


Nicomedia, attended by the officers of the 
city and of the court. The doors were 1n- 
stantly thrown down; the pagans beheld 
with astonishment the vacant space, and 
sought in vain for the statue of the deity. 
The sacred books were instantly burned, 
and the rest of the furniture of the build- 
ing plundered by the tumultuous soldiery. 
The emperors commanded from the palace 
a full view of the tumult and spoliation, for 
the church stood on a height at no great 
distance; and Galerius wished τὰ enjoy 

the spectacle of a conflagration 
tion in Ni of the building. ‘The more pru- 
comedia. dent Dioclesian, fearing that the 
fire might spread to the splendid buildings 
which adjoined it, suggested a more tardy 
and less imposing plan of demolition. 
The pioneers of the pratorian guard ad- 
vanced with their tools, and in a few 
hours the whole building was razed to 
the ground. 

The Christians made no resistance, but 
awaited in silent consternation the pro- 
mulgation of the fatal edict. On the next 
morning it appeared. It was framed in 
terms of the sternest and most rigorous 
proscription short of the punishment of 
death. It comprehended all ranks and 
orders under its sweeping and inevitable 
provisions. Throughout the empire, the 
churches of the Christians were to be 
levelled with the earth; the public exist- 
ence of the religion was thus to be anni- 
hilated. The sacred books were to be 
delivered, under pain of death, by their le- 
gitimate guardians, the bishops and pres- 
byters, to the imperial officers, and pub- 
licly burned. ‘The philosophic party thus 
hoped to extirpate those pernicious wri- 
tings with which they in vain contested 
the supremacy of the public mind. 

The property of the churches, whether 
endowments in land or furniture, was con- 
fiscated; all public assemblies for the pur- 
poses of worship prohibited; the Chris- 
tians of rank and distinction were degraded 
from all their offices, and declared incapa- 
ble of filling any situation of trust or au- 
thority ; those of the plebeian order were 
deprived of the right of Roman citizen- 
ship, which secured the sanctity of their 
persons from corporeal chastisement. or 
torture; slaves were declared incapable 
of claiming or obtaining liberty ; the whole 
race were placed without the pale of the 
law, disqualified from appealing to its pro- 
tection in case of wrong, as of personal 
injury, of robbery, or adultery; while they 
were liable to civil actions, and bound to 
bear all the burdens of the state, and 
amenable to all its penalties. In many 
places an altar was placed before the tri- 


was obliged to sacrifice beture Sis ¢ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


: 


bunal of justice, on which tts 9} 


could obtain a hearing.* ἜΝ 

No sooner had this edict been afiixea iv 
the customary place than it Was Edict torn” 
torn down by the hand of a rasn down. 
and indignant Christian, who added insult 
to his offence by a contemptuous inscrip- 
tion: “Such are the victories of the em- 
perors over the Goths and Sarmatians.”’t 
This outrage on the imperial majesty was 
expiated by the death of the delinquent, 
who avowed his glorious crime. Although 
less discreet Christians might secretly dig- 
nify the sufferings of the victim with the 
honours of martyrdom, they could only 
venture to approve the patience with which 
he bore the agony of being roasted alive 
by a slow fire. 

The prudence or the moderation of Dt- 
oclesian had rejected the more violent and 
sanguinary counsels of the Cesar, who had 
proposed that all who refused to sacrifice 
should be burned alive. But his personal 
terrors triumphed over the lingering influ- 
ence of compassion or justice. pire in the 
On a sudden, a fire burst out in palace at 
the palace of Nicomedia, which ‘icomedia. 
spread almost to the chamber of the emper- 
or. The real origin of this fatal conflagra- 
tion is unknown; and, notwithstanding the 
various causes to which it was ascribed by 
the fears, the malice, and the superstition 
of the different classes, we may probably 
refer the whole to accident. It may have 
arisen from the hasty or injudicious con- 
struction of a palace built but recently. 
One account ascribes it to lightning. If 
this opinion obtained general belief among 
the Christian party, it would no doubt be 
considered by many a visible sign of the 
Divine vengeance on account of the pro- 
mulgation of the imperial edict. The 
Christians were accused by the indignant 
voice of the heathen; they retorted by 
throwing the guilt upon the Emperor Ga- 
lerius, who had practised (so the ecclesi- 
astical historian suggests) the part of a se- 
cret incendiary, in order to criminate the 
Christians, and alarm Dioclesian into his 
more violent measures.$ 

The obvious impolicy of such a meas- 
ure as the chance of actually destroying 
both their imperial enemies in the fire 
must have been very remote, and as it 
could only darken the subtle mind of Di- 
oclesian with the blackest suspicions, and 
madden Galerius to more unmeasured hos- 


* Euseb., viii, 2. De Mort. Persecut. apud Lac- 
tantium [cap. 13]. ‘ Ὗ, 

+ Mosheim, de Reb. Christ. 1 Euseb., viii., 5. 

§ Euseb., viii., 6 [and Lactant., de Mort. Perse 
cut., cap. 14]. 


_ tity, must acquit the Christians of any 

Ἅ +h design, even if their high principles, 

their sacred doctrines of peaceful submis- 
sion, even under the direst persecution, did 

‘not place them above all suspicion. ‘The 
only Christian who would have incurred 
the guilt, or provoked upon his innocent 
brethren the danger inseparable from such 
an act, would have been some desperate 
fanatic like the man who tore down the 
edict. And such a man would have avow- 
ed and gloried in the act; he would have 
courted the ill-deserved honours of mar- 
tyrdom. The silence of Constantine may 
clear Galerius of the darker charge of con- 
triving, by these base and indirect means, 
the destruction of a party against which 
he proceeded with undisguised hostility. 
Galerius, however, as if aware of the full 
effect with which such an event would 
work cn the mind of Dioclesian, immedi- 
ately left Nicomedia, declaring that he 
could not consider his person safe within 
that city. 

The consequences of this fatal confla- 
gration were disastrous, to the utmost ex- 
tent which their worst enemies could de- 
sire, to the whole Christian community. 
The officers of the household, the inmates 
of the palace, were exposed to the most 
cruel tortures, by the order, it is said, even 
in the presence, of Dioclesian. Even the 
females of the imperial family were not 
exempt, if from the persecution, from that 
suspicion which demanded the clearest 
evidence of their paganism. Prisca and 
Valeria were constrained to pollute them- 
selves with sacrifice; the powerful eu- 
nuchs Dorotheus and Gorgonius, and. An- 
dreas, suffered death ; Anthimus, the bish- 
op of Nicomedia, was beheaded. Many 
were executed, many burned alive, many 
laid bound, with stones round their necks, 
in boats, rowed into the midst of the lake, 
and thrown into the water. 

From Nicomedia, the centre of the per- 
Thepersecu- Secution, the imperial edicts 
tion becomes were promulgated, though with 
general. less than the usual rapidity, 
through the East ; letters were despatch- 
ed requiring the co-operation of the West- 
ern emperors, Maximian, the associate of 

Dioclesian, and the Cesar Constan- 
tius, in the restoration of the dig- 
nity of the ancient religion, and the sup- 
pression of the hostile faith. Constantius 
made-a show of concurrence in the meas- 
ures of his colleagues ; he commanded the 
demolition of the churches, but abstained 
from all violence against the persons of 
the Christians.* Gaul alone, his favour- 


April 18: 


* Eusebius, whose panegyric on Constantine 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


263 
ed province, was not defiled by Christian 
blood. The fiercer temper of Maximian 


only awaited the signal, and readily acce- 
ded, to carry into effect the barbarous 
edicts of his colleagues. 

In almost every part of the world Chris- 
tianity found itself at once assailed by the 
full force of the civil power, constantly 
goaded on by the united influence of the 
pagan priesthood and the philosophical 
party: Nor was Dioclesian, now commit- 
ted in the desperate strife, content with 
the less tyrannical and sanguinary edict of 
Nicomedia. Vague rumours of insurrec- 
tion, some tumultuary risings in regions 
which were densely peopled with Chris- 
tians, and even the enforced assumption 
of the purple by two adventurers, one in 
Armenia, another in Antioch, seemed to 
countenance the charges of political am- 
bition, and the design of armed and vigor- 
ous resistance. 

It is the worst evil of religious contests 
that the civil power cannot retract without 
the humiliating confession of weakness, 
and must go on increasing in the severity 
of its measures. It soon finds that there 
is no success short of the extermination 
of the adversary ; and it has but the al- 
ternative of acknowledged failure and 
this internecine warfare. The demolition 
of the churches might remove objects of- 
fensive to the wounded pride of the domi- 
nant Polytheism; the destruction of the 
sacred books might gratify the jealous hos- 


tility of the philosophic party; but not a ~ 


single community was dissolved. The pre- 
carious submission of the weaker Chris- 
tians only confirmed the more resolute 
opposition of the stronger and more heroic 
adherents of Christianity. 


~ 


Edict followed edict, rising in regular” “=? 


gradations of angry barbarity. The whole 
clergy were declared enemies of the state ; 
they were seized wherever an hostile pre- 
fect chose to put forth his boundless au- 
thority ; and bishops, presbyters, and dea- 
cons were crowded into the prisons in- 
tended for the basest malefactors. A new 
rescript prohibited the liberation of any of 
these prisoners, unless they should con- 
sent to offer sacrifice. 

During the promulgation of these re 
scripts Dioclesian celebrated his triumph 
in Rome; he held a conference with the 
Cesar of Africa, who entered into his 


a een 


throws back some of its adulation upon his father, 
makes Constantius a Christian, with the Christian 
service regularly performed in his palace.— Vit. Con- 
stant., c. 33. The exaggeration of this statement 
is exposed by Pagi, ad ann. 303, n. vill. Mosheim, 
de Rebus ante Const. Mag., p. 929-935 [and Instit. 
of Eccl. Hist., vol. i.,.p. 207]. 


. « 
‘= 


264 


rigorous measures. On his return to Ni- 
comedia he was seized with that 
long and depressed malady which, 
whether it affected him with temporary 
derangement, secluded him within the im- 
penetrable precincts of the palace, whose 
sacred secrets were forbidden to be betray- 
ed to the popular ear. This rigid conceal- 
ment gave currency to every kind of 
gloomy rumour. The whole Roman world 
awaited with mingled anxiety, hope, and 
apprehension the news of his dissolution. 
Dioclesian, to the universal astonishment, 
appeared again in the robes of empire; to 

___ their still greater astonishment, 
and abdiea- he appeared only to lay them 
elesian,A-D. aside, to abdicate the throne, 
τς and to retire to the peaceful oc- 
cupation of his palace and agricultural 
villa on the Illyrian shore of the Adriatic. 
His colleague Maximian, with ill-dissem- 
bled reluctance, followed the example of 
his colleague, patron, and coadjutor in the 
empire. 

The great scheme of Dioclesian, the 
joint administration of the empire by as- 
sociate Augusti, with their subordinate 
Cesars, if it had averted for a time the 
dismemberment of the empire, and had in- 
troduced some vigour into the provincial 
government, had introduced other evils of 
appalling magnitude; but its fatal conse- 
quences were more manifest directly as 
the master hand was withdrawn which had 
organized the new machine of government. 
Fierce jealousy succeeded at once among 
the rival emperors to decent concord; all 
subordination was lost; and a succession 
of civil wars between the contending sov- 
ereigns distracted the whole world. The 
General earth groaned under the separate 
misery. tyranny of its many masters; and, 
according to the strong expression of a 
rhetorical writer, the grinding taxation 
had so exhausted the proprietors and the 
cultivators of the soil, the merchants, and 
the artisans, that none remained to tax 
but beggars.* The sufferings of the Chris- 
tians, however still inflicted with unre- 
mitting barbarity, were lost in the com- 
mon sufferings of mankind. The rights 
of Roman citizenship, which had been 
violated in their persons, were now uni- 
versally neglected; and to extort money, 
the chief persons of the towns, the un- 
happy decurions, who were responsible 
for the payment of the contributions, were 
put to the torture. Even the punishment, 
the roasting by a slow fire—invented to 
foree the conscience of the devout Chris- 
tians—was borrowed, in order to wring 


Illness 


ἈΠῸ 6 Mort. Persecut., c. xxiii. 


of the Christians. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the reluctant impost from the unhappy 
provincial. 

The abdication of Dioclesian left the 
most implacable enemy of Chris- gaterivs, 
tianity, Galerius, master of the emperor of 
East; and in the East the perse- the Bast. 
cution of the Christians, as well as the 
general oppression of the subjects of the 
empire, continued in unmitigated severity. 
His nephew, the Cesar Maximin Maximin 
Daias, was the legitimate heir to Daias. 
his relentless violence of temper and to 
his stern hostility to the Christian name. 
In the West, the assumption of the purple 
by Maxentius, the son of the ab- ie 
dicated Maximian (Herculius), Ὁ 
had no unfavourable effect on the situation 
They suffered only 
with the rest of their fellow-subjects from 
the vices of Maxentius. If their matrons 
and virgins were not secure from his lust, 
it was the common lot of all, who, although 
of the highest rank and dignity, might at- 
tract his insatiable passions. If a Chris- 
tian matron, the wife of a senator, sub- 
mitted to a voluntary death* rather than 
to the loss of her honour, it was her beau- 
ty, not her Christianity, which marked her 
out as the victim of the tyrant. 
not until Constantine began to 
develop his ambitious views of ~ 
reuniting the dismembered monarchy, that 
Maxentius threw himself, as it were, upon 
the ancient gods of Rome, and identified 
his own cause with that of Polytheism. 
At this juncture all eyes were turned to- 
wards the elder son of Constantius. Τί 
not already recognised by the prophetic 
glance of devout hope as the first Chris- 
tian sovereign of Rome, he seemed placed ~ 
by providential wisdom as the protector, 
as the head of the Christian interest. The 
enemies of Christianity were his; and if 
he was not as yet bound by the heredi- 
tary attachment of a son to the religion 
of his mother Helena, his father Constan- 
tius had bequeathed him the wise example 
of humanity and toleration. Placed as a 
hostage in the hands of Galerius, Constan- 
tine had only escaped from the honour- 
able captivity of the Eastern court, where 
he had been exposed to constant peril of 
his life, by the promptitude and rapidity 
of his movements. He had fled, and du- 
ring the first stages maimed the post- 
horses which might have been employed 
in his pursuit.. During the persecution of 
Dioclesian, Constantius alone, of all the 
emperors, by a dexterous appearance of 
submission, had screened the Christians 
of Gaul from the common lot of their 


It was 


Constantine. 


* Huseb., vili., 14. 


te) AS a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. . ᾿ 


yo 
% 
brethren. Nor was it probable that Con- 
stantine would render on this point more 
willing allegiance to the sanguinary man- 
dates of Galerius. At present, however, 
Constantine stood rather aloof from the 


_ affairs of Italy and the East; and till the 


Those who sub 


resumption of the purple by the elder Max- 
imian, his active mind was chiefly employ- 
ed in the consolidation of his own power 
in Gaul, and the repulse of the German 
barbarians, who threatened the frontiers 
of the Rhine. ; ae 
Notwithstanding the persecution had 
AD. 309, ΠΟΥ lasted for six or seven years, 
in no part of the world did Chris- 
tianity betray any signs of vital decay. It 
was far too deeply rooted in the minds of 
men, far too extensively promulgated, far 
too vigorously organized not to endure 
this violent but unavailing shock. If its 
public worship was suspended, the believ- 
ers met in secret, or cherished in the unas- 
sailable privacy of the heart inaliena- 
ble rights of conscience. If it suffered 
numerical loss, the body was not weaken- 
ed by the severance of its more feeble and 
Sufferings of worthless members. The in- 
the Christians. ert resistance of the general 
mass wearied out the vexatious and har- 
assing measures of the government. ‘Their 
numbers secured them against general ex- 
termination; but, of course, the persecu- 
tion fell most heavily upon the most em- 
inent of the body; upon men who were 
deeply pledged by the sense of shame, and 
honour even, if in any case the nobler mo- 
tives of conscientious faith and courageous 
confidence in the truth of the religion were 
wanting, to bear with unyielding heroism 
the utmost barbarities of the persecutor. 
mitted performed the hated 
ceremony with visible reluctance, with 
trembling hand, averted countenance, and 
deep remorse of heart; those who resist- 
ed to death were animated by the presence 
of multitudes, who, if they dared not ap- 
plaud, could scarcely conceal their admi- 
ration; women crowded to kiss the hems 
of their garments, and their scattered ash- 
es or unburied bones were stolen away 
by the devout zeal of their adherents, and 
already began to be treasured as incentives 
to faith and piety. It cannot be supposed 
that the great functionaries of the state, 
the civil or military governors, could be so 
universally seared to humanity, or so in- 
capable of admiring these frequent exam- 
ples of patient heroism, as not either to 
mitigate in some degree the sufferings 
which they were bound to inflict, or even 
to feel some secret sympathy with the 
blameless victims whom they condemned, 
which might ripen at a more fortunate pe- 
Lu 


265 


riod into sentiments still more favourable 


to the Christian cause. 


The most signal and unexpected tri- 
umph of Christianity was over the author 
of the persecution. While victory and 
success appeared to follow that party in 
the state which, if they had not as yet 
openly espoused the cause of Christianity, 
had unquestionably its most ardent pray- 
ers in their favour, the enemies of the 
Christians were smitten with the direst 
calamities, and the Almighty appeared 
visibly to exact the most awful vengeance 
for their sufferings. Galerius himself was 
forced, as it were, to implore mercy ; not, 
indeed, in the attitude of penitence, but of 
profound humiliation at the foot of the 
Christian altar. In the eighteenth year 
of his reign the persecutor lay expiring 
of a most loathsome malady. A deep and 
fetid ulcer preyed on the lower regions of 
his body, and eat them away into a mass 
of living corruption. It is certainly sin- 
gular that the disease vulgarly called 
being “ eaten of worms” should have been 
the destiny of Herod the Great, of Galeri- 
us, andof Philip II. of Spain. Physicians - 
were sought from all quarters ; every or- 
acle was consulted in vain; that of Apollo 
suggested a cure which aggravated the 
virulence of the disease. Not merely the 
chamber, but the whole palace of Galerius 
is described as infected by the insupporta- 
ble stench which issued from his wound, 
while the agonies which he suffered might 
have satiated the worst vengeance of the 
most unchristian enemy. 

From the dying bed of Galerius issued 
an edict, which, while it conde- 53,4 of 
scended to apologize for the past Galerius, 
severities against the Christians, 4-D.311, 
under the specious plea of regard *!"" *° 
for the public welfare and the unity of the 
state; while it expressed compassion for 
his deluded subjects, whom the govern- 
ment was unwilling to leave in the forlorn 
condition of being absolutely without a re- 
ligion, admitted to the fullest extent the 
total failure of the severe measures for the 
suppression of Christianity.* It permit- 
ted the free and public exercise of the 
Christian religion. Its close was still 
more remarkable ; it contained an earnest 
request to the Christians to intercede for 
the suffering emperor in their supplica- 
tions to their God. Whether this edict 
was dictated by wisdom, by remorse, or 
by superstitious terror; whether it was 
the act of a statesman, convinced by ex- 
perience of the impolicy, or even the in- 
justice, of his sanguinary acts; whether, 


* Buseb.. Εἰ. H., viii., 17.. 


266 , 


in the agonies of his excruciating disease, 
his conscience was harassed by the thought 
of his tortured victims; or, having vainly 
solicited the assistance of his own deities, 
he wouid desperately endeavour to pro- 
pitiate the favour, or, at least, allay the 
wrath, of the Christians’ God; the whole 
Roman world was witness of the public 
and humiliating acknowledgment of defeat 
extorted from the dying emperor. A few 
days after the promulgation of the edict 
Galerius expired. 

The edict was issued from Sardica, in 
AD. 311. the name of Galerius, of Licinius, 
May. —_ and of Constantine. It accorded 
with the sentiments of the two latter: 
Maximin alone, the Cesar of the East, 
whose peculiar jurisdiction extended over 
Syria and Egypt, rendered but an imper- 
fect and reluctant obedience to the decree 
of toleration. His jealousy was no doubt 
excited by the omission of his name in the 
preamble to the edict, and he seized this 


_ excuse to discountenance its promulgation 


Conduct of INhis provinces. Yet foratime 
Maximim in he suppressed his profound and 
the East. inveterate hostility to the Chris- 
tian name. He permitted unwritten or- 
ders to be issued to the municipal govern- 
ors of the towns, and to the magistrates 
of the villages, to put an end to all violent 
proceedings. The zeal of Sabinus, the 
pretorian prefect of the East, supposing 
the milder sentiments of Galerius to be 
shared by Maximin, seems to have outrun 
the intentions of the Cesar. A circular 
rescript appeared in his name, echoing the 
tone, though it did not go quite to the 
length, of the imperial edict. It proclaim- 
ed ‘that it had been the anxious wish of 
the divinity of the most mighty emperors 
to reduce the whole empire to pay an har- 
monious and united worship to the immor- 
tal gods. But their clemency had at 
length taken compassion on the obstinate 
perversity of the Christians, and determin- 
ed on desisting from their ineffectual at- 
tempts to force them to abandon their he- 
reditary faith.” The magistrates were in- 
structed to communicate the contents of 
this letter to each other. ‘The governors 
of the provinces, supposing at once that 
the letter of the prefect contained the real 
sentiments of the emperor, with merciful 
haste despatched orders to all persons in 
subordinate civil or military command, 
the magistrates both of the towns and the 
villages, who acted upon them with un- 
hesitating obedience.* 

The cessation of the persecution show- 
ed at once its extent. The prison doors 


* Euseb., Eccl. Hist., ix., 1. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


were thrown open ; the mines rendered up 
their condemned labourers; everywhere 
long trains of Christians were seen hast- 
ening to the ruins of their churches, and 
visiting the places sanctified by their for- 
mer devotion. The public roads, the 
streets and market-places of the towns, 
were crowded with long processions, sing- 
ing psalms of thanksgiving for their deliv- 
erance. Those who had maintained their 
faith under these severe trials passed tri- 
umphant in conscious, even if lowly, pride 
amid the flattering congratulations of their 
brethren ; those who had failed in the hour 
of affliction hastened to reunite themselves 
with their God, and to obtain readmission 
into the flourishing and reunited fold. The 
heathen themselves were astonished, it 
is said, at this signal mark of the power 
of the Christians’ God, who had thus un- 
expectedly wrought so sudden a revolution 
in favour of his worshippers.* 

But the cause of the Christians might 
appear not yet sufficiently avenged. The 
East, the great scene of persecution, was 
not restored to prosperity or peace. It 
had neither completed nor expiated the 
eight years of relentless persecution. 
The six months of apparent reconciliation 
were occupied by the Cesar Maximin in 
preparing measures of more subtle ,, 
and profound hostility. The situ- hostile to 
ation of Maximin himself was crit- Christi- 
ical and precarious. Onthe death *™ 
of Galerius he had seized on the govern- 
ment of the whole of Asia, and the forces 
of the two emperors, Licinius and Maxi- 
min, watched each other on either side of 
the Bosphorus with jealous and ill-dis- 
sembled hostility. Throughout th 
West the emperors were favoura- 
ble, or, at least, not inimical to Christian- 
ity. The political difficulties, even the 
vices of Maximin, enforced the policy of 
securing the support of a large and influ- 
ential body; he placed himself at the head 
of the pagan interest in the East. A de- 
liberate scheme was laid for the advance- 
ment of one party in the popular favour, 
for the depression of the other. Measures 
were systematically taken to enfeeble the 
influence of Christianity, not by the au- 
thority of government, but by poisoning 
the public mind, and infusing into it a set- 
tled and conscientious animosity. False 
acts of Pilate were forged, intended to cast 
discredit on the Divine founder of Chris- 
tianity ; they were disseminated with the 
utmost activity. The streets of Antioch 
and other Eastern cities were placarded 
with the most calumnious statements of 


A.D. 311. 


* Euseb., Eccl. Hist., ix., 1. 


’ 
., 
ie 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. " 


the origin of the Christian faith. The in- 
structers of youth were directed to intro- 
duce them as lessons into the schools, to 
make their pupils commit them to mem- 
ory; and boys were heard repeating, or 
grown persons chanting, the most scanda- 
lous blasphemies against the object of 
Christian adoration.* In Damascus, the 
old arts of compelling or persuading wom- 
en to confess that they had been present 
at the rites of the Christians, which had 
ended in lawless and promiscuous license, 
were renewed. The confession of some 
miserable prostitutes was submitted to 
the emperor, published by his command, 
and disseminated throughout the Eastern 
cities, although the Christian rites had 
been long celebrated in those cities with 
the utmost publicity. 

The second measure of Maximin was 
Reorganiza- the reorganization of the pagan 
tion of pa- religion in all its original pomp 
ganism. δῃᾷ more than its ancient pow- 
er. A complete hierarchy was establish- 
ed on the model of the Christian episco- 
pacy. Provincial pontiffs, men of the 
highest rank, were nominated ; they were 
inaugurated with a solemn and splendid 
ceremonial, and were distinguished by a 
tunic of white. The emperor himself as- 
sumed the appointment of the pontifical 
offices in the different towns, which had 
in general rested with the local authori- 
ties. Persons of rank and opulence were 
prevailed on to accept these sacred func- 
tions, and were thus committed by per- 
sonal interest and corporate attachment 
in the decisive struggle. Sacrifices were 
performed with the utmost splendour and 
regularity, and the pontiffs were invested 
with power to compel the attendance of 
all the citizens. ‘The Christians were lia- 
ble to every punishment or torture short 
of death. ‘The pagan interest having thus 
become predominant in the greater cities, 
addresses were artfully suggested, and 
voted by the acclaiming multitude, implo- 
ring the interference of the emperor to ex- 
pel these enemies of the established re- 
ligion from their walls. The rescripts of 
the emperor were engraved on brass, and 
suspended in the public parts of the city. 
The example was set by Antioch, once 
the headquarters, and still, no doubt, a 
stronghold of Christianity. Theotecnus, 
the logistes or chamberlain of the city, 
took the lead. A splendid image was 


* In the speech attributed to S. Lucianus pre- 
vious to his martyrdom at Nicomedia, there is an 
allusion to these acts of Pilate, which shows that 
they had made considerable impression on the pub- 
lic mind.—Routh, Reliquie Sacre, ill., 286. 

+ Euseb., viii., 14. 


Ἢ Ἢ 
"οἷ 


- 


267 


erected to Jupiter Philius, and dedicated 
with all the imposing pomp of mystery, 
perhaps of Eastern magic.* As though 
they would enlist that strong spirit of mu- 
tual attachment which bound the Chris- 
tians together, the ancient Jupiter was in- 
vested in the most engaging and divine 
attribute of the God of Christianity—he 
was the God of Love. Nicomedia, the 
capital of the East, on the entrance of the 
emperor presented an address to the same 
effect as those which had been already of- 
fered by Antioch, Tyre, and other cities, 
and the emperor affected to yield to this 
simultaneous expression of the general 
sentiment. . 

The first overt act of hostility was a 
prohibition to the Christians to d 
meet in their cemeteries, where jor ytions: 
probably their enthusiasm was ions of Maxi- 
wrought to the utmost height ™™ 
by the sacred thoughts associated with 
the graves of their martyrs. But the pol- 
icy of Maximin in general confined itself 
to vexatious and harassing oppression, 
and to other punishments, which inflicted 
the pain and wretchedness without the 
dignity of dying for the faith: the perse- Ὁ 
cuted had the sufferings, but not the glory 
of martyrdom. Such, most likely, were 
the general orders of Maximin, though in 
some places the zeal of his officers may 
have transgressed the prescribed limits, 
it must not be said, of humanity. The 
bishop and two inhabitants of Emesa, and 
Peter, the patriarch of Alexandrea, obtain- 
ed the honours of death. Lucianus, the 
bishop of Antioch, was sent to undergo a 
public examination at Nicomedia: he died 
in prison. The greater number of vic- 
tims suffered the less merciful punishment 
of mutilation orexcecation. ‘The remon- 
strances of Constantine were unavailing ; 
the emperor persisted in his cruel course, 
and is said to have condescended to an in- 
genious artifice to afflict the sensitive con- 
sciences of some persons of the higher or- 
ders who escaped less painful penalties. 
His banquets were served with victims 
previously slain in sacrifice, and his Chris- 
tian guests were, thus unconsciously be- 
trayed into a crime which the authority 
of St. Paul had not yet convinced the 
more scrupulous believers to be a matter 
of perfect indifference.t 

The emperor, in his public rescript, in 
answer to the address from the The pagans 
city of Tyre, had, as it were, appeal {o the 
placed the issue of the contest state of the 
on an appeal to Heaven. ‘The Fast. 
gods of paganism were asserted to be the 
Mee Πρ ν΄. 07 05... 00, 


* Euseb., ix., 2, 3. + Euseb., ix., 7. 


268 Σὰ HISTORY OF 
benefactors of the human race; through 
their influence the soil had yielded its an- 
nual inerease ; the genial air had not been 
parched by fatal droughts; the sea had 
neither been agitated with tempests nor 
Swept by hurricanes ; the earth, instead of 
being rocked by volcanie convulsions, had 
been the peaceful and fertile mother of its 
abundant fruits. Their own neighbour- 
hood spoke the manifest favour of these 
benignant deities, in its rich fields waving 

_with harvests, its flowery and luxuriant 
meadows, and in the mild and genial tem- 
perature of the air. A city so blessed by 
its tutelary gods, in prudence as well as in 
justice, would expel those traitorous cit- 
izens whose impiety endangered these 
blessings, and would wisely purify its 
walls from the infection of their heaven- 
despising presence. 

But peace and prosperity by no means 
ensued upon the depression of the 
Christians. Notwithstanding the 
embellishment of the heathen temples, 
the restoration of the Polytheistic 
ceremonial in more than ordinary 
pomp, and the nomination of the noblest 
citizens to the pontifical offices, every kind 
of calamity—tyranny, war, pestilence, and 
famine—depopulated the Asiatic provin- 
ces. Not the least scourge of the pagan 
Kast was the pagan emperor himself. 
Christian writers may have exaggerated, 
they can scarcely have invented, the vices 
of Maximin. His lusts violated alike the 
honour of noble and plebeian families. The 
eunuchs, the purveyors for his passions, 
Tyranny of traversed the provinces, marked 
Maximin. out those who were distinguish- 
ed by fatal beauty, and conducted these 
extraordinary perquisitions with the most 
insolent indignity: where milder meas- 
ures would not prevail, force was used. 
Nor was tyranny content with the grati- 
fication of its own license: noble virgins, 
after having been dishonoured by the em- 
peror, were granted in marriage to his 
slaves; even those of the highest rank 
were consigned to the embraces of a bar- 
barian husband. Valeria, the widow of 
Galerius and the daughter of Dioclesian, 
was first insulted by proposals of mar- 
riage from Maximin, whose wife was still 
living, and then forced to wander through 
the Eastern provinces in the humblest dis- 
guise, till at length she perished at Thes- 
saloniea by the still more unjustifiable sen- 
tence of Licinius. 

The war of Maximin with Armenia was 
War with Wantonly undertaken in a spirit of 
Armenia. persecution. This earliest Chris- 
tian kingdom was attached, in all the zeal 
of recent proselytism, to the new religion. 


Reverse. 


A.D. 312. 


CHRISTIANITY. 


That part which acknowledged the Roman 
sway was commanded to abandon Christi- 
anity, and the legions of Rome were em- 
ployed in forcing the reluctant kingdom to 
obedience.* - 

But these were foreign calamities. 
Throughout the dominions of Maximin the 
summer rains did not fall; a sudden fam- 
ine desolated the whole East; corn 
rose to an unprecedented price.t 
Some large villages were entirely depop- 
ulated; many opulent families were re- 
duced to beggary, and persons in a decent 
station sold their children as slaves. The 
rapacity of the emperor aggravated the 
general misery. The granaries of individ- 
uals were seized, and their stores closed 
up by the imperial seal. The flocks and 
herds were driven away, to be offered in 
unavailing sacrifices to the gods. The 
court of the emperor, in the mean time, 


Famine. 


insulted the general suffering by its ex-— 


cessive luxury; his foreign and barbarian 
troops lived in a kind of free quarters, in 
wasteful plenty, and plundered on all sides 
with perfect impunity. The scanty and 
unwholesome food produced its 
usual effect, a pestilential mala- 
dy. Carbuncles broke out all over the bod- 
ies of those who were seized with the dis- 
order, but particularly attacked the eyes, 
so that multitudes became helplessly and 
incurably blind. The houses of the weal- 
thy, which were secure against the fam- 
ine, seemed particularly marked out by 
the pestilence. The hearts of all classes 
were hardened by the extent of the ca- 
lamity. The most opulent, despairing of 


Pestilence. 


diminishing the vast mass of misery, or 


of relieving the swarms of beggars who 
filled every town and city, gave up the 
fruitless endeavour. The Christians alone 
took a nobler and evangelic revenge upon 
their suffering enemies. They were ac- 
tive in allaying those miseries of which 
they were the common victims. The ec- 
clesiastical historian claims no exemption 
for the Christians from the general ca- 
lamity, but honourably boasts that they 
alone displayed the offices of humanity and 
brotherhood. ‘They were everywhere, 
tending the living and burying the dead. 
They distributed bread; they visited the 
infected houses; they scared away the 
dogs which preyed in open day on the 
bodies in the streets, and rendered to 
them the decent honours of burial. The 


* Euseb., ix., 8. 

+ The statement in the text of Eusebius, as it 
stands, is utterly incredible: a measure of wheat 
at 2500 attics (drachms), from 70/. to 801. 


- νὰ, 


a 


retracts his Steps. 


or ag ee 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


not but acknowledge that Christianity was 


_ stronger than love of kindred. The fears 


and the gratitude of mankind were equally 
awakened in their favour; the fears, which 
could not but conclude these calamities to 
be the vengeance of Heaven for the per- 
secutions of its favoured people ; the grati- 
tude to those who thus repaid good for evil 
in the midst of a hostile and exasperated 
society.* 

Before we turn our attention to the 
West, and follow the triumphant career 
of Constantine to the reconsolidation of 
the empire in his person, and the triumph 
of Christianity through his favour, it may 
be more consistent with the distinct view 
of these proceedings to violate in some 
degree the order of time, and follow to its 
close the history of the Christian persecu- 


tions in the East. 


-Maximin took the alarm, and endeav- 
oured, too late, to retrace his 
He issued an edict, in 
Persecuting which he avowed the plain prin- 
ὃ ciples of toleration, and aseri- 
bed his departure from that salutary pol- 
icy to the importunate zeal of his capital 
and of other cities, which he could not 
treat with disrespect, but which had de- 
manded the expulsion of the Christians 
from their respective territories. He com- 
manded the suspension of all violent meas- 
ures, and recommended only mild and per- 
suasive means to win back these apos- 
tates to the religion of their forefathers. 
The Christians, who had once been delu- 
ded by a show of mercy, feared to recon- 
struct their fallen edifices or to renew 
their public assemblies; and awaited, in 
trembling expectation, the issue of the ap- 
proaching contest with Licinius.t 
The victory of Constantine over Max- 
entius had left him master of Rome. Con- 
stantine and Licinius reigned over all the 
European provinces ; and the public edict 
for the toleration of Christianity, issued 
in the name of these two emperors, an- 
nounced the policy of the Western empire. 
After the defeat of Maximin by Licin- 
ius, his obscure death gave ample scope 
for the credulous, if not inventive malice 
of his enemies, to ascribe to his last mo- 
ments every excess of weakness and cru- 
elty, as well as of suffering. He is said 
to have revenged his baffled hopes of vic- 
tory on the pagan priesthood, who incited 
‘xp. 313, him to the war, by a promiscuous 
: massacre of all within his power. 
His last imperial act was the promulga- 
tion of another edict, still more explicitly 
favourable to the Christians, in which he 


Maximin 


* Euseb., ix., 9. + Euseb., viii., 14. 


- 269 


not merely proclaimed* an unrestricted 
liberty of conscience, but restored the 
confiscated property of their churches. 
His bodily sufferings completed the Death of 
dark catalogue of persecuting em- Maximin. 
perors who had perished under the most 
excruciating torments : his body was slow- 
ly consumed by an internal fire.t 

With Maximin expired the last hope of 
paganism to maintain itself by ‘The new 
the authority of the government. paganism 
Though Licinius was only acci- ΜΗ ΤΩΝ 
dentally connected with the Chris- — ἡ 
tian party, and afterward allied himself 
for a short time to the pagan interest, at 
this juncture his enemies were those of 
Christianity ; and his cruel triumph anni- 


hilated at once the adherents of Maximin 


and those of the old religion. The new 


hierarchy fell at once; the chief magis- 


trates of almost all the cities were execu- 
ted; for even where they were not in- 
vested in the pontifical offices, it was un- 


der their authority that paganism had re- 


newed its more imposing form, and sank 
with them into the common ruin. The 
arts by which Theotecnus of Antioch, the 
chief adviser of Maximin, had imposed 


upon the populace of that city by myste- 


rious wonders, were detected and exposed 
to public contempt, and the author put to 
death. Tyre, which had recommended 


itself to Maximin by the most violent hos- 


tility to the Christian name, was con- 
strained to witness the reconstruction of 
the fallen church in far more than Rebuilding 
its original grandeur. Eusebius, of the 
afterward the bishop of Cesarea, ¢huren of 
and the historian of the Church, a 


pronounced an inaugural discourse on its 


reconsecration. His description of the 


building is curious in itself, as the model 


of an Eastern church, and illustrates the 


power and opulence of the Christian party 


in a city which had taken the lead on the 
side of paganism. Nor would the Chris- 
tian orator venture greatly to exaggerate 
the splendour of a building which stood in 
the midst, and provoked, as it were, a 
comparison with temples of high antiquity 
and unquestioned magnificence. * 
The Christian church was built on the 
old site: for, though a more convenient 
and imposing space might have been 
found, the piety of the ΠΝ πὸ clung 
with reverence to a spot consecrated by 
the most holy associations; and their 
pride, perhaps, was gratified in restoring 
to more than its former grandeur the edi- 
fice which had béen destroyed by pagan 
* Edict of toleration issued from Nicomedia, 


A.D. 313, 13th June. 
+ Euseb., ix., 9. 


ν 


270 
malice. The whole site was environed 
with a wall; a lofty propyleon, which 
faced the rising sun, commanded the at- 
tention of the passing pagan, who could 
not but contrast the present splendour 
with the recent solitude of the place, and 
afforded an imposing glimpse of the mag- 
nificence within. The intermediate space 
between the propyleon and the church 
was laid out in a cloister with four colon- 
nades, enclosed with a palisade of wood. 
The centre square was open to the sun 
and air, and two fountains sparkled in the 
midst, and reminded the worshipper, with 
their emblematic purity, of the necessity 
of sanctification. The uninitiate proceed- 
ed no farther than the cloister, but might 
behold at this modest distance the mys- 
teries of the sanctuary. Several other 
vestibules or propylea intervened between 
the cloister and the main building. The 
three gates of the church fronted the east, 
of which the central was the loftiest and 
most costly, “like a queen between her 
attendants.” It was adorned with plates 
of brass and richly-sculptured reliefs. 
Two colonnades or aisles ran along the 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 


« 


main building, above which were windows 
which lighted the edifice; other buildings 
for the use of the ministers adjoined. Un- 
fortunately, the pompous eloquence of Eu- — 
sebius would not condescend to the vulgar 
details of measurements, and dwells only 
in vague terms of wonder at the spacious- 
ness, the heaven-soaring loftiness, the 
splendour of the interior. The roof was 
of beams from the cedars of Lebanon, the 
floor inlaid with marble. In the centre 
rose the altar, which had already obtained 
the name of the place of sacrifice ; it was 
guarded from the approach of the profane 
by a trellis of the most slender and grace- 
ful workmanship. Lofty seats were pre- 
pared for the higher orders, and benches 
for those of lower rank were arranged 
with regularity throughout the building. 
Tyre, no doubt, did not stand alone in this 
splendid restoration of her Christian wor- 
ship; and Christianity, even before its 
final triumph under Constantine, before 
the restoration of their endowments and 
the munificent imperial gifts, possessed 
sufficient wealth at least to commence 
these costly undertakings. 


Δ. δος, 


- 


we 


" 
’ hu = 
BOOK IIL 
>» 4 
CHAPTER I. 
CONSTANTINE. ‘ 


Tue reign of Constantine the Great 
Reignof | forms one of the epochs in the 
Constantine. history of the world. It is the 
era of the dissolution of the Roman em- 
pire ; the commencement, or, rather, con- 
solidation of a kind of Eastern despotism, 
with a new capital, a new patriciate, a 
new constitution, a new financial system, 
a new, though as yet imperfect, jurispru- 
dence, and, finally, a new religion. Al- 
Change in Teady, in the time of Dioclesian, 
the empire. Italy had sunk into a province ; 
Rome into one of the great cities of the 
empire. The declension of her importance 
had been gradual, but inevitable ; her su- 
premacy had been shaken by that slow 
succession of changes which had imper- 


ceptibly raised the relative weight and 


my of other parts of the empire, and 
of the empire itself as a whole, until she 
ceased to be the central point of the ad- 
ministration of public affairs. Rome was 
Degradation nO longer the heart of the social 
of Rome. system, from which emanated 
all the life and power which animated and 
regulated the vast and unwieldy body, and 
to which flowed in the wealth and the 
homage of the obedient world. The ad- 
mission of the whole empire to the rights 
of Roman citizenship by Caracalla had 
dissolved the commanding spell which cen- 
turies of gold and conquest had attached 
to the majesty of the Roman name. ‘To 
be a Roman was no longer a privilege ; it 
gave no distinctive rights; its exemptions 
were either taken away, or vulgarized by 
being made common to all except the ser- 
vile order. The secret once betrayed that 
the imperial dignity might be conferred 


elsewhere than in the imperial city, lower- 


ed still more the pre-eminence of Rome. 
From that time the seat of government 
was at the head of the army. If the em- 
peror proclaimed in Syria, in Illyria, or 
in Britain condescended, without much 
delay, to visit the ancient capital, the trem- 
bling senate had but to ratify the decree 
of the army, and the Roman people to 


welcome, with submissive acclamations, 


their new master. 


Dioclesian had consummated the degra- 
dation of Rome by transferring the resi- 
dence of the court to Nicomedia. He had 
commenced the work of reconstructing 
the empire upon a new basis; some of 
his measures were vigorous, comprehen- 
sive, and tending to the strength and con- 
solidation of the social edifice ; but he had 
introduced a principle of disunion more 
than powerful enough to counteract all 
the energy which he had infused into the 
executive government. His fatal policy 
of appointing co-ordinate sovereigns, two 
Augusti, with powers avowedly equal, and 
two Cesars, with authority nominally sub- 
ordinate, but which, in able hands, would 
not long have brooked inferiority, had near- 


ly dismembered the solid unity of the em- _ 


pire. As yet the influence Of Unity of the 
the Roman name was command- empire still 
ing and awful; the provinces Preserved. 

were accustomed to consider themselves 
as parts of one political confederacy ; the 
armies marched still under the same ban- 
ners, were united by discipline, and as yet 
by the unforgotten inheritance of victory 
from their all-subduing ancestors. In all 
parts of the world, every vestige of civil 
independence had long been effaced ; cen- 
turies of servitude had destroyed every 
dangerous memorial of ancient dynasties 
or republican constitutions. Hence, there- 
fore, the more moderate ambition of erect- 
ing an independent kingdom never oc- 


curred to any of the rival emperors ; or, if | 


the separation had been attempted; if a 
man of ability had endeavoured to parti- 
tion off one great province, dependant upon 
its own resources, defended by its own 
legions, or on a well-organized force of 
auxiliary barbarians, the age was not yet 
ripe for such a daring innovation. The 
whole empire would have resented the se- 
cession of any member from the ancient 
confederacy, and turned its concentrated 
force against the recreant apostate from 
the majestic unity of imperial Rome. Yet, 
if this system had long prevailed, the dis- 
organizing must have finally triumphed 
over the associating principle: separate 


A* 


+ a 


oe 


272 


~ interests would have arisen; a gradual de- 
parture from the uniform order of admin- 
istration have taken place ; a national char- 
acter might have developed itself in differ- 
ent quarters ; and the vast and harmoni- 
Ous edifice would have split asunder into 
distinct, and insulated, and, at length, hos- 
tile kingdoms. ; 

Nothing less than a sovereign whose 
comprehensive mind could discern the ex- 
igences of this critical period; nothing 
less than a conqueror who rested on the 
strength of successive victories over his 
competitors for the supremacy, could have 
reunited, and in time, under one vigorous 
administration, the dissolving elements of 
the empire. 

Such a conqueror was Constantine : but, 
reunited, the empire imperiously demand- 
ed a complete civil reorganization. It was 
not the foundation of the new capital which 
wrought the change in the state of the em- 
pire, it was the state of the empire which 
required a new capital. The ancient sys- 
tem of government, emanating entirely 
from Rome, and preserving, with sacred 
reverence, the old republican forms, had 
lost its awe; the world acknowledged the 
master wherever it felt the power. The 
possession of Rome added no great weight 
to the candidate for empire, while its pre- 
tensions embarrassed the ruling sover- 
eign.* ‘The powerless senate, which still 
expected to ratify the imperial decrees ; 
the patrician order, which had ceased to 
occupy the posts of honour, and danger, 
and distinction; the turbulent populace, 
and the pretorian soldiery, who still pre- 
sumed to assert their superiority over the 
legions who were bravely contesting the 
German or the Persian frontier; the forms, 


the intrigues, the interests, the factions of 


such a city, would not be permitted by an 
emperor accustomed to rule with absolute 
doininion in Treves, in Milan, or in Nico- 
media, to clog the free movements of his 
administration. The dissolution 
of the pretorian bands by Con- 
stantine on his victory over Maxentius, 
though necessary to the peace, was fatal 
to the power, of Rome. It cut off one of 
her great, though dearly-purchased distinc- 
tions. Around the Asiatic, or the Illyrian, 
or the Gaulish court had gradually arisen 
a new nobility, if not yet distinguished by 
title, yet by service or by favour possess- 


New nobility. 


* Galerius (if we are to trust the hostile author 
of the de Mort. Persecut.) had never seen Rome 
before his invasion of Italy, and was unacquainted 
with its immense magnitude. Galerius, according 
to the same authority, threatened, after his flight 
from Italy, to change the name of the empire from 
Roman to Dacian (c. xxvil.). 


discussed with a stronger bias of 
opinion, of passion, and of preju- 
dice, according to the age, the na- 


« 


SST CHRISTIANITY. 


5 
ing the marked and acknowledged confi- 
dence of the emperor, and filling all offices 
of power and of dignity: a nobility inde- 
pendent of patrician descent, or the tenure 
of property in Italy. Ability in the field 
or in the council, or even court intrigue, 
would triumph over the claims of heredi- 
tary descent ; and all that remained was 
to decorate with title, and organize into a 
new aristocracy, those who already pos- 
sessed the influence and the authority of 


rank. With emperors of provincial or 


barbarous descent naturally arose a race 
of military or civil servants, strangers to 
Roman blood and to the Roman name. 
The will of the sovereign became the 
fountain of honour. New regulations of 
finance, and a jurisprudence, though adhe- 


ring closely to the forms and the practice 
of the old institutions, new in its spirit and 
in the scope of many of its provisions, em- 
braced the whole empire in its compre- 
hensive sphere. 


It was no longer Rome 
which legislated for the world, but the 


among the cities subject to its authority. 
The laws were neither issued nor ratified, 
they were only submitted to, by Rome. 


ΕἾ 


"i 


legislation which comprehended Rome. 


The Roman religion sank with the Ro- | 


man supremacy. ‘The new em- state of the 
pire welcomed the new religion religion of 
as its ally and associate in the Rome. 

government of the human mind. The em- 


pire lent its countenance, its sanction, at - 


length its power, to Christianity ; Chris- 
tianity infused throughout the empire a 
secret principle of association, which, long 
after it had dissolved into separate and 
conflicting masses, held together, never- 
theless, the loose and crumbling confede- 
racy, and at length, itself assuming the lost 
or abdicated sovereignty, compressed the 
whole into one system onde spiritual 
dominion. ‘The papal, after some interval 
of confusion and disorganization, succeed- 
ed the imperial autocracy over the Euro- 
pean world. 

Of all historical problems, none has been 
Motives for 
the conver- 
sion of Con- 


Εἰ ξ stantine. 
tion, the creed of the writer, than 


the conversion of Constantine and the es-- 


tablishment of Christianity as the religion 
of the empire. Hypocrisy, policy, super- 
stition, Divine inspiration, have been in 


| turn assigned as the sole or the predomi- 


nant influence which, operating on the 
mind of the emperor, decided at once the 
religious destiny of the empire. But there 
is nothing improbable in supposing that 
Constantine was actuated by concurrent 
or even conflicting motives, all of which 


ν᾿ 


Ὁ 


“ 


4 


ἌΝ 


united in enforcing the triumph of Chris- 
tianity. There is nothing contradictory 
in the combination of the motives them- 
Selves, particularly if we consider them as 


Operating with greater strength, or with 


successive paroxysms, as ‘it were, of in- 
fluence, during the different periods in the 


* life of Constantine, on the soldier, the 


« 


statesman, and the man. ‘The soldier, at 
a perilous crisis, might appeal, without just 
notions of his nature, to the tutelary pow- 
er of a deity to whom a considerable part 
of his subjects, and perhaps of his army, 
looked up with faith or with awe. The 


᾿ Statesman may have seen the absolute ne- 


_cessity of basing his new constitution on 
‘religion; he may have chosen Christianity 
as obviously possessing the strongest, and 
still strengthening, hold upon the minds.of 
his people. He might appreciate, with 
profound political sagacity, the moral in- 
fluence of Christianity, as well as its ten- 
dency to enforce peaceful, if not passive, 
obedience tocivilgovernment. Ata later 
P period, particularly if the circumstances of 
his life threw him more into connexion 
with the Christian priesthood, he might 
gradually adopt as a religion that which 


~~ -had commanded his admiration as a polit- 


Γ 


Ale 


ical influence. He might embrace with 
ardent attachment, yet, after all, by no 
means with distinct apprehension or im- 
» plicit obedience to all its ordinances, that 
faith which alone seemed to survive amid 
the wreck of all other religious systems. 
A rapid but comprehensive survey of 
the state of Christianity at this momentous 
period wiil explain the position in which it 
stood in relation to the civil government, 
to the general population of the empire, 
and to the ancient religion, and throw a 
clear and steady light upon the manner in 
which it obtained its political as well as its 
spiritual dominion over the Roman world. 
he third century of Christianity had 
Revival or Deen prolific in religious revolu- 
Zoroastri- tions. Inthe East the silent prog- 
anisin. ress of the Gospel had been ar- 
rested ; Christianity had been thrown back 
with irresistible violence on the Roman 
territory. An ancient religion, connected 
with the great political changes in the 
sovereignty of the Persian kingdom, re- 
vived in all the vigour and enthusiasm of 
a new creed; it was received as the asso- 
ciate and main support of the state. An 
hierarchy, numerous, powerful, and opu- 
lent, with all the union and stability of an 
hereditary caste, strengthened by large 
landed possessions, was reinvested in an 
authority almost co-ordinate with that of 
the sovereign. The restoration of Zoro- 
astrianism as the established and influen- 
Mm 


HISTORY. OF CHRISTIANITY. 
: 


- . 


a 


~ ὦ 


tial religion of Persia is perhaps the only 
instance of the vigorous reyival ofa pagan 


religion.* . Of the native religion of the 
Parthians, little, if anything, is &nown. 
They were a Scythian race, who overran 
and formed a ruling aristocracy over the 
remains of the older Persian and the more 
modern Grecian civilization. The Scyth- 
ian, or Tartar or Turcoman tribes, who 
have perpetually, from China westward, 
invaded and subdued the more polished 
nations, have never attempted to force 
their rude and shapeless deities, their more 
vulgar Shamanism, or even the Buddhism, 
which in its simpler form has prevailed 
among them to a great extent, on the na- 
tions over which they have ruled. ‘The an- 
cient Magian priesthood remained, if with 
diminished power, in great numbers, and 
not without extensive possessions in the 
eastern provinces of the Parthian empire. 
The temples raised by the Greek success- 
ors of Alexander, whether to Grecian de- 
ities, or blended with the Tsabaism or the 
Nature-worship of Babylonia or Syria, 
continued to possess their undiminished 
honours, with their ample endowments 
and their sacerdotal colleges. Some ves- 
tiges of the deification of the kings of the 
line of Arsaces seem to be discerned, but 
with doubtful certainty. 

The earliest legendary history of Chris- 
tianity assigns Parthia as the scene of 
apostolic labours; it was the province of 
St. Thomas. But in the intermediate re- 
gion, the great Babylonian province, there 
is the strongest evidence that Christianity 
had made an early, a rapid, and a success- 
ful progress. It was the residence, at 
least for a certain period, of the apostle 
St. Peter.t . With what success it con- 
ducted its contest with Judaism it is im- 
possible to conjecture; for Judaism, which, 
after the second rebellion in the reign of 
Hadrian, maintained but a permissive and 
precarious existence in Palestine, flourish- 
ed in the Babylonian province with some- 
thing of a national and independent char- 
acter. The Resch-Glutha, or Prince of 
the Captivity, far surpassed in the splen- 
dour of his court the patriarch of Tiberias ; 
and the activity of their schools of learn- 
ing in Nahardea, in Sura, and in Pumbe- 


* The materials for this view ofthe restoration of 
the Persian religion are chiefly derived from the fol- 
lowing sources: Hyde, de Religione Persarum; 
Anquetil du Perron; Zendavesta, 3 vols. ; the Ger- 
man translation of Du Perron, by Kl<uker, with the 
very valuable volumes of appendix (Anhang); De 
Guigniaut’s. Translation of Creuzer’s Symbolik ; 
Malcolm’s History of Persia; Heeren, Ideen. 

Some of these sources were not open to Gibbon 
when he composed his brilliant chapter on this sub 
ject. +. Compare note, p. 42. 


hi " 


274 . 


ditha, is attested by the vast compilation 
,of the Babylonian Talmud.* Nor does 
the Christianity of this region appear to 
have Suffered from the persecuting spirit 
of the Magian hierarchy during the earlier 
conflicts for the Mesopotamian provinces 
between the arms of Rome and Persia. 
Though one bishop ruled the united com- 
munities of Seleucia and Ctesiphon, the 
numbers of Christians in the rest of the 
province were probably far from inconsid- 
erable. 

It was in the ancient dominions of Da- 
rius and of Xerxes that the old 
religion of Zoroaster reassumed 
its power and authority. No 


Restoration of 
the Persian 
monarchy by 


Pabhogae, sooner had Ardeschir Babhe- 
Of the reli- gan (the Artaxerxes of the 
gion of Zoro- 


Greeks) destroyed the last re- 
mains of the foreign Parthian 
dynasty and reorganized the dominion of 
the native Persian kings, from the bor- 
ders of Charismia to the Tigris (the Per- 
sian writers assert to the Euphrates),t 
than he hastened to environ his throne 
with the Magian hierarchy, and to re-es- 
tablish the sacerdotal order in all its for- 
mer dignity. But an ancient religion which 
has sunk into obscurity will not regain its 
full influence over the popular mind unless 
reinvested in Divine authority : intercourse 
with Heaven must be renewed; the sanc- 
tion and ratification of the Deity must be 
public and acknowledged. Wonder and 
miracle are as necessary to the revival of 
an old, as to the establishment of a new 
religion. In the records of the Zoroas- 
‘trian faith, which are preserved in the an- 
cient language of the Zend, may be traced 
many singular provisions, which bear the 
mark of great antiquity, and show the 
transition from a pastoral to an agricultu- 
ral life.f The cultivation of the soil; the 
propagation of fruit-trees, nowhere so lux- 
‘uriant and various as in the districts which 
probably gave birth to the great religious 
legislator of the East, Balk, and the coun- 
try of the modern Afghans; and the de- 
struction of noxious animals, are among 
the primary obligations enforced on the 
followers of Zoroaster. A grateful peo- 
ple might look back with the deepest ven- 
eration on the author of a religious code 
so wisely beneficent; the tenth of the 
produce would be no disproportioned of- 
fering to the priesthood of a religion which 
had thus turned civilization into a duty, 
and given a Divine sanction to the first 
principles of human wealth and happiness. 


aster. 


* See History of the Jews, iii., 143, &c. 

+ Malcolm’s History of Persia, i., 72. 

+ Compare Heeren, Ideen, and Rhode, die Hei- 
lige Sage des Zendvolks. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


a 


᾿ ’ 
But a new impulse was necessary to a “ 


people which had long passed this state of 
transition, and were only reassuming the 
possessions of their ancestors, and recon- 
structing their famous monarchy. Zoro- 
astrianism, like all other religions, had 
split into numerous sects ; and an author- 
itative exposition of the Living Word of 
Zoroaster could alone restore its power 
and its harmony to the re-established Ma- 
gianism of the realm of Ardeschir. Erdi- 
viraph was the Magian designa- Vision of. 

ted by his blameless innocence Erdiviraph. 
from his mother’s womb to renew the in- 
tercourse with the Divinity, and to unfold, 
on the authority of inspiration, the secrets 
of heaven and hell. Forty (according to 
one account, eighty thousand) of the Ma- 
gian priesthood; the Archimage, who re- 
sided in Bactria, the Desturs and the Mo- 
beds, had Assembled to witness and sane- 
tion this important ceremony. They were 
successively reduced to 40,000, to 4000, to 
400, to 40, to 7: the acknowledged merit 
of Erdiviraph gave him the pre-eminence 
among the seven.* Having passed through 
the strictest ablutions, and drunk a pow- 
erful opiate, he was covered with a white 
linen and laid to sleep. _ Watched by sev- 
en of the nobles, including the king, he 
slept for seven days and nights; and, on 
his reawakening, the whole nation listen- 
ed with believing wonder to his exposition 
of the faith of Oromazd, which was eare- 


fully written down by an attendant scribe 


for the benefit of posterity.+ 

An hierarchy which suddenly regains 
its power after centuries OFVOD- intolerance 
scurity, perhaps of oppression, of the Ma- 
will not be scrupulous as to the ian hierar- 
means of giving strength and “Ὁ 
permanence to its dominioh. With Ar- 
deschir, the restoration of the Persian peo- 
ple to their rank among the nations of 
the earth, by the reinfusion of a national 
spirit, was the noble object of ambition; 
the re-establishment of a national religion, 
as the strongest and most enduring bond 
of union, was an essential part of his great 
scheme; but a national religion, thus as- 
sociated with the civil polity, is necessa- 
rily exclusive, and impatient of the rival- 
ry of other creeds. Intolerance lies in the 
very nature of a religion which, dividing 


* All these numbers, it should be observed, are 
multiples of 40, the indefinite number throughout 
the East. (See Bredow’s Dissertation, annexed to 
the new edition of Syncellus.—Byz. Hist., Bonn). 
The recusants of Zoroastrianism (vid. infra) are in 
like manner reduced to seven, the sacred number 
with the Zoroastrian, as with the religion of the 
Old Testament. 


+ Hyde (from Persian authorities), de Relig. Pers., 


p. 278, et seqq. 


οι. 


mn. 


᾿ 


X 


e. Destruction 
+ 


ta 


Ne 


and Armenia. 5 
__ active zeal of the Christians in the first ages of the 
_ Yeligion should not have taken advantage of the 


“ Ἢ οὐ να, 
Ἂ *% ‘ ΕῪ Ry: 
4 ᾿ 
" a 
wt HISTORY OF re RANEY. 275 ὦ 


the whole world into the realm of two 
conflicting principles, raises one part οἵ. 
mankind into a privileged order as follow- 
ers of the good principle, and condemns 
the other half as the irreclaimable slaves 
of the evil one. The national worship is 
identified with that of Oromazd; and the 
kingdom of Oromazd must be purified 
from the intrusion of the followers of Ah- 
riman. The foreign relations, so to speak, 
of the Persian monarchy, according to 
their old poetical history, are strongly col- 
oured by their deep-rooted religious opin- 
ions. ‘lheir implacable enemies, the pas- 
toral Tartar or Turcoman tribes, inhabit 
the realm of darkness, and invade at times 
and desolate the kingdom of light, till 
some mighty monarch, Kaiomers, or some 
redoubtable hero, Rustan, reasserts the 
majesty and revenges the losses of the 
kingdom of Oromazd. fran and Turan 
are the representatives of the two con- 
flicting worlds of light and darkness. In 
the same spirit, to expel, to persecute the 
followers of other religions, was to expel, 
to trample on the followers of Ahriman. 
This edict of Ardeschir closed all the tem- 
ples but those of the fire-worshippers : 
only eighty thousand followers of Ahri- 
man, including the worshippers of foreign 
religious and the less orthodox believers 
in Zoroastrianism, remained to infect the 
purified region of Oromazd.* Of the loss 
sustained by Christianity during 


stian- this conflict in the proper do- 


~ ityin Persia. minions of Persia, and the num- 


ber of churches which shared the fate of 
the Parthian and Grecian temples, there is 
no record. The persecutions by the fol- 
lowers of Zoroaster are only to be traced 
a a later period in Armenia and in the 

abylonian province; but Persia, from this 
time until the fiercer persecutions of their 
own brethren forced the Nestorian Chris- 
tians to overleap every obstacle, present- 
ed a stern and insuperable barrier to the 
progress of Christianity.t It cut off all 


* Gibbon, in his chapter on the restoration of the 
Persian monarchy and religion, has said that in 
this conflict “‘ the sword of Aristotle (such was the 
name given by the Orientals to the Polytheism 
and philosophy of the Greeks) was easily broken.” 
I suspect this expression to he an anachronism ; it 
is clearly post-Mohammedan, and from a Moham- 
medan author. He has likewise quoted authori- 
ties for the persecution of Artaxerxes which relate 
to those of his descendants. 

Ἐ Sozomen, indeed, asserts that Christianity was 
first introduced into the Persian dominions at a 

_jater period, from their intercourse with Osroene 
But it is very improbable that the 


mild and tolerant government of the Parthian kings. 
“ Parthians and Elamites,” i.e., Jews inhabiting 


connexion with the Christian communi- 
ties (if communities there were) in the 
remoter East.* ; 

Ardeschir bequeathed to his royal de- 
scendants the solemn charge of maintain- 
ing the indissoluble union of the Magian 
religion with the state. ‘ Never connexion 
forget that, as a king, you are ofthe throne 
at once the protector of religion 24 the hie- 
and of your country. Consider | i 
the altar and the throne as inseparable ; 
they must always sustain éach other. A 
sovereign without religion is atyrant ; and 
a people who have none may be deemed 
the most monstrous of societies. Religion 
may exist without a state, but a state can- 
not exist without religion: it is by holy 
laws that a political association can alone 
be bound. You should be to your people 
an example of piety and virtue, but with- 
out pride or ostentation.”+ ‘The kings of 
the race of Sassan accepted and fulfilled 
the sacred trust; the Magian hierarchy 
encircled and supported the kingly power 
of Persia. They formed the great council 
of the state. Foreign religions, if tolera- 
ted, were watched with jealous severity ; 
Magianism was established at the point of 
the sword in those parts of Armenia which 
were subjugated by the Persian kings. 
When Mesopotamia was included within 
the pale of the Persian dominions, the Jews 
were at times exposed to the severest op- 
pressions ; the burial of the dead was pe- 
culiarly offensive to the usages of the fire- 
worshippers. Mani was alike rejected 
and persecuted by the Christian and the 
Magian priesthood ; and the barbarous ex- 
ecution of the Christian bishops who ruled 
over the Babylonian sees demanded at a 
paige the interference of Constan- 
tine. 

But while Persia thus fiercely repelled 
Christianity from its frontier, 
upon that frontier arose a Chris- 
tian state. Armenia was the 
first country which embraced 
Christianity as the religion of the king, 
the nobles, and the people. During the 
early ages of the empire, Armenia had 
been an object of open contention or of 


Armenia the 
first Chris- 
tian king- 
dom. 


those countries, are mentioned as among the con- 
verts on the day of Pentecost.—Sozomen, ii., 8. 

* The date of the earliest Christian communi- 
ties in India is judiciously discussed in Bohlen, das 
alte Indien, i., 369, to the end. 

+ Malcolm’s Hist. of Persia, i., 74, from Ferdusi. 

1 Sozomen, ii., 9,10. Compare, on these per- 
secutions of the Christians, Kleuker, Anhang zum 
Zendavesta, p. 292, et seq., with Assemanni, Act. 
Martyr. Or. et Occid., Rome, 1748. pin 

ὁ St. Martin, Mémoires sur l’Arménie, i., 405, 
406, &c, Notes to Le Beau, Hist. des Empereurs, 


1, 76, 


. 
276 


political intrigue between the conflicting 
‘powers of Parthia and Rome. The adop- 
tion of Christianity as the religion of the 
state, while it united the interests of the 
kingdom by a closer bond with the Chris- 
tian empire of Rome (for it anticipated 
the honour of being the first Christian 
state by only a few years), added to its 
perilous situation on the borders of the 
two empires a new cause for the impla- 
cable hostility of Persia. Every success- 
ful invasion and every subtle negotiation 
to establish the Persian predominance in 
Armenia was marked by the most relent- 
less and sanguinary persecutions, which 
were endured with the combined dignity 
of Christian and patriotic heroism by the 
afflicted people. ‘The Vartobed or patri- 
arch was always the first victim of Per- 
sian conquest, the first leader to raise the 
fallen standard of independence. 

The Armenian histories, written, almost 
without exception, by the priesthood, in 
order to do honour to their native country 
by its early reception of Christianity, have 
included the Syrian kingdom of Kdessa 
within its borders, and assigned a place to 
the celebrated Abgar in the line of their 
kings. The personal correspondence of 
Abgar with the Divine Author of Chris- 
tianity is, of course, incorporated in this 
early legend. But though, no doubt, Chris- 
tianity had made considerable progress at 
the commencement of the third century, 
the government of Armenia was still stern- 
ly and irreconcilably pagan. Khosrov 1. 
A.D. 214, imitated the cruel and impious 

Pharaoh. He compelled the Chris- 
tians, on a scanty stipend, to labour on the 
public works. Many obtained the glori- 
ous crown of martyrdom.* 

Gregory the Illuminator was the apostle 
Gregory the Of Armenia. The birth of Greg- 
Illuminator. ory was darkly connected with 
the murder of the reigning king, the almost 
total extirpation of the royal race, and the 
subjugation of his country to a foreign 
yoke. He was the son of Anah, the as- 
sassin of his sovereign. ‘The murder of 
Khosrov, the valiant and powerful king of 
Armenia, is attributed to the jealous am- 
bition of Ardeschir, the first king of Per- 
βία. Anah, of a noble Armenian race, 
was bribed by the promise of vast wealth 
and the second place in the empire to 
conspire against the life of Khosroy. Pre- 
tending to take refuge in the Armenian 
dominions from the persecution of King 


* Father Chamich, History of Armenia, i., 153, 
translated by Avdall. 

+ Moses Choren, 64, 71. Chamich, Hist. Armén., 
1., 154, and other authorities. St. Martin, Mémoires 
sur l’Arménie, i., 303, &c. " 


> 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. P 


Ardeschir, he was hospitably received in 
the city of Valarshapat. He struck the 
king to the heart, and fled. The Murderot 
Armenian soldiery, in their fury, Khosrov. 

pursued the assassin, who was drowned 
during his flight in the river Araxes. ‘The 
vengeance of the soldiers wreaked itself 
upon his innocent family ;* the infant 
Gregory was alone saved by a Christian 
nurse, who took refuge in Cesarea. There 
the future apostle was baptized, and (thus 
runs the legend) by Divine revelation re- 
ceived the name of Gregory. Ardeschir 
reaped all the advantage of the treachery 
of Anah, and Armenia sank into a Persian- 
province. ‘The conqueror consummated 
the crime of his base instrument; the 
whole family of Khosrov was put to death 
except Tiridates, who fled to the Roman 
dominions, and one sister, Khosrovedught, 
who was afterward instrumental in the in- 
troduction of Christianity into the king- 
dom. ‘Tiridates served with distinction 
in the Roman armies of Dioclesian, and 


seized the favourable opportunity of re- 


conquering his hereditary throne. The 
re-establishment of Armenia as a friendly 
power was an important event in the Kast- 
ern policy of Rome ; the simultaneous con- 
version of the empire and its Eastern 
ally to the new religion strengthened the 
bonds of union by a common religious in- 
terest. ᾿ 
Gregory re-entered his native country 
in the train of the victorious Tiri- qjrgates. 
dates. But Tiridates was a bigot- king of ’ 
ed adherent to the ancient religion Atmenia. 
of his country. This religion appears to 
have been a mingled form of corrupt Zoro- 
astrianism and Grecian, or, rather, Oriental 
nature-worship, with some rites of Scyth- 
ian origin. Their chief deity was Ara- 
mazt, the Ormuzd of the Magian system, 
but their temples were crowded with stat- 
ues, and their altars reeked with animal 
sacrifices ; usages revolting to the purer 
Magianism of Persia.t The Babylonian 
impersonation of the female principle of 
generation, Anaitis or Anahid, was one of 
their most celebrated divinities; and at 
the funeral of their great King Artaces, 
many persons have immolated themselves, 
after the Scythian or Getic custom, upon 
his body. 
It was in the temple of Anaitis, in the 
province of Ekelias, that Tiridates offered 
the sacrifice of thanksgiving for his resto- 
ration to his hereditary throne. He com- 
manded Gregory to assist in the idola- 
trous worship. The Christian resolutely 


* According to St. Martin, two children of Anah 
were saved. ¢ Chamich, i., 145. 


- 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Persecution refused, and endured, according 
of Gregory. to the Armenian history, twelve 
different kinds of torture. It was disclosed 
to the exasperated monarch that the apos- 
tate from the national religion was son to 
the assassin of his father. Gregory was 
plunged into a deep dungeon, where he 
languished for fourteen years, supported 
by the faithful charity of a Christian fe- 
male. At the close of the fourteen years, 
a pestilence, attributed by the Christian 
See to the Divine vengeance, wasted the 
_ kingdom of Armenia. The virgin sister 
of Tiridates, Khosrovedught (the daughter 
of Khosrov), had embraced the faith of the 
Gospel. By Divine revelation (thus speaks 
the piety of the priestly historians), she 
advised the immediate release of Gregory. 
What Heaven had commanded, Heaven 
had approved by wonders. The king him- 
self, afllicted with the malady, was healed 
by the Christian missionary. The pesti- 
Conversion lence ceased; the king, the no- 
ofthe king. bles, the people almost simul- 
taneously submitted to baptism. Armenia 
became at once a Christian kingdom. 
Gregory took the highest rank, as arch- 
bishop of the kingdom. Priests were in- 
vited from Greece and Syria; four hundred 
bishops were consecrated ; churches and 
religious houses arose in every quarter ; 
the Christian festivals and days of reli- 
gious observance were established by law. 
But the severe truth of history must 
make the melancholy acknowledgment 
that the Gospel did not triumph without a 
fierce and sanguinary strife. ‘The province 
of Dara, the sacred region of the Armeni- 
ans, crowded with their national temples, 
made a stern and determined resistance. 
The priests fought for their altars with 
desperate courage, and it was 
only with the sword that church- 
es could be planted in that irre- 
claimable district. In the war waged by 
Maximin against Tiridates, in which the 
ultimate aim of the Roman emperor, ac- 
cording to Eusebius, was the suppression 
of Christianity, he may have been invited 
and encouraged by the rebellious pagan- 
ism of the subjects of Tiridates.* 


Persecution 
by the Chris- 
tians. 


76 ——————————————————— τ ΕΣ 
* In a very curious extract from the ancient Ar- 
menian historian Zenob, there is an account of this 
civil war. The following inscription commemora- 

- ted the decisive battle : . 


The first battle in which men bravely fought. 


The leader of the warriors was Argan, the chief of 


the Priesthood, 
Who lies here in his grave, 
And with him 1038 men, 
And this battle was fought for the godhead of Kisane, 
And for that of Christ. © 


This unquestionably was the first religious war 


since the introduction of Christianity. It is a sin- 


277 


Towards the close of the third century ἢ 
while the religion of the East 
was undergoing these signal 
revolutions, and the antagonist creeds of 
Magianism and Christianity were growing 
up into powerful and hostile systems, and 
assuming an important influence on the 
political affairs of Asia; while the East 
and the West thus began that strife of 
centuries, which subsequently continued in 
amore fierce and implacable form in the 
conflict between Christianity and Moham- 
medanism, a bold and ambitious adventurer 
in the career of religious change* 
attempted to unite the conflicting 
elements; to reconcile the hostile genius 
ofthe East and the West; to fuse together, 
in one comprehensive scheme, Christian- 
ity, Zoroastrianism, and apparently the 
Buddhism of India. | It is singular to trace 
the doctrines of the most opposite systems, 
and of remote religions, assembled togeth- 
er and harmonized in the vast Eclecticism 
of Mani.t From his native Persia he de- 
rived his Dualism, his antagonist yarious 
worlds of light and darkness ; and _ sources of 
from Magianism, likewise, his ne doc- » 

rines. 

contempt of outward temple and 

splendid ceremonial. From Gnosticism, 
or, rather, from universal Orientalism, he 
drew the inseparable admixture of physi- 
cal and moral notions, the eternal hostility 
between mind and matter, the rejection of 
Judaism, and the identification of the God 
of the Old Testament with the evil spirit, 
the distinction between Jesus and the 
Christ, with the docetism, or the unreal 
death of the incorporeal Christ. From 
Cabalism, through Gnosticism, came the 


Manicheism. 


Mani. 


gular fact, that these obstinate idolaters were said 
to be of foreign, of Indian descent ; they wore long 
hair.—See Zeitschrift fur die Kunde des Morgen- 
landes, vol. 1, p. 253, 378, et seqq. δ ἃ 

* Besides the original authorities, [ have consult- 
ed for Mani and his doctrines, Beausobre, Hist. du 
Manicheisme; D’Herbelot, art. Mant; Lardner, 
Credibility of Gospel History ; Mosheim, de Reb. 
Christ. ante Const. Magnum; Matter, Hist. du 
Gnosticisme, ii., 351. Ihave only seen Baur’s Man- 
ichaische Religious System since thischapter was 
written. I had anticipated, though not followed 
out so closely, the relationship to Buddhism, much 
of which, however, is evidently the common ground- 
work of all Orientalism. [Add Mosheim’s Instit, 
of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 192, &c., and the authors 
named in n. (6.)] . , 

+ Augustine, in various passages, but most fully 
in what is given as an extract from the book of the 
Foundation, de Nat. Boni, p. 515. Compare Beau- 
sobre, vol. ii., 386, who seems to consider it an ab- 
stract from some forged or spurious work. Proba. 
bly much of Mani’s system was allegorical, but how 
much his disciples probably did not, and his adver- 
saries would not, know. ‘ Seealso.the most curious 
passage about the Manichean metempsychosis In 
the statement of Tyrbo, in the Disputatio Archelai 
en pignetis, apud Routh, Reliquiz Sacre, vol, iv. 


278 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


primal man, the Adam Cedmon of that 
system, and (if that be a genuine part of 
this system) the assumption of beautiful 
human forms, those of graceful boys and 
attractive virgins, by the powers of light, 
and their union with the male and female 
spirits of darkness. From India he took 
the Emanation theory (all light was a part 
of the Deity, and in one sense the soul of 
the world), the metempsychosis, the triple 
division of human souls (the one the pure, 
which reascended at once and was reuni- 
ted to the primal light; the second the 
semi-pure, which, having passed through a 
purgatorial process, returned to earth, to 
pass through a second ordeal of life; the 
third of obstinate and irreclaimable evil) : 
from India, perhaps, came his Homopho- 
rus, as the Greeks called it, his Atlas, who 
supported the earth upon his shoulders, 
and his Splenditenens, the circumambient 
air. From Chaldea he borrowed the pow- 
er of astral influences ; and he approxima- 
ted to the solar worship of expiring pagan- 
ism: Christ, the Mediator, like the Mithra 
of his countrymen, had his dwelling in 
the sun.* 

From his native country Mani derived 
the simple diet of fruits and herbs; from 
the Buddhism of India, his respect for ani- 
mal life, which was neither to be slain for 
food or for sacrifice ;— from all the anti- 
materialist sects or religions, the abhor- 
rence of all sensual indulgence, even the 
bath as well as the banquet ; the proscrip- 
tion, or, at least, the disparagement of 
marriage. And the whole of these foreign 
and extraneous tenets his creative imagi- 
nation blended with his own form of Chris- 
tianity ; for so completely are they min- 
gled that it is difficult to decide whether 
Christianity or Magianism formed the 
groundwork of his system. From Chris- 
tianity he derived not, perhaps, a strictly 
Nicene, but more than an Arian Trinity. 
His own system was the completion of the 
imperfect revelation of the Gospel. He 
was a man invested witha Divine mission ; 
the Paraclete (for Mani appears to have 
distinguished between the Paraclete and 
the Holy Spirit), who was to consummate 

* D’Herbelot, voc. Mani. , 

+ D’Herbelot, voc. Mani. Augustine says that 
they wept when they plucked vegetables for food, 
for in them also there was a certain portion of life, 
which, according to him, was a part of the Deity. 
Dicitis enim dolorem sentire fructum, cum de ar- 
bore carpitur, sentire dum conciditur, cum teritur, 
cum coquitur,cummanditur. Cujus, porrodemen- 
tiz est, pios se videri velle, quod ab animalium in- 
terfectione se temperent, cum omnes suas escas 
easdem animas habere dicunt, quibus ut putant, 
viventibus, tanta vulnera et manibus et dentibus in- 


gerant.—Augustin. contra Faust., lib. vi., p. 205, 
206. This is pure Buddhism. 


the great work ἡ ae commenced, 
yet unfulfilled, by the mission of Jesus.* 
Mani had twelve apostles. His Ertang, 
or Gospel, was intended to supersede the 
four Christian Evangelists, whose works, 
though valuable, he averred had been in- 
terpolated with many Jewish fables. The 
Acts Mani altogether rejected, as announ- 
cing the descent of the Paraclete on.the 
apostles.| On the writings of St. Paul he 
pronounced a more favourable senten 
But his Ertang, it is said, was not merel: 
the work of a prophet, but of a painter; 
for, among his various accomplishments, 
Mani excelled in that art. It was richly 
illustrated by paintings, which 
commanded the wonder of the 
age; while his followers, in devout admi- 
ration, studied the tenets of their master 
in the splendid images as well as the sub- 
lime language of the Marvellous Book. 
If this be true, since the speculative char- 
acter of Mani’s chief tenets, their theogon- 
ical, if it may be so said, extramundane 
character, lay beyond the proper province 
of the painter (the imitation of existing 
beings, and that idealism which, though 
elevating its objects to an unreal dignity 
or beauty, is nevertheless faithful to the 
truth of nature), this imagery, with which 
his book was illuminated, was probably a 
rich system of Oriental symbolism, which 
may have been transmuted by the blind 
zeal of his followers, or the misapprehen- 
sion of his adversaries, into some of his 
more fanciful tenets. The religion of Per- 


His paintings. 


if not their native source; and in the gor- 
geous illuminated manuscripts of the 
often full of allegorical devices, we may 
discover, perhaps, the antitypes of the Er- 
tang of Mani. 


sia was fertile in these emblematic he gor 


* Lardner, following Beausobre, considers the 
account of Mani’s predecessors, Scythianus and 
Terebinthus, or Buddha, idle fictions. The virgin 
birth assigned to Buddha, which appears to harmo- 
nize with the great Indian Mythos of the origin of 
Buddhism, might warrant a conjecture that this is 
an Oriental tradition of the Indian origin of some 
of Mani’s doctrines, dictated by Greek ignorance. 
I now find this conjecture followed out and illustra- 
ted with copious learning by Baur. 

+ Lardner (v. 11, 183) suggests other reasons for 
the rejection of the Acts. , 

t It appears, I think, from Augustine, that all the 
splendid images of the sceptred king crowned with 
flowers, the Splenditenens and the Homophorus, 
were allegorically interpreted. Sinon sunt enig- 
mata rationis, phantasmata sunt cogitationis, aut 
vecordia furoris. Si vero enigmata esse dicuntur. 
—Contra Faust., xv.,p. 277. The extract from the 
“ amatory song” (contra Faust., xv., 5), with the 
twelve ages (the great cycle of 12,000 years) sing- 
ing and casting flowers upon the everlasting scep- 
tred king; the twelve gods (the signs of the zodiac), 
and the hosts of angels, is evidently the poetry, not 
the theology of the system. ’ 


: 


ast; >| 


᾽» HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


r 

Mani (we blend together, and harmonize, 
Life of Mani. 2S far as possible, the conflict- 
ing accounts of the Greeks and 
Asiatics) was of Persian birth,* of the sa- 
cred race of the Magi. He wore the dress 
of a Persian of distinction: the lofty Bab- 
ylonian sandals, the mantle of azure blue, 
the parti-coloured trowsers, and the ebony 
staff in-his hand.t He was a proficient in 
the learning of his age and country, a ma- 


thematician, and had made a globe; he 
oe deeply skilled, as appears from his 
» system, in the theogonical mysteries of 
the East, and so well versed in the Chris- 
tian Scriptures as to be said, and, indeed, 
he may at one time have been, a Christian 
_ priest in the province of Ahoriaz, that bor- 
τ dered on Babylonia.{ He began to prop- 
agate his doctrines during the reign of 
Shah-poor, but the son of Ardisheer would 
endure no invasion upon the established 
Magianism.§ Mani fled from the wrath 
of his sovereign into Turkesthan; from 
thence he is said to have visited India, and 
even China.|| In Turkesthan he withdrew 
himself from the society of men, like Mo- 
hammed in the cave of Hera,{ into a grot- 
to, through which flowed a fountain of wa- 
ter, and in which provision for a year had 
been secretly stored. His followers be- 
lieved that he ascended into heaven to 
commune with the Deity. At the end of 
the year he reappeared, and displayed his 
Ertang, embellished with its paintings, as 
the Divine revelation.** 
In the theory of Mani, the one Supreme, 


- who hovered in inaccessible and uninflu- 
ential distance over the whole of the 


* His birth is assigned by the Chronicle of Edes- 
sa to the year 239.—Beausobre, i. 

+ Beausobre, who is inclined to admit the genu- 
ineness of this description in the Acts of Archelaus, 
has taken pains to show that there was nothing differ- 
ing from the ordinary Persian dress.— V.i., p. 97, &c. 

+ In the Acts of Archelaus he is called a barba- 
rous Persian, who understood no Greek, but dispu- 
ted in Syriac, c. 36. § Malcolm, i., 79. 

|| Abulphar., Dynast., p.82. See Lardner, p. 167. 

4 Lardner considers the story of the cave a later 
invention, borrowed from Mohammed. The relation 
of this circumstance by Mohammedan authors leads 
me to the opposite conclusion. They would rather 
have avoided than invented points of similitude be- 
tween their prophet and “the impious Sadducee,” 
as he is called in the Koran. But see Baur’s very 
ingenious and probable theory. which resolves it 
into a myth, and connects it with the Mithraic and 
still earlier astronomical or religious legends. 

** Beausobre (i., 191, 192), would find the Cascar 
at which, according to the extant but much con- 
tested report, the memorable conference between 
Archelaus and Mani was held, at Cashgar in Turk- 
esthan. But, independent of the improbability of a 
Christian bishop settled in Turkesthan, the whole 
history is full of difficulties, and nothing is less like- 
ly than that the report of such a conference should 
reach the Greek or Syrian Christians through the 
hostile territory of Persia. 


279 


Gnostic systems, the Brahm of the In- 
dians, and the more vague and abstract 
Zeruane Akerene of Zoroastrianism, holds 
no place. The groundwork of his system. 
is an original and irreconcilable Dualism.* 
The two antagonist worlds of light and 
darkness, of spirit and matter, existed 
from eternity separate, unmingled, unap 

proaching, ignorant of each other’s exist 

ence.t Thekingdom of light was held by 
God the Father, who “ rejoiced in his own 
proper eternity, and comprehended within 
himself wisdom and vitality ;” his most 
glorious kingdom was founded in a light 
and blessed region, which could not be 
movedor shaken. Onone side of his most 
illustrious and holy territory was the land 
of darkness, of vast depth and extent, in- 
habited by fiery bodies and pestiferous 
races of beings.{ Civil dissensions agita- 
ted the world of darkness; the defeated 
faction fled to the heights or 
treme verge of their world.§ They beheld. 
with amazement and with envy the beau-— 
tiful and peaceful regions of light.|| They 

determined to invade the delightful realm ; 

and the primal man, the archetypal Adam, 

was formed to defend the borders against 

this irruption of the hostile powers.§] He 


* Eniphanius gives these words at the commence- 
ment of Mani’s work (in twenty-two books) on the 
Mysteries. Ἦν Θεὺς καὶ ὕλη, φῶς καὶ σκότος, 
ἀγαθὸν καὶ κακὸν, τοῖς πᾶσιν ἄκρως ἐναντία, ὡς 
κατὰ μηδὲν ἐπικοινοῦν ϑάτερον Sarépy.—Epipha- 
nius, Heret., Ixvi., 14. 

+ He quidem in exordio fuerunt due substantia 
a sese diverse, Et luminis quidem imperium tene- 
bat Deus Pater, in sua sancta stirpe perpetuus, in 
virtute magnificus, natura ipsd verus, zternitate 
propria semper exsultans, continens apud se sapien- 
tiam et sensus vitales * * * Ita autem fundata sunt 
ejusdem splendidissima regna super lucidam et bea- 
tam terram, ut a nullo unquam aut moveri aut con- 
cuti possint—Apud August. contra Ep. Manich., 
c. 13, n. 16. 

+ The realm of darkness was divided into five 
distinct circles, which may remind us of Dante’s 
hell. 1. Of infinite darkness, perpetually emanating, 
and of inconceivable stench. 2. Beyond these, that 
ot muddy and turbid waters, with their inhabitants ; 
and, 3, within, that of fierce and boisterous winds, 
with their prince and their parents. 4. A fiery but 
corruptible region (the region of destroying fire), 
with its leaders and nations. 5. In like manner, 
farther within, a place full of smoke and thick gloom, 
in which dwelt the dreadful sovereign of the whole, 
with innumerable princes around him, of whom he 
was the soul and the source.— Ep. Fundament. apud 
Augustin. contra Manich., c. 14, n. 19. 

The world of darkness, according to one state- 
ment, cleft the world of light like a wedge (Augus- 
tin. contra Faust., iv.,2); according to another (Ti- 
tus Bostrensis, i., 7), it occupied the southern quar- 
ter of the universe. This, as Baur observes, 1S Zo- 
roastrianism.—Bundehesch, part iii., p. 62. 

|| Theodoret, Hzret. Fab., i., 26 : 

4 Epiphan., Heret., lxvi.,76. Titus Bostrensis, 
Augustin., de Heret., c. 46. 


‘< 


to the ex- " 


Ὁ ) 


A 


280 ᾿ 


was armed with his five elements, opposed 
to those which formed the realm of dark- 
ness. The primal man was in danger of 
discomfiture in the long and fearful strife, 
had not Oromazd, the great power of the 
world of light, sent the living Spirit to his 
assistance. The powers of darkness re- 
treated ; but they bore away some particles 
of the Divine light, and the extrication of 
these particles (portions of the Deity, ac- 
cording to the subtile materialism of the 
system) is the object of the long and al- 
most interminable strife of the two princi- 
ples. Thus part of the Divinity was in- 
terfused through the whole of matter ; 
light was, throughout all visible existence, 
commingled with darkness.t Mankind 
was the creation or the offspring of the 
great principle of darkness, after this sto- 
Ten and ethereal light had become incor- 
porated with his dark and material being. 
Man was formed in the image of the pri- 
mal Adam; his nature was threefold, or, 
perhaps, dualistic ; the body, the concu- 
piscent or sensual soul (which may have 
been the influence of the body on the soul), 
and the pure, celestial, and intellectual 
spirit. Eve was of inferior, of darker, and 
more material origin; for the creating 
Archon, or spirit of evil, had expended all 
the light, or soul, upon man. Her beauty 
was the fatal tree of Paradise, for which 
Adam was content to fall. It was by this 
union that the sensual or concupiscent 
soul triumphed over the pure and Divine 
spirit ;f and it is by marriage, by sexual 
union, that the darkening race was propa- 
gated. The intermediate, the visible world, 
which became the habitation of man, was 
the creation of the principle of good by his 
spirit. This primal principle subsisted in 
trinal unity (whether from eternity might, 
perhaps, have been as fiercely agitated in 
the Manichean as in the Christian schools) ; 
the Christ, the first efflux of the God of 
Light, would have been defined by the Man- 


* The celestial powers, during the long process 
of commixture, assumed alternately the most beau- 
tiful forms of the masculine and feminine sex. and 
mingled with the powers of darkness, who likewise 
became boys and virgins ; and from their conjune- 
tion proceeded the still commingling world. ‘This 
is probably an allegory, perhaps a painting. There 
is another fanciful poetic image of considerable 
beauty, and, possibly, of the same allegoric charac- 
ter. The pure elementary spirit soared upward in 
‘their ships of light,” in which they originally sail- 
ed through the stainless element; those which were 
of a hotter nature were dragged down to earth; 
those of a colder and more humid temperament 
were exhaled upward to the elemental waters. The 
ships of light are, in another view, the celestial bod- 
les. . 

+ De Mor. Manichzor., c. 19. 
c. 10. 


Acta Archelai, 


= aS 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ΕἸ 


* 


ichean, as in the Nicene Creed, as Light 
of Light ; he was self-subsistent, endowed 


with all the attributes of the Deity, andhis 
dwelling was in the sun.* He was the’ | 


Mithra of the Persian system, and the 
Manicheant doctrine was Zoroastrianisnr 
under Christian appellations.} There is 
an evident difference between the Jesus 
and the Christos throughout the system ; 
the Jesus Patibilis seems to be the im- 
prisoned and suffering light. 

The Spirit, which made up the triple 
being of the primal principle of good, was 
an all-pervading ether, the source of life 
and being, which, continually stimulating 
the disseminated particles of light, was 
the animating principle of the worlds. He 
was the creator of the intermediate world, 
the scene of strife, in which the powers of 
light and darkness coniested the dominion 
over man; the one assisting the triumph 
of the particle of light which formed the 
intellectual spirit, the other imbruting and 
darkening the imprisoned light with the 
corruption and sensual pollutions of mat- 
ter. But the powers of darkness obtained 
the mastery, and man was rapidly degen- 
erating into the baser destiny; the Ho- 
mophorus, the Atlas on whose shoulders 
the earth rests, began to tremble and tot- 
ter under his increasing burden.f Then 
the Christ descended from his dwelling 
in the sun; assumed a form apparently hu- 
man; the Jews, incited by the prince of 

* According to the creed of Faustus, his virtue 
dwelt in the sun, his wisdom in the moon.—Apud 
August., lib. xxx., Ρ. 333. 

+ The Manicheans were Trinitarians, or, at least, 
used Trinitarian language. — Augustin. contra 
Faust.,c. xx. Nos Patris quidem Dei omnipotent- 
is, et Christi filii ejus, et Spiritus Sancti unum 
idemque sub triplici appellatione colimus numen; 
sed Patrem quidem ipsum lucem incolere summan 
ac principalem, quam Paulus alias imaccessibilem 
yocat; Filium vero in hac secunda ac visibili luce 
consistere, qui quonian sit et ipse geminus, ut eum 
apostolus novit, Christum dicens esse Dei virtutem 
et Dei sapientiam, virtutem quidem ejus in sole hab- 
itare credimus, sapientiam vero in luna: nec non et 
Spiritus Sancti, quiest majestas tertia, aéris hunc 
omnem ambitum sedem fatemur ac diversorium, cu- 
jus ex viribus ac spiritali profusione terram quoque 
concipientem, gignere patibilem Jesum, quiest vita 
et salus hominum, qui suspensus ex ligno. 

1 Homophorus and his ally, the Splenditenens, 
who assists him in maintaining the earth in its 
equilibrium, is one of the most incongruous and 
least necessary parts of the Manichean system. 

Is the origin of these images the notion of sup- 
porters of the earth which are so common in the 
East? Are any of these fables older than the in- 
troduction of Manicheism? Is it the old Indian fa- 
ble under another form? or is it the Greek Atlas? 
I am inclined to look to India for the origin. 

Beausobre’s objection, that such a fiction is in- 


consistent with Mani’s mathematical knowledge, . 


and his formation of a globe, is of no inconsiderable 
weight, if it is not mere poetry. 


i 


y * 


᾿ 


darkness, orice’ his phantom form ; but 
he left behind his Gospel, which dimly and 
imperfectly taught what was now reveal- 


ved in all its full effulgence by Mani the 


Persian. 

' The celestial bodies, which had been 
formed by the living spirit of the purer 
element, were the witnesses and co-ope- 
rators in the great strife.* To the sun, 
the dwelling of the Christ, were drawn up 
the purified souls, in which the principle of 
light had prevailed, and passed onward for 
ablution in the pure water which forms the 
moon; and then, after fifteen days, return- 
ed to the source of light inthe sun. The 
spirits of evil, on the creation of the visible 


~ world, lest they should fly away, and bear 


off into irrecoverable darkness the light 
which was still floating about, had been 
seized by the living spirit and bound to 
the stars. Hence the malignant influen- 
ces of the constellations; hence all the 
terrific and destructive fury of the ele- 
ments. While the soft, and refreshing, and 
fertilizing showers are the distillation of 
the celestial spirit, the thunders are the 
roarings, the lightning the flashing wrath, 
the hurricane the furious breath, the tor- 
rent and destructive rains the sweat, of 
the demon of darkness. This wrath is 
peculiarly excited by the extrication of the 
passive Jesus, who was said to have been 
begotten upon the all-conceiving earth, 
from his power, by the pure spirit. The 
passive Jesus is an emblem, in one sense, 
it should seem, or type of mankind; more 
properly, in another, of the imprisoned 
deity or light. For gradually the souls of 


' men were drawn upward to the purifying 


sun; they passed through the twelve signs 
of the zodiat to the moon, whose waxing 
and waning was the reception and trans- 
mission of light to the sun, and from the sun 
to the Fountain of Light. Those which 
were less pure passed again through differ- 
ent bodies, and gradually became defeca- 
ted during this long metempsychosis ; and 
there only remained a few obstinately and 
inveterately imbruted in darkness, whom 
the final consummation of the visible world 
would leave in the irreclaimable society 

* Lardner has well expressed the Manichean no- 
tion of the formation of the celestial bodies, which 
were made, the sun of the good fire, the moon of 
the good water. ‘‘In a word, not to be too minute, 
the Creator formed the sun and moon out of those 
parts of the light which had preserved their original 
purity. The visible or inferior heavens (for now 
we do not speak of the supreme heaven) and the 
rest of the planets were formed of those parts of 
light which were but little corrupted with matter. 
The rest he left in our world, which are no other 
than those parts of light which had suffered most 
by the contagion of matter.”—Lardner’s Works, 
4to ed., ii, 193. ἡ 


‘ NN 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. » 


281 


of the evil powers.. At that consumma- 
tion the Homophorus would shake off his 
load; the world would be dissolved in 
fire ;* the powers of darkness cast back 
for all eternity to their primeval state; 
the condemned souls would be kneaded 
up forever in impenetrable matter, while 
the purified souls in martial hosts would 
surround the frontier of the region of 
light, and forever prohibit any new irrup- 
tion from the antagonist world of darkness. 
The worship of the Manicheans was 
simple: they built no altar, they raised 
no temple, they had no images, they had 
no imposing ceremonial. Pure and simple 
prayer was their only form of adoration ;t 
they did not celebrate the birth of Christ, for 
of his birth they denied the reality ; their 
paschal feast, as they equally disbelieved 
the reality of Christ’s passion, though kept 
holy, had little of the Christian form. 
Prayers addressed to the sun, or at leas 
with their faces directed to that taberna- 
cle in which Christ dwelt ; hymns to the 
great Principle of Light; exhortations to 
subdue the dark and sensual element with- 
in, and the study of the marvellous book 
of Mani, constituted their devotion.. They 
observed the Lord’s day; they adminis- 
tered baptism, probably with oil; for the 
seem (though this point is obscure) t 
have rejected water-baptism ; they cele- 
brated the Eucharist ; but, as they abstain- 
ed altogether from wine, they probably 
used pure water, or water mingled with 
raisins.{ Their manners were austere 
and ascetic ; they tolerated, but only tol- 
erated, marriage, and that only among the 
inferior orders :§ the theatre, the banquet, 


* Acta Disput., c. il. Epiphan., 6. 58. 

+ Faustus expresses this sentiment very finely. 
Item Pagani aris, delubris, simulacris, atque in- 
censo Deum colendum putant. Ego ab his in hoc 
quoque multum diversus incedo, qui ipsum me, si 
modo sim dignus, rationabile Dei templum puto. 
Vivum vive majestatis simulacrum Christum filium 
ejus accipio; aram, mentem puris artibus et dis 
ciplinis imbutam. Honores quoque divinos ac sa 
crificia in solis orationibus, et ipsis puris et simpli 
cibus pono.—Faust. apud August., xx., 3. 

They bitterly taunted the Catholics with their 
paganism, their sacrifices, their agape, their idols, 
their martyrs, their Gentile holydays and rites.—Ib. 

1 August. contra Faust., Disput. i., 2, 3. 

§ St. Augustine accuses them of breaking the 
fifth commandment. Tu autem doctrinad demo 
niaca didicisti inimicos deputare parentes tuos, 
quod te per concubitum in carne ligaverint, et hoc 
modo utique deo tuo immundas compedes imposu- 
erint.—Adv. Faust., lib. xv., p. 278. Opinantur et 

redicant diabolum fecisse atque junxisse mascu- 
am et feminam.—Idem, lib. xix., p. 3381. Displicet 
“ crescite et multiplicamini,” ne Dei vestra multi 
plicentur ergastula, &c.—Adv. Secundum, c. 21. 
᾿Απέχεσθαι γάμων καὶ ἀφροδισίων Kal τεκνο- 
ποιΐας, ἵνα μὴ ἐπιπλεῖον ἡ δύναμις ἐνοικήσῃ τῇ 


ad 


282 


even the bath, were severely proscribed. 
Their diet was of fruits and herbs; they 
shrunk with abhorrence from animal food; 
and, with Buddhist nicety, would tremble 
at the guilt of having extinguished the 
principle of life, the spark, as it were, of 
celestial light, in the meanest creature. 
This involved them in the strangest ab- 
surdities and contradictions, which are 
pressed against them by their antagonists 
with unrelenting logic.* They admitted 
penitence for sin, and laid the fault of 
their delinquencies on the overpowering 
influence of matter.t Mani suffered the 
fate of all who attempt to reconcile con- 
flicting parties without power to enforce 
harmony between them. He was dis- 
claimed and rejected with every mark of 
indignation and abhorrence by both. On 
his return from exiles{ indeed, he was re- 
ceived with respect and favour by the 
reigning sovereign Hormouz, the son of 
Shahpoor, who bestowed upon him a cas- 
tle named Arabion. In this point alone 


——— nn nn 
ὕλῃ κατὰ τὴν τοῦ γένους διαδοχήν. -- Alexand. 
Lycop., c. 4. 

They asserted, indeed, that their doctrines went 
no farther in this respect than those of the Catho- 
lic Christians.—Faust., 30, c. 4. Their opposition 
to marriage is assigned as among the causes of the 
enmity of the Persian king. Rex vero Persarum, 
cum vidisset tam Catholicos et Episcopos, quam 
Manichzos Manetis sectarios, a nuptils abstinere ; 
in Manichzos quidem sententiam mortis tulit. Ad 
Christianos vero idem edictum manavit. Quum 
igitur Christiani ad regem confugissent, jussit ille 
discrimen quale inter utrosque esset, sibi exponi.— 
Apud Asseman. Biblioth. Orient., vii., 220. 

There were, however, very different rules of diet 
and of manners for the elect and the auditors, 
much resembling those of the monks and other 
Christians among the Catholics.—See quotations 
in Lardner, ii., 156. 

* St. Augustine’s Treatise de Mor. Manichzor. 
is full of these extraordinary charges. In the Con- 
fessions (ili, 10), he says that the fig wept when it 
was plucked, and the parent tree poured forth tears 
of milk ; ‘‘that particles of the true and Supreme 
God were imprisoned in an apple, and could not 
be set free but by the touch of one of the elect. If 
eaten, therefore, by one not a Manichean, it was a 
deadly sin; and hence they are charged with ma- 
king it a sin to give anything which had life to a 
poor man not a Manichean.” “They showed 
more compassion to the fruits of the earth than to 
human beings.” They abhorred husbandry, it is 
said, as continually wounding life, even in clearing 
a field of thorns; ‘so much more were they 
friends of gourds than of men.” 

+ An acknowledgment of the blamelessness of 
their manners is extorted from St. Augustine; at 
least he admits that, as far as his knowledge as a 
hearer, he can charge them with no immorality. — 
Contr. Fortunat. in init. In other parts of his 
writings, especially in the tract De Morib. Mani- 
cheor., he is more unfavourable. But see the re- 
markable passage, contra Faust , v. i., in which the 
Manichean contrasts his works with the faith of the 
orthodox Christian. 

+ According to Malcolm, he did not return till the 
reign of Baharam. 


% 


4 


ι 


é : 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. » 


the Greek and Oriental accounts coincide. 
It was from his own castle that Mani at- 
tempted to propagate his doctrines among 
the Christians in the province of Babylo- 
nia. The fame of Marcellus, a nobl 
Christian soldier, for his charitable acts 
in the redemption of hundreds of captives, 
designated him as a convert who might be 
of invaluable service to the cause of Ma- 
nicheism, According to the Christian ac- 
count, Mani experienced a signal discom- 
fiture in his conference with Archelaus, 
bishop of Cascar.* But his dis- peatn of 
pute with the Magian hierarchy Mani. 
had a more fearful termination. It was 
an artifice of the new king, Baharam, to 
tempt the dangerous teacher from his 
castle. He was seized, flayed alive, and 
his skin, stuffed with straw, placed over 
the gate of the city of Shahpoor, 

But, wild as may appear his doctrines, 
they expired not with their author. The 
anniversary of his death was hallowed 
by his mourning disciples.t The sect was 
organized upon the Christian model: he 
left his twelve apostles, his seventy-two 
bishops,f his priesthood. His distinction 
between the elect$ or the perfect, and the 
hearers or catechumens, offered an exact 
image of the orthodox Christian commu- 
nities; and the latter were permitted to 
marry, to eat animal food, and cultivate 
the earth.) In the East and in propagation 
the West the doctrines spread of his reli- 
with the rapidity ; and ἔπ: 
the deep impression which they made 
upon the mind of man may be estimated 


* Some of the objections of Beausobre to this 
conference appear insuperable. Allowacity named 
Cascar; can we credit the choice of Greek, even 
Heathen, rhetoricians and grammarians as assess- 
ors in such a city and in suchacontest? Arche 
laus, it must indeed be confessed, plays the sophist ; 
and if Mani had been no more powerful as a rea- 
soner ΟΥ̓ as a speaker, he would hardly. have dis- 
tracted the East and West with his doctrines. It 
is not improbably an imaginary dialogue in the 
form, though certainly not in the style, of Plato. 
See the best edition of it, in Routh’s Reliquie 
Sacre. σα. 

+ Augustin. contr. Epist. Manichsi, ce. [ἃ The 
day of Mani’s death was kept holy by his follow- 
ers, because he really died; the crucifixion neg- 
lected, because Christ had but seemingly expired 
on the cross. 1 Augustin, de Heres., c. 46. 

§ The strangest notion was, that vegetables used 
for food were purified ; that is, the divine principle 
of life and light separated from the material and 
impure by passing through the bodies 0 “the elect. 
Prebent. alimenta electis suis, ut divina illa sub- 
stantia in eorum ventre purgata, impetret eis ve- 
niam, quorum traditur oblatione purganda.— A ugus- 
tin.,de Heres.,c.46. It was a merit in the hearers 
to make these offerings.—Compare Confess., iv., 

|| Auditores, qui giellantar apud 608, et car 
bus vescuntur, et agros colunt, et si voluerint, ux- 


ores habent, quorum nihil faciunt qui vocantur ~ 


electii—Augustin., Epist. ccxxxvil, 


‘ 


a 


att 


Pe 


»: HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


by Manicheism having become, almost 
throughout Asia and Europe, a by-word 
of religious animosity. In the Moham- 
medan world the tenets of the Saddu- 
cean, the impious Mani, are branded as 
the worst and most awful impiety. In 
the West the progress of the believers in 
this most dangerous of heresiarchs was 
so successful, that the followers of Mani 
were condemned to the flames or to the 
mines, and the property of those who in- 
troduced the “ execrable usages and fool- 
ish laws of the Persians” into the peace- 
ful empire of Rome confiscated to the 
imperial treasury. One of the edicts of 
Dioclesian was aimed at their suppres- 
sion.* St. Augustine himself{t with diffi- 
culty escaped the trammels of their creed, 
to become their most able antagonist ; 
and in every century of Christianity, Ma- 
nicheism, when its real nature was as 
much unknown as the Copernican system, 
was a proverb of reproach against all sec- 
taries who departed from the unity of the 
Church. 

The extent of ifs success may be calcu- 
‘lated by the implacable hostility of all 
other religions to the doctrines of Mani: 
the causes of that success are more diffi- 
cult to conjecture. Manicheism would 
rally under its banner the scattered fol- 
lowers of the Gnostic sects: but Gnosti- 
cism was never, it should seem, popular; 
while Manicheism seems to have had the 
power of exciting a fanatic attachment to 
its tenets in the lower orders. The severe 
asceticism of their manners may have 
produced some effect, but in this respect 
they could not greatly have outdone mo- 


* See the edict in Routh, iv., p. 285. Some 
doubt has been thrown on its authenticity. It is 
questioned by S. Basnage and by Lardner, though 
admitted by Beausobre. 1 cannot think the igno- 
rance which it betrays of the “true principles of 
the Manichees,” the argument adduced by Lard- 
ner, as of the least weight. Dioclesian’s predeces- 
sors were as little acquainted with the “true prin- 
ciples of Christianity,” yet condemned them in 
their public proceedings. 

+ There is something very beautiful in the lan- 
guage of St. Augustine, and, at the same time, no- 


_ thing can show: more clearly the strong hold which 


Manicheism had obtained on the Christian world. 
Illi in vos seviant, qui nesciunt cum quo labore 
verum inveniatur, et quam difficile caveantur er- 
rores. Illi in vos seviant qui nesciunt quam rarum 


et arduum sit carnalia phantasmata pie mentis se- 


renitate superare. * * * * Illi in vos seviant, qui 
nesciunt quibus suspirlis et gemitibus fiat, ut ex 
quantulacunque parte possit intelligi Deus. Pos- 
tremo illi in vos s#viant, qui nunquam tali errore 
decepti sint, quali vos deceptos vident.— Contr. 

ist. Manichei, c. 2. But the spirit of controver- 

was too strong for the charity and justice of 
Augustine. The tract which appears to me to 
_Bive the fairest view of the real controversy is the 
Disputatio contra Fortunatum. 


‘flocks. 


* 


᾿ 288 


nastic Christidis Mand the distinct and 
definite impersonations of their creed, al- 
ways acceptable to a rude and imaginative 
class, were encountered by formidable 
rivals in the demonology, and more com- 
plicated form of worship, which was rapid- 
ly growing up &mong the Catholics.* 

In the Eastern division of the Roman 
empire Christianity had obtain- vyiumph of 
ed a signal victory. It had sub- Christianity. 
dued by patient endurance the violent hos- 
tility of Galerius ; it had equally defied the 
insidious policy of Maximin; it had twice 
engaged in a contest with the civil govern- 
ment, and twice come forth in triumph. 
The edict of toleration had been extorted 
from the dying Galerius; and the pagan 
hierarchy, and more splendid pagan cere- 
monial with which Maximin attempted to 
raise up a rival power, fell to the ground 
on his defeat by Licinius, which closely 
followed that of Maxentius by Constan- 
tine. The Christian communities had 
publicly reassembied ; the churches were 
rising in statelier form in all the cities; 
the bishops had reassumed their authority 
over their scattered but undiminished 
Though, in the one case, indig- 
nant animosity, and the desire of vindica- 
ting the severity of their measures against 
a sect dangerous for its numbers as well 
as its principles, in the other the glowing 
zeal of the martyr may be suspected of 
some exaggeration, yet when a public im- 
perial edict, and the declarations of the 
Christians themselves, assert the nunier- 
ical predominance of the Christian party, 
it is impossible to doubt that Numbers of 
their numbers, as well as their the Christians. 
activity, were imposing and formidable. 
In a rescript of Maximin he states that it 
had been forced on the observation of his 
august fathers, Dioclesian and Maximian, 
that almost all mankind had abandoned 
the worship of their ancestors, and united 
themselves to the Christian sect ;+ and 
Lucianus, a presbyter of Antioch, who 
suffered martyrdom under Maximin, as- 
serts in his last speech that the greater 
part of the world had rendered its alle- 
giance to Christianity ; entire cities, aud 
even the rude inhabitants of country dis- 
tricts.{ These statements refer more par- 


* The Manicheans were legally condemned under 
Valentinian and Valens. The houses in which they 
held their meetings were confiscated to the state 
(Cod. Theodos., xvi., 3). By Theodosius they 
were declared infamous, and incapable of inheriting 
by law, xvi., 17. 

+ Σχεδὸν ἄπαντας ἀνθρώπους, καταλειφθεϊσης 
τῆς τῶν ϑεῶν ϑρησκείας, τῶ ἔθνει τῶν Χριστιανῶν 
συμμεμιχότας.---αΑρυᾶᾷ Euseb. Ecc. Hist., ix., 9. 

¢ Pars pene mundi jam major huic veritati ad- 
stipulatur; urbes integre ; aut si in his aliquid sus- 


y 


ἃ. ἥ 
ΕἼ (ἡ 
» ’. i | 
θεω, | HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | 
: 


~*~ 


Different ticularly to the East ; and in the | of religious republics, of independent col- 
state of the East various reasons would lead | leges, or fraternities of the local or the 
5 pales to the supposition that the | national priesthoods, might only be held 
‘propagation Christians bore a larger pro- | together by the bond of commom hostility 
of Christian- portion to the rest of the popu-|to the new faith, yet everywhere this re- ry 
"Ws lation than in the other parts of | ligion was ancient, established, conformed 
the empire, except perhaps in Africa. The |to the habits of the people, endeared by 
East was the native country of the new | local vanity, strengthened by its connexion 
religion; the substratum of Judaism ΟἹ with municipal privileges, recognised by 
which it rested was broader; and Judaism | the homage, and sanctioned by the wor- 
had extended its @wn conquests much! ship of the civil authorities. The Roman 
farther by proselytism, and had thus pre- | prefect or proconsul considered every 
pared the way for Christianity. In Egypt | form of paganism as sufficiently identified 
and in the Asiatic provinces, all the early | with that of Rome to demand his respect 
. modifications of Christian opinions, the | and support: everywhere he found deities 
Gnostic sects of all descriptions, had aris- | with the same names or attributes as those 
en; showing, as it were by their fertility, | of the imperial city; and every where, 
the exuberance of religious: life, and the | therefore, there was an alliance, seeming- ᾿ 
congeniality of the soil to their prolific | ly close and intimate, between the local 
vegetation. The constitution of society | religion and the civil government. abe 
was in some respects more favourable| In the Western provinces, Gaul, Spain, τῆν : 
than in Italy to the development of the | and Britain, but more particular-_ wr 
new religion. But it may be questioned |ly’in Gaul, the constitution of 
whether the Western provinces did not at | society was very different. ItwasRoman, 
last offer the most open field for its free | formed by the influx of colonists from dif- # 
and undisputed course. In the East the | ferent quarters, and the gradual adoption _ iA 
i 


Of the West. * 


civilization was Greek, or, in the remoter | of Roman manners by the natives. It had” 
regions, Asiatic. The Romans assumed | grown upon the wane of paganism. There 
the sovereignty, and the highest offices of | was no old, or established, or national re- 
the government were long held by men|ligion. The ancient Druidism had been 
of Italian birth. Some of the richer pa- | proseribed as a dark and inhuman super- 
tricians possessed extensive estates in the | stition, or had gradually worn away be- 
different provinces, but below this the na-| fore the progress of Roman civilization. .. 
tive population retained its own habits and | Out of Italy, the gods of Italy were, to a = 
usages. Unless in the mercantile towns, | certain degree, strangers: the Romans,as 
which were crowded with foreign settlers | a nation, built no temples in their eonquer- » 
from all quarters, who brought their man- | ed provinces: the munificence of an 1141- 
ners, their customs, and their deities, the | vidual, sometimes, perhaps, of the reign- 
whole society was Greek, Syrian, or Egyp-|ing Cesar, after having laid down the — 
tian. Above all, there was a native reli-| military road, built the aqueduct, or en- 
gion ; and, however this loose confederacy | circled the vast arena of the amphitheatre, 
pectum videatur, contestatur de his etiam agrestis αν τς ote ioe γα pe ὧν i δὸς ais 
manus, ignara figmenti. This speech, it is true, is vinity. Of the foreign settlers, ca ΘΟΝ 
only contained in the Latin translation of Eusebius | brought his worship; each set up his Ἔ 
τς by Rufinus. But there isa calm character in its tone | gods ; vestiges of every kind of religion, _ 
ΡῈ step? ὑπ θπάοιεν The heh aati: Greek, Asiatic, Mithraic, have been dis- 
5 : : t ; 
of the following nat « Probatinase atime aii. covered pe Gaul, but mene Was dominant: ae 
dine his quoque temporibus Christianos, scriptum | OF exclusive. rhis state of society would ya “eh 
ες extat apud Porphyrium, qui eos alicubi nominavit | require or welcome, or, at all events, offer = 
ἡ Tots πλείονας, ut me olim fecit certiorem eruditissi- | Jess resistance to the propagation of anew Piva 
_*~ mus Porsonus.”—Ronth, Reliquia Sacra, iii., 293. faith. After it had once passed the Alps,t Ὁ 
Gibbon has attempted to form a calculation of the Bareye he - hae 
relative numbers of the Christians (see ch xv., vol, | Christianity made rapid progress; and 
i., p. 282, with my note) ; he is, perhaps, inclined to | the father of Constantine may have been 
underrate the proportion which they bore to the guided no less by poliey than humanity . 
heathens. Yet, notwithstanding the quotations | jy his reluctant and merciful execution of ὁ 
i. 


- 
. 


‘above, and the high authority of Porson and of ; 

Routh, I should venture to doubt their being the |"——__________. ... τς 
majority, except, possibly, in a few Eastern cities. * Eumenius, in his: panegyric on Constantine, 
In fact, in a population so fluctuating as that of the | mentions two temples of Apollo ; of one, “ the most 
empire at this time, any accurate calculation would | beautiful in the world,” the site is unknown: it is 
have been uearly impossible. M. Beugnot agrees | supposed to have been at Lyons or Vienne; the 
very much with Gibbon ; and, I should conceive, | other was at Autun.—Eumen, Paneg., xxi., with 


with regard to the West is clearly right, though I | the note of Cellarius. ai ᾿ εὖ 
shall allege presently some reasons for the rapid| + Serius trans alpes, religione Dei suscepta? ~~ 
progress of Christianity in the West of Europe. —Sulpic. Sever., H. E., lib. ii. ¥ αὶ. 
¢ 
ve i ihe 
* 


© ΡΟ eee iM rae en. er N 


- 
. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the persecuting edicts of Dioclesian and 
Galerius. , 
Such w ta position of Christianity 
when Constantine commenced his strug- 
. gle for universal empire: in the East, 
though rejected by the ancient rival of 
Rome, the kingdom of Persia, it was ac- 


knowledged as the religion of the state 


by a neighbouring nation ; ; in the Roman 
provinces it was emerging victorious from 
ap 2riod of the darkest trial; and though 
still threatened by the hostility of Maxi- 
min, that hostility was constrained to wear 
an artful disguise ; and when it ventured 
to assume a more open form, was obliged 
to listen, at least with feigned respect, to 
the remonstrances of the victorious Con- 
_ Stantine. In the North, at least in that 
part from which Constantine derived his 
main strength, it was respected and open- 
1 ἐξ. ly favoured by the government. Another 
' striking circumstance might influence the 
least superstitious mind, and is stated by 
Ἶ the ecclesiastical historian not to have 
been without effect on Constantine him- 
self. Of all the emperors who had been 
‘invested with the purple, either as Au- 
gusti or Caesars, during the persecution of 
t, the Christians, his father alone, the pro- 
tector of Christianity, had gone down to 
an honoured and peaceful grave.* Dio- 
clesian, indeed, still lived, but in what, no 
: doubt, appeared to most of his former 
s subjects an ingiorious retirement. How- 
Ἂς ever the ppbilosophy: of the abdicated em- 
" Ἐν ror might teach him to show 
‘ nd of the 
» persecutors the vegetables of his garden as 
of Christi worthy of as much interest to a 
3:Π|ν: mind of real dignity as the dis- 
_ tinctions of worldly honour; however he 
" may have been solicited by ἃ falling and 
desperate faction to resume the purple, 
his abdication was no doubt, in general, 
. attributed to causes less dignified than the 
contempt of earthly grandeur. Conscious 
~ derangement of mind (a malady insepara- 
pis ᾿ς bly connected, according to the religious 
δὲ notions of Jew, pagan, probably of Chris- 
tian, during that age, with the Divine dis- 


” 
~ pleasure) or remorse of conscience was 
" 


® 


ae 
* Euseb., Vit. Const., 1., 2]. Socrat., Eccles. 

His*., i, tl. The language of the ecclesiastical 
historian Socrates 8. Temarkable. Constantine, 
says, was meditating the liberation of the em- 

e from its tyrants : Kal ὡς ἦν ἐν τηλικάυτῃ 

+ ὀρδντίδι. ἐπενύει τίνα ϑεὸν επίκουρον πρὸς τὴν 
nv καλέσειε. κατὰ νοῦν δὲ ἐλάμθανεν, ὡς 

ον οὐδὲν ὥναντο οἱ περι Διοκλητιανὸν, περὶ τοὺς 
ἑλλήνων ϑεοὺς διακείμενοι. ἥυρισκεν Te ὡς, ὁ 


« αὔτου πατὴρ. Kovordvrioc. ἀποστραφεὶς τὰς λ- 
a λήνων ϑρησκείας, εὐδαιμονέστερον τὸν βιὸν διή- 
"αὖ γαγεν. [τ was inthis mood of mind that he saw 
“ τ the vision of the cross.—Svcr., Eccl. Hist., i., 2. 
a 
ae TIN 
νι“ 


* ᾧ 


"Σ 285° 


reported to imbitter the calm decline of 
Dioclesian’s life. Instead of an object of 
envy, no doubt, in the general sentiment 
of mankind, he was thought to merit only 
aversion or contempt. Maximian (Hercu- 
lius), the colleague of Dioclesian, after re- 
suming the purple, engaging in base in- 
trigues or open warfare against his son 
Maxentius and afterward against his pro- 
‘tector Constantine, had anticipated the 
sentence of the executioner. Severus 
had been made prisoner, and forced to 
open his own veins. Galerius, the chief 
author of the persecution, had experienced 
the most miserable fate; he had wasted 
away witha slow, and agonizing, and loath- 
some disease. Maximin alone remained, 
hereafter to perish in miserable obscuri- 
ty. Nor should it be forgotten that the 
great persecutor of the Christians had been 
the jealous tyrant of Constantine’s youth. 
Constantine had preserved his liberty, 
perhaps his life, only by the boldness and 
rapidity of his flicht from the court of Ga- 
lerius.* 

Under all these circumstances, Con- 
stantine was advancing against Ἶ 
Rome. The battle of Verona Δ ΗΕ 
had decided the fate of the em- against Max- 
pire: the vast forces of Maxen- ἜΣ 
tius had melted away before the sovereign 
of Gaul; but the capital was still held with 
the obstinacy of despair by the voluptu- 
ous tyrant Maxentius. Constantine ap- 
peared on the banks of the Tiber, thou: ough 
invested with the Roman purple, yet a 
foreign conqueror. Many of his troops 
were barba rians, Celts, Germans, Pee an 
Britons; yet, in all probability, ἢ 
there were many of the Gaulish Chris- 
tians in his army. Maxentius threw him- 
self upon the gods as well as upon the 
people of Rome: he attempted, with des- 
perate earnestness, to rally the energy of 
Roman valour under the awfulness of the 


Roman religion. % 
During the early part of his reign, Max- 
entius, intent upon his pleasures, Relyion of 


had treated the religious divis- Mexentius. 
ions of Rome with careless indifference, 
or had endeavoured to conciliate the Chris- 
tian party by conniving at their security. 
The deification of Galerius had been, as it 


* In his letter to Sapor, king of Persia, Constan- 
tine himself acknowiedges the influence οἱ these 
motives on his mind: ὃν πολλοὶ τῶν τῇδε βασιλ- 
ευσάντων, μανιώδεσι πλάναις ὑπ αχβεντες, ἐπε- 
χείρησαν ἀρνήσασθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνους ἅπαντ ac τὸ- 
ιοὗτον τιμωρὸν τέἔλος κατανάλωσεν. ὡς πᾶν τὸ 
μετ᾽ ἐκείνους ἀνθρώπων γένος, τὰς ἐκείνων συμ- 
φορὰς ἀντ᾽ ἄλλου παραδείγματος, ἐπαράτους τοῖς 
τὰ ὅμοια ζηλοῦσι τίθεσθαι. —Ap. Theodoret, Kec 
Hist. i.,-¢. 25. 


” 


286 ~ 
. 
were, an advance to the side of paganism. 
The rebellion of Africa, which he reven- 
ged by the devastation of Carthage, was 
likely to bring him into hostile contact 
with the numerous Christians of that prov- 
ince. In Rome itself an event had occur- 
red, which, however darkly described, was 
connected with the antagonist religious 
parties in the capital. A fire had broken 
out in the temple of the Fortune of Rome. 
The tutelary deity of the Roman great- 
ness, an awful omen in this dark period 
of decline and dissulution, was in danger. 
A soldier—it is difficult to ascribe such te- 
merity to any one but a Christian fanatic— 
uttered some words of insult against the re- 
vered, and, it might be, alienated goddess. 
The indignant populace rushed upon the 
traitor to the majesty of Rome, and sum- 
moned the pretorian cohorts to wreak 
their vengeance on all who could be sup- 
posed to share in the sentiments of the 
apostate soldier. Maxentius is accused 
by one Christian and one pagan historian 
of having instigated the tumult; by one 
pagan he is said to have used his utmost 
exertions to allay its fury. Both state- 
ments may be true; though at first he 
may have given free scope to the massa- 
cre, at a later period he may have taken 
alarm, and attempted to restore the peace 
of the city.* Of the direct hostility of 
Maxentius to Christianity, the evidence is 
dubious and obscure. A Roman matron 
preferred the glory or the crime of suicide 
rather than submit to his lustful embraces. 
But it was the beauty, no doubt, not the 
religion of Sophronia, which excited the 
passions of Maxentius, whose licentious- 
ness comprehended almost all the noble 
families of Rome in its insulting range.} 
The papal history, not improbably resting 
on more ancient authority, represents Max- 
entius as degrading the Pope Marcellus to 
the humble function of agroom: the pred- 
ecessor of the Gregories and Innocents 
swept the imperial stable f 
The darkening and more earnest pagan- 


* The silence of Eusebius as to the Christianity 
of the soldier may be thought an insuperable objec- 
tion to this view. But,in the first place, the Mast- 
ern bishop was but imperfectly informed on the af- 
fairs of Rome, and might hesitate, if aware of the 
fact, to implicate the Christian name with that 
which was so long one of the most serious and 
effective charges against the faith, its treacherous 
hostility to the greatness of Rome. The words of 
the pagan Zosimus are very strong: Βλάσφημα 
“ῥήματα κατὰ τοῦ Belov στρατιωτῶν τις ἀφεὶς, καὶ 
τοῦ πλήθους διὰ τὴν πρὸς τὸ ϑείον εὐσέθειαν ἐπ- 
ελθόντος ἀναιρεθεὶς .----Ζοκ.. Hist., ii., 13. 

+ Euseb., Vit. Const., i, 33, 34. 

ἘΦ Anastasius, Vit. Marcell. 
tificum in Marcello. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Platina, Vit. Pon- 


ism of Maxentius is more clearly nis pa- 
disclosed by the circumstances of g@nism. 
his later history. He had ever listened 
with trembling deference to the expound- 
ers of signs and omens. He had suspend-» 
ed his expedition against Carthage be- 
cause the signs were not propitious.* 
Before the battle of Verona he command- 
ed the Sibylline books to be consulted. 
“The enemy of the Romans will perish,” 
answered the prudent and ambiguous or- 
acle ; but who could be the enemy of 
Rome but the foreign Constantine, de- 
scending from his imperial residence at 
Treves, with troops levied in the barba- 
rous provinces, and of whom the gods of 
Rome, though not yet declaredly hostile 
to their cause, might entertain a jealous — 
suspicion ? 

On the advance of Constantine Maxen- ~ 
tius redoubled his religious activity. He 
paid his adoration at the altars of all the a 
gods ; he consulted all the diviners of fu- 
ture events.| He had shut himself in his 
palace; the adverse signs made him take 
refuge in a private house.{ Darker ru- we 
mours were propagated in the East: he 
is reported to have attempted to read the 
secrets of fnturity in the entrails of preg- 
nant women ;§ to have sought an alliance 
with the infernal deities, and endeavoured, 
by magical formularies, to avert the im- 
pending danger. However the more en- 
lightened pagans might disclaim the weak, » 
licentious, and sanguinary Maxentius as a 
the representative either of the Roman 
majesty or the Roman religion, in the pop- 
ular mind, probably, an intimate connex- 
ion united the cause of the Italian sover- 
eign with the fortunes and the gods of 
Rome. It is possible that Constantine 
might attempt to array against this im- 
posing barrier of ancient superstition the 
power of the new and triumphant faith: 
he might appeal, as it were, to the God of 
the Christians against the gods of the cap- 
ital. His small, though victorious army 
might derive courage in their attack on 
the fate-hallowed city, from whose neigh- 
bourhood Galerius had so recently return- 
ed in discomfiture, from a vague notion 
that they were under the protection of a 
tutelary deity, of whose nature they were 
but imperfectly informed, and whose wor- 
shippers constituted no insignificant part 
of their barbarian army. 

Up to this period, all that we know of 


* Zosimus. li., 14. 

+ Euseb , Vit. Const., i., 21, speaks of his κακο- 
τέχνους καὶ γοητικὰς μαγγανείας. 

1 Zosimus, ii., 14. 

ὁ Euseb., Vit. Const., i., 36. δ᾽ te 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Ἷ 
δ : 


> » 

Religion of Constantine’s religion would im- 
Constantine. ply that he was outwardly and 
even zealously pagan. In a public ora- 
tion his panegyrist extols the magnifi- 
_cence of his offerings to the gods.* His 
victorious presence was not merely ex- 
pected to restore more than their former 
splendour to the Gaulish cities, ruined by 
barbaric incursions, but sumptuous tem- 
ples were to arise at his bidding, to pro- 
pitiate the deities, particularly Apollo, his 
tutelary god. The medals struck for these 
victories are covered with the symbols of 
paganism. Eusebius himself admits that 
Constantine was at this time in doubt 
which religion he should embrace; and 
after his vision, required to be instructed 

in the doctrines of Christianity. 
The scene in which the memorable vis- 
sion of Constantine is laid varies widely 
_ in the different accounts. Several places 
»" in Gaul lay claim to the honour of this 
momentous event in Christian history. 
Jf we assume the most probable period for 
q such an occurrence, whatever explanation 
e adopt of the vision itself, it would be 
᾿ t el crisis in the destiny of Con- 
stantine and of the world, before the walls 
of Rome; an instant when, if we could per- 
suade ourselves that the Almighty Ruler, 
im such a manner, interposed to proclaim 
the fall of paganism and the establishment 
of Christianity, it would have been a pub- 
lic and a solemn occasion, worthy of the 
Divine interference. Nowhere, on the 
other hand, was the high-wrought imagi- 
nation of Constantine so likely to be seiz- 
ed with religious awe, and to transform 
some extraordinary appearance in the 
heavens into the sign of the prevailing 
* Deity of Christ; nowhere, lastly, would 
policy more imperiously require some 
___ strong religious impulse to counterbalance 
the hostile terrors of paganism, embattled 

© against him. 

Eusebius,f the Bishop of Cesarea, as- 
“Vision of  serts that Constantine himself 
Constantine. made, and confirmed by an 
oath, the extraordinary statement, which 
was received with implicit veneration du- 


ring many ages of Christianity, but which 


_ * Merito igitur augustissima ila delubra tantis 
donariis honorasti, ut jam vetera non querant. Jam 
omnia vocare ad se templa videntur, precipneque 
_ Apollo noster, cvjus ferventibus aquis perjuria pu- 
τς miuntur, que te maxime cportet odisse. Nec ma- 
gis Jovi Junonique recubantibus terra submisit, 
_ quam circa tua, Constantine, vestigia urbes et tem- 
ο΄ placonsurgunt.—umenti Panegvr., cxx1. 

+ Ἐννοεῖ δῆτα ὁποῖον δέοι ϑεὸν ἐπιγραψάσθαι 

δ m0ov.—Euseb., Vit. Constant., lib. i., 6. 27-32. 
_ —_—-§ Vit. Const.. i., 28. The recent editor of Euse- 
s has well called the life of Constantine a Chris- 

ἢ Cyropedia. 


ἋἝ 


287 


the severer judgment of modern historical 
inquiry has called in question, investigated 
with the most searching accuracy, and al- 
most universally destroyed its authority 
with rational men, yet, it must be admit- 
ted, found no satisfactory explanation of 
its origin.* While Constantine was med- 
itating in grave earnestness the claims of 


* The silence, not only of all contemporary history 
(the legend of Artemius, abandoned even by ‘Tille- 
mont, does not deserve the name), but of Eusebius 
himself, in his Ecclesiastical History, gives a most 
dangerous advantage to those who altogether reject 
the story. But on whom is the invention of the 
story to be fathered? on Eusebius? who, although 
his conscience might not be delicately scrupulous 
on the subject of pious fraud, is charged with no 
more than the suppression of the truth, not with the 
direct invention of falsehood: or on Constantine 
himself? Could it be with him a deliberate fiction 
to command the higher veneration of the Christian 
party ? or had his imagination at the time, or was 
his memory in his Jater days, deceived by some in- 
explicable illusion ? 

‘The first excursus of Heinichen, in his edition of 
Eusebius, contains the fullest, and, on the whole, 
the most temperate and judicious discussion of this 
subject, so inexhaustibly interesting, yet so inexpli- 
cable, to the historical inquirer. ‘There are three 
leading theories, variously modified by their differ-” 
ent partisans. 1. A real miracle. 2. A natural phe- 
nomenon, presented to the imagination of the em- 
peror. 3. A deliberate invention on the part of the 
emperor or of Eusebius. The first has few parti- 
sans in the present day. ‘ Ut enim miraculo Con- 
stantinum a superstitione gentili avocatum esse, 
nemo facile hac ztate adhuc credet.”—Heinichen, 
p. 522. Independent of all other objections, the 
moral difficulty in the text is to me conclusive. 
The third has its partisans, but appears to me to be 
absolutely incredible. But the general consent of 
the more learned and dispassionate writers seems 
in favour of the second, which was first, I believe, 
suggested by F. Albert Fabricius. In this concur 
Schroeckh, the German Church historian, Neander, 
Manso, Heintchen, and, in short, all modern writers 
who have any claim to historical criticism. 

‘The great difficulty which encumbers the theory 
which resolves it into a solar halo or some natural 
phznomenon is the legend ev tour» νίκᾳ. which no 
optical illusion ean well explain if it be taken lit- 
erally. The only rational theory is to suppose that 
this was the inference drawn by the mind of Con- 
stantine, and imbodied in these words ; which, be- 
ing luscribed on the labarum, or onthe arms or any 
other public monument, as commemorative of the 
event, gradually grew into an inseparable part of the 
original vision. 

‘Yhe later and more poetic writers adorn the 
shields and the helmets of the whole army withthe 
sign of the cross. 


Testis Christicole ducis adventantis ad urbem 
Mulvius, exceptum Tiberina in stagna tyrannum 
Precipitans, quanam victricia viderit arma 
Majestate regi, quod signum dextera vindex 
Pretulerit, quali radiarint stemmate pila. 
Christus purpureum, gemmanti textus in auro, 
Signabat labarum, clypeorwn insignia Christus 
Ceripserat: ardebat Summis crux addita cristis. 
Prudent, in Symmachum, v. 482. 


Euseb., Vit, Const.,i,38. Eccl. Hist,, ix.,9. Zo- 
simus, ii. 15. Manso, Leben Constantins, p. 4], 
seqq. 


- 


288 


the rival religions, on one hand the awful 
fate of those who had persecuted Chris- 
tianity, on the other the necessity of some 
Divine assistance to counteract the magi- 
cal incantations of his enemy, he address- 
ed his prayers to the One great Supreme. 
On a sudden, a short time after noon, ap- 
peared a bright cross in the heavens, just 
above the sun, with this inscription, “ By 
this, conquer.” Awe seized himself and 
the whole army, who were witnesses of 
the wonderful phenomenon. But of the 
signification of the vision Constantine was 
altogether ignorant. Sleep fell upon his 
harassed mind, and during his sleep Christ 
himself appeared, and enjoined him to 
make a banner in the shape of that celes- 
tial sign, under which his arms would be 
forever crowned with victory. 

Constantine immediately commanded 
the famous labarum to be made; the laba- 
rum which for a long time was borne at the 
head of the imperial armies, and venerated 
as a sacred relic at Constantinople. The 
shaft of this celebrated standard was cased 
with gold; above the transverse beam, 
which formed the cross, was wrought in a 
golden crown the monogram, or, rather, 
the device of two letters, which signified the 
name of Christ. And so for the first time 
the meek and peaceful Jesus became a god 
of battle; and the cross, the holy sign of 
Christian redemption, a banner of bloody 
strife. 

This irreconcilable incongruity be- 
tween the symbol of universal peace and 
the horrors of war, in my judgment, is 
conclusive against the miraculous or su- 
pernatural character of the transaction.* 
Yet the admission of Christianity, not 
merely as a controlling power, and the 
most effective auxiliary of civil govern- 
ment (an office not unbecoming its Divine 
Origin), but as the animating principle of 
barbarous warfare, argues at once the com- 
mandiog influence which it had obtained 


* I was agreeably surprised to find that Mosheim 
concurred in these sentiments, for which I will 
readily encounter the charge of Quakerism 

Heccine oratio servatori generis humani, qui pec- 
cata hominum morte sud expiavit ; heccine oratio 
illo digna est, qui pacis auctor mortalibus est, et 
suos hostibus ignoscere vult, * + * * Caveamus 
ne veterum Christianorum narrationibus de etatis 
suz miraculis acrius defendendis in ipsam majesta- 
tem Dei, et sanctissimam religionem, 4185 non hos- 
tes. sed nos isos debellare docet, injurn simus.—De 
Reb. ante Const., 985 [and Instit. of Eccl. H st., 
vol. i., p. 216, n. (30)j. When the Empress Helena, 
among the other treasures of the tomb of Christ, 
fownd the nails which fastened him to the cross, 
Constantine turned them into a helmet and bits for 
his war-horse.—Socrates, i.,17. True or fabulous, 
this story is characteristic of the Christian sentiment 
then prevalent. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


’ ‘at 


over the human mind, as well as its de- 
generacy from its pure and spiritual ori- 
gin. The unimpeached and unquestioned 
authority of this miracle during so many 
centuries, shows how completely, in the 
association which took place between bar- 
barism and Christianity, the former main- 
tained its predominance. This was the 
first advance to the military Christianity of 
the Middle Ages; a modification of the pure 
religion of the Gospel, if directly opposed 
to.its genuine principles, still apparently 
indispensable to the social progress of 
men; through which the Roman empire 
and the barbarous nations, which were 
blended together in the vast European and 
Christian system, must necessarily have 
passed before they could arrive at a high- 
er civilization and a purer Christianity. 

The fate of Rome and of paganism was 
decided in the battle of the Milvian Bridge ; 
the eventual result was the establishment 
of the Christian empire. But to Constan- 
tine himself, if at this time Christianity 
had obtained any hold upon his mind, it 
was now the Christianity of the warrior, 
as subsequently it was that of the states- 
man. 
availed himself of the assistance of any 
tutelar divinity who might ensure success 
to his daring enterprise. 

Christianity, in its higher sense, appear- 
ed neither in the acts nor in the Conduct of 
decrees of the victorious Con- Constantine 
stantine after the defeat of Max- ped feces ἢ 
entius. Though his general con-- Maxentius. 
duct was tempered with a wise clemency, 
yet the execution of his enemies and the 
barbarous death of the infant son of Max- 
entius still showed the same relentless 


disposition which had exposed the barba-_ 


rian chieftains, whom he had taken in his 
successful campaign beyond the Rhine, in 
the arena at Treves.* ‘The emperor still 
maintained the same proud superiority 
over the conflicting religions of the em- 
pire which afterward appeared at the 
foundation of the new metropolis. Even 
in the labarum, if the initiated eyes of the 
Christian soldiery could discern the sacred 
symbol of Christ indistinctly glittering 
above the cross, there appeared, either 
embossed on the beam below or embroi- 
dered on the square purple banner which 
depended from it, the bust of the emperor 
and those of his family. to whom the hea- 
then part of his army might pay their hom- 


* One of these barbarous acts was selected by 
the panegyrical orator as a topic of the highest 
praise. Puberes, qui in manus venerunt et quorum 
nec perfidia erat apta militiz, nec ferocia severitati, 
ad peenas spectaculo dati, sevientes bestias multi- 
tudine sua fatigarunt.—Eumenii Panegyr., c. xii. 


It was the military commander who | 


"ἢ 


fs 


ΨΥ | > Vat " ἴω ‘a Moe 4 


_ .HISTORY — 


289 


age of veneration. Constantine, though | the persecuting edicts of former emperors. 


he does not appear to have ascended to 
the Capitol to pay his homage and to of- 
fer sacrifice* to Jupiter the best and great- 
est, and the other tutelary deities of Rome, 
in general the first,act of a victorious em- 
peror, yet did not decline to attend the sa- 
cred games.f Among the acts of the con- 
queror in Rome was the restoration of the 
pagan temples ; among his imperial titles 
he did not decline that of the Pontifex 
Maximus.{ The province of Africa, in re- 
turn for the bloody head of their oppressor 
Maxentius, was permitted to found a col- 
lege of priests in honour of the Flavian 
family. 

The first public edict of Constantine in 
Edict of Con- favour of Christianity is lost; 
stantine from that issued at Milan, in the joint 
Bilan. names of Constantine and Licin- 
ius, is the great charter of the liberties 
of Christianity.§ But it is an edict of full 
and unlimited toleration, and no more. It 
recognises Christianity as one of the legal 
forms by which the divinity may be wor- 
shipped.|| It performs an act of justice in 
restoring all the public buildings and the 
property which had been confiscated by 


* Euseb., Vit. Const., i., 51. 
du Bas Empire, 1. ii., c. xvi. 

+ Nec quidquam aliud homines, diebus munerum 
sacroruinque ludorum, quam te ipsum spectare po- 
tuerunt.—Incert. Pane., c. xix. 

1 Zosimus, iv., 36. 

§ The edict, or, rather, the copy, sent by Licin- 
lus to the prefect of Bithynia in Lactantius, De 
Mori. Pers., xlviii. 

|| Decree of Milan, A.D. 313. Hec ordinanda 
esse credidimus, ut daremus et Christianis et omni- 
bus liberam potestatem sequendi religionem quam 
quisque ‘voluisset, quod quidem divinitas in sede 
ccelesti nobis atque omnibus qui sub potestate nos- 
tra sunt constituti, placata ac propitia possit exis- 
tere (This divinitas, I conceive, was that equivocal 
term for the Supreme Deity admitted by the pagan 
as well as the Christian. What Zosimus called 
τό ϑειὸν) : etiam aliis religionis sue vel observan- 
tie potestatem similiter apertam, et liberam, pro 
quiete temporis nostri esse concessam, ut in colendo 
quod quisque delegerit, habeat liberam facultatem, 
quia (nolumus detrahi) honori neque cuiquam reli- 
gioni aliquid a nobis. 

I will transcribe, however, the observations of 
Kestner on this point. Multi merito observarunt, 
animum illud ostendere (sc. decretum Mediolense) 
ab antiqua religione minime alienum. Observan- 
dum vero, parum hoc decretum valere, ut veram 
Constantini mentem, inde intelligainus. Non solus 
quippe illius auctor fuit, sed Licinius quaoque—Huic 
autem—etsi iis (Christianis) non sincerus erat ami- 
cus, parcere debuit Constantinus ; neque ceteris 
displicere voluit subditis, qui antiquam religionem 
profiterentur. Quamvis igitur etiam religionis in- 
dole plenius jam fuisset imbutus, ob rerum tamen, 
_ que id temporis erant, conditionem, manifestare 
_ mentem non potuisset.—Kestner, Disp. de commut. 

quam, Constant. M. auct. societas subiit Christi- 

.ana. Compare Heinichen, Excurs. in Vit. Const., 


p- 513. 
Oo 


Le Beau, Histoire 


Where the churches or their sites remain- 
ed in the possession of the imperial treas- 
ury, they were restored without any com- 
pensation ; where they had been alienated, 
the grants were resumed ; where they had 
been purchased, the possessors were of- 
fered an indemnity for their enforced and 
immediate surrender from the state. The 
prefects were to see the restitution car- 
ried into execution without delay and 
without chicanery. But the same abso- 
lute freedom of worship was secured to all 
other religions ; and this proud and equi- 
table indifference is to secure the favour 
of the divinity to the reigning emperors. 
The whole tone of this edict is that of im- 
perial clemency, which condescends to 
take under its protection an oppressed and 
injured class of subjects, rather than that 
of an awe-struck proselyte, esteeming 
Christianity the one true religion, and al- 
ready determined to enthrone it as the 
dominant and established faith of the em- 
pire. 

The earlier laws of Constantine, though 
in their effects favourable to panier laws 
Christianity, claimed some def- of Constan- 
erence, as it were, to the ancient 186. 
religion in the ambiguity of their language, 
and the cautious terms in which they in- 
terfered with the liberty of paganism. 
The rescript commanding the celebration 
of the Christian Sabbath bears no allusion 
to its peculiar sanctity as a Christian in- 
stitution. It is the day of the Sun which 
is to be observed by the general venera- 
tion; the courts were to be closed, and 
the noise and tumult of public business 
and legal litigation were no longer to vio- 
late the repose of the sacred day. But 
the believer in the new paganism, of which 
the solar worship was the characteristic, 
might acquiesce without scruple sanctity of 
in the sanctity of the first day of the Sunday. 
the week. The genius of Christianity ap- 
pears more manifestly in the single civil 
act, which was exempted from the general 
restriction on public business. The courts 
were to be open for the manumission of 
slaves on the hallowed day.* In the first 
aggression on the freedom of paganism, 
though the earliest law speaks in a severe 
and vindictive tone, a second tempers the 
stern language of the former statute, and 
actually authorizes the superstition against 
which it is directed, as far as it might be 
beneficial to mankind. The _ itinerant 
soothsayers and diviners, who exercised 
their arts in private houses, formed no 
recognised part of the old religion. Their 

* Cod. Theodos., ii., viii., 1. Vit. Constans., iv, 
18. Zosimus,.i., 8. 


ὲ 

Against ites were supposed to be con- 
divination. nected with all kinds of cruel and 
licentious practices, with magic and un- 
lawful sacrifices. They performed their 
ceremonies at midnight, among tombs, 
where they evoked the dead ; or in dark 
chambers, where they made libations of 
the blood of the living. ‘They were dark- 
ly rumoured not to abstain, on occasions, 
from human blood, to offer children on the 
altar, and to read the secrets of futurity 
in the palpitating entrails of human vic- 
tims. These unholy practices were pro- 
scribed by the old Roman law and the old 
Roman religion. This kind of magic was 
a capital offence by the laws of the Twelve 
Tables. Secret divinations had been inter- 
dicted by former emperors, by Tiberius 
and by Dioclesian.* The suppression of 
these rites by Constantine might appear 
no more than a strong regulation of police 
for the preservation of the pui ‘ic morals.t 
The soothsayer who should presume to 
enter a private house to practise his un- 
lawful art was to be burned alive; those 
who received him were condemned to the 
forfeiture of their property and to exile. 
But in the public temple, according to the 
established rites, the priests and diviners 
might still unfold the secrets of futurity :} 
the people were recommended to apply to 
them rather than to the unauthorized di- 
viners, and this permission was more ex- 
plicitly guaranteed by a subsequent -re- 
script. Those arts which professed to 
avert the thunder from the house, the hur- 
ricane and the desolating shower from the 
fruitful field, were expressly sanctioned as 
beneficial to the husbandman. Even in 
case of the royal palace being struck by 
lightning, the ancient ceremony of propi- 
tiating the deity was to be practised, and 
the haruspices were to declare the mean- 

ing of the awful portent.§ 
Yet some acts of Constantine, even at 
Constantine's this early period, might encour- 
age the expanding hopes of the 
Christians, that they were des- 
tined before long to receive 
more than impartial justice from the em- 
peror. His acts of liberality were beyond 
those of a sovereign disposed to redress 
the wrongs of an oppressed class of his 


encourage- 
ment of 
‘Christianity, 


* Haruspices secreto ac sine testibus consuli ve- 
tuit.—Suetonius, Tib, c. 63. Ars mathematica 
damnabilis est et interdicta omnino. — Compare 
Beugnot, 1., 79. ; 

+ It was addressed to Maximus, prefect of the 
city.—Cod. Theodos , xi., 8, 2. 

1 Adite aras publicas atque delubra, et consue- 
tudinis vestre celebrate solemnia : nec enim prohi- 
bemus preterite usurpationis officia liberé luce 
tractari—Cod. Theod., xi., 16. 

§ Cod. Theodos., ix,, 16; xvi., 10. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


subjects ; he not merely enforced by his 
edict the restoration of their churches 
and estates; he enabled them, by his own 
munificence—his gift of a large sum of 
money to the Christians of Africa—to re- 
build their ruined edjfices, and restore 
their sacred rites with decent solemnity*. 
Many of the churches in Rome Churches 
claim the first Christian emperor i" Rome. 
for their founder. The most distinguish- 
ed of these, and, at the same time, those 
which are best supported in their preten- 
sions to antiquity, stood on the sites now 
occupied by the Lateran and by St. Pe- 
ter’s. If it could be ascertained at what 
period in the life of Constantine these 
churches were built, some light might be 
thrown on the history of his personal re- 
ligion. For the Lateran being an imperial 
palace, the grant of a basilica within its 
walls for the Christian worship (for such 
we may conjecture to have been the first 
church) was a kind of direct recognition, 
if not of his own regular personal attend- 
ance, at least of his admission of Chris- 
tianity within his domestic circle.— The 
palace was afterward granted to the Chris- 
tians, the first patrimony of the popes. 
The Vatican suburb seems to have been 
the favourite place for the settlement of 
foreign religions. It was thickly peopled 
with Jews from an early period ;{ and re- 
markable vestiges of the worship of Cy- 
bele, which appear to have flourished side 
by side, as it were, with that of Christian- 
ity, remained to the fourth or the fifth 
century.§ The site of St. Peter’s Church 
was believed to occupy the spot hallowed 
by his martyrdom; and the Christians 
must have felt no unworthy pride in em- 
ploying the materials of Nero’s circus, the 
scene of the sanguinary pleasures of the 
first persecutor, on a church dedicated to 
the memory of his now honoured, if not 
absolutely worshipped, victim. τ' 
With the protection, the emperor assu- 
med the control over the affairs of the 
Christian communities: to the cares of 
the public administration was added a rec- 
ognised supremacy over the Christian 
Church ; the extent to which Christianity 
now prevailed is shown by the importance 
at once assumed by the Christian bishops, 
who brought not only their losses and 


* See the original grant of 3000 folles to Cecil- 
ian, bishop of Carthage, in Eusebius, Eccl. Hist., 
X.; 6) Ἶ 
+ The Lateran was the residence of the Princess 
Fausta : it is called the Domus Fauste im the ac- 
count of the first synod held to decide on the Do 
natist schism.—Optat., i, 23. Fausta may have © 
been a Christian. 1 Basnage, vil., 210. 

§ Bunsen und Platner Roms’ Beschreibung, i., 

29, 


oh td 
= 


' 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


their sufferings during the persecution of 
Dioclesian, but, unhappily, likewise their 
quarrels before the imperial tribunal. 
From his palace at Treves Constantine 
had not only to assemble military coun- 


cils to debate on the necessary measures | 


for the protection of the German frontier 
and the maintenance of the imperial ar- 
mies ; councils of finance, to remodel and 
enforce the taxation of the different prov- 


inces ; but synods of Christian bishops to 


decide on the contests which had grown 
up in the remote and unruly province of 
Africa. The emperor himself is said fre- 
quently to have appeared without his im- 
perial state, and, with neither guards nor 
Officers around him, to have mingled in 
the debate, and expressed his satisfaction 
at their unanimity, whenever that rare 
virtue adorned their counsels.* For Con- 
stantine, though he could give protection, 
could not give peace to Christianity. It 
is the nature of men, that whatever pow- 
erfully moves, agitates to excess the pub- 
lic mind. With new views of those sub- 
jects which make a deep and lasting im- 
pression, new passions awaken. The 
profound stagnation of the human mind 
during the government of the earlier Ce- 
sars had been stirred in its inmost depths by 
the silent wonder-working of the new faith. 
Momentous questions, which, up to that 
time, had been entirely left to a small in- 
tellectual aristocracy, had been calmly 
debated in the villa of the Roman senator 
or the grove sacred to philosophy, or dis- 
cussed by sophists, whose frigid dialectics 
wearied without exciting the mind, had 
been gradually brought down to the com- 
mon apprehension. The nature of the 
Deity; the state of the soul after death; 
the equality of mankind in the sight of 


the Deity ; even questions which are be- 


yond the verge of human intellect; the 
origin of evil; the connexion of the phys- 


ical and moral world, had become general 
topics ; they were, for the first time, the 
primary truths of a popular religion, and 
naturally could not withdraw themselves 
from the alliance with popular passions. 
These passions, as Christianity increased 
in power and influence, came into more 
active operation ; as they seized on per- 
sons of different temperament, instead of 
being themselves subdued to Christian 
gentleness, they inflamed Christianity, as 
it appeared to the world, into a new and 
more indomitable principle of strife and 
animosity. Mankind, even within the 


* Euseb., Vit. Const., lib. xliv. yalpovra δεικνὺς 
ἑαυτὸν τῇ κοινῇ πάντων ὁμονοίᾳ. Eusebius says 
that he conducted himself as the bishop of the 
bishops. 


inst ᾿ 


ah 


sphere of Christianity, retrograded to the 
sterner Jewish character ; and in its spirit, 
as well as in its language, the Old Testa- 


ment began to dominate over the Gospel 


of Christ. 
The first civil wars which divided Chris- 
tianity were those of Donatism pjccensions 
and the Trinitarian controver- of Christian- 
sy. The Gnostic sects in their "- 
different varieties,: and the Manichean, 
were rather rival religions than Christian 
‘factions. Though the adherents of these 
sects professed to be disciples of Christian- 
ity, yet they had their own separate con- 
stitutions, their own priesthood, their own 
ceremonial. Donatism was a ad 
fierce and implacable schism in ~°""'""" 
an established community. It was em- 
braced with all the wild ardour, and main- 


tained with the blind obstinacy, of the Af-. 


ricantemperament. It originated in a dis- 
puted appointment to the episcopal digni- 
ty at Carthage. The Bishop of Carthage, 
if in name inferior (for everything con- 
nected with the ancient capital still main- 
tained its superior dignity in the general 
estimation), stood higher, probably, in pro- 
portion to the extent of his influence, and 
the relative numbers of his adherents, as 
compared with the pagan population, than 
any Christian dignitary in the West. The 
African churches had suffered more than 
usual oppression during the persecution 
of Dioclesian, not improbably during the 
invasion of Maxentius. External force, 
which in other quarters compressed the 
body into closer and more compact unity, 
in Afriéa left behind it a fatal principle of 
disorganization. These rival claims to the 
see of Carthage brought the opponent par- 
ties into inevitable collision. 

The pontifical offices of paganism, min- 
istering in‘a ceremonial, to which the peo- 
ple were either indifferent, or bound only 

by habitual attachment, calmly descended 
in their hereditary course, were nominated 
by the municipal magistracy, or attached 
to the higher civil offices. They ‘Te chris- 
awoke no ambition, they caused tian hierar- 
no contention ; they did not in- chy different 
terest society enough to disturb gan priest- 
it. The growth of the sacerdo- hood. 

tal power was a necessary consequence 
of the development of Christianity. The 
hierarchy asserted (they were believed to 
possess) the power of sealing the eternal 
destiny of man. From a post of danger, 
which modest piety was compelled to as- 
sume by the unsought and unsolicited suf- 
frages of the whole community, a bishop- 
ric had become an office of dignity, influ- 
ence, and, at times, of wealth. The prel- 
ate ruled not now so much by his admitted 


from the pa- 


291. 


292 . uf 


superiority in Christian virtue as by the 
inalienable authority of his office. He 
opened or closed the door of the church, 
which was tantamount to an admission or 
an exclusion from everlasting bliss; he 
uttered the sentence of excommunication, 
which cast back the trembling delinquent 
among the lost and perishing heathen. He 
had his throne in the most distinguished 
part of the Christian temple; and though 
yet acting in the presence and in the name 
of his college of presbyters, yet he was 
the acknowledged head of a large commu- 
nity, over whose eternal destiny he held a 
vague, but not, therefore, less imposing 
and awful dominion. Among the African 
Christians, perhaps by the commanding 
character of Cyprian, in his writings at 
least, the episcopal power is elevated to 
its utmost height. No wonder that, with 
the elements of strife fermenting in the 
society, and hostile parties already array- 
ed against each other, the contest for this 
commanding post should be commenced 
with blind violence, and carried on with 
irreconcilable hostility.* In every com- 
munity, no doubt, had grown up a severer 
party, who were anxious to contract the 
pale of salvation to the narrowest com- 
pass; and a more liberal class, who were 
more lenient to the infirmities of their 
brethren, and would extend to the utmost 
limits the beneficial effects of the redemp- 
tion. The fiery ordeal of the persecution 
tried the Christians of Africa by the most 
searching test, and drew more strongly the 
line of demarcation. Among the summa- 
ry proceedings of the persecution, which 
were carried into effect with unrelenting 
severity by Anulinus, the prefect of Afri- 
ca (the same who, by a singular vicissitude 
in political affairs, became the instrument 
of Constantine’s munificent grants to the 
churches of his province), none was more 
painful to the feelings of the Christians 
than the demand of the unconditional sur- 
render of the furniture of their sacred 
edifices ; their chalices, their ornaments, 
above all, the sacred writings.t The bish- 
op and his priests were made responsible 


for the full and unreserved delivery of these. 


* The principal source of information concerning 
the Donatist controversy is the works of Optatus, 
with the valuable collection of documents subjoin- 
ed to them; and for their later history, various pas- 
sages in the works of St. Augustine. 

+ See the grant of Constantine referred:to above. 

1 There is a very curious and graphic account of 
the rigorous perquisition for the sacred books in the 
Gesta apud Zenophilum in Routh,-vol. iv., p. 103. 
The codices appear to have been under the care of 
the readers,:-who were of various ranks, mostly, how- 
ever, in trade. There were a great number of co- 
dices, each probably containing one book of the 
Scriptures 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


εἰ 


sacred possessions. Some from timidity, 
others considering that by such conces- 
sions it might be prudent to avert e 
dangerous trials, and that such treasures, 
sacred as they were, might be replaced in 
a more flourishing state of the church, 
complied with the demands of the magis- 
trate ; but, by their severe brethren, who, 
with more uncompromising courage, had 


refused the least departure from the tone 


of unqualified resistance, they were brand- 
ed with the ignominious name of 'Tradi- 
tors.* This became the strong, The Tradi- 
the impassable line of demarea- tors. 

tion between the contending factions. To 
the latest period of the conflict, the Dona- 
tists described the Catholic party by that | 
odious appellation. 

The primacy of the African Church was 
the object of ambition to these two par- 
ties: an unfortunate vacancy at this time 
kindled the smouldering embers of strife. 
Mensurius had filled the see Of Contest for 
Carthage with prudence and mod- the see of 
eration during these times of C©#™base. 
emergency. He was accused by the stern- 
er zeal of Donatus, a Numidian bishop, of 
countenancing, at least, the criminal con- 
cessions of the Traditors. It was said 
that he had deluded the government by a 
subtle stratagem ; he had substituted cer- 
tain heretical writings for the genuine 
Scriptures ; had connived at their seizure, 
and calmly seen them delivered to the 
flames. ‘The Donatists either disbelieved 
or despised as a paltry artifice this attempt 
to elude the glorious danger of resistance. 
But, during the life of Mensurius, his char- 
acter and station had overawed the hostile 
party. But Mensurius was summoned to 
Rome to answer to a charge of the con- 
cealment of the deacon Felix, accused of 
a political offence, the publication of a li- 
bel against the emperor. On his depar- 
ture he intrusted to the deacons of the 
community the valuable vessels of gold 
and silver belonging to the church, of 
which he left an accurate inventory in the 
hands of a pious and aged woman. Men- 
surius died on his return to Carthage. Ca- 
cilian, a deacon of the church, was raised 
by the unanimous suffrages of the clergy 
and people to the see of Carthage. He 
was consecrated by Felix, bishop of Ap- 
thunga. His first step was to demand the 
vessels of the church. By the advice of 
Botrus and Celeusius, two of the deacons, 
competitors, it is said, with Cecilian for the 
see, they were refused to a bishop irregu- 
larly elected, and consecrated by a noto- 


* The Donatists invariably called the Catholic 
party the Traditors. See Sermo Donatista and the 


| Acts of the Donatist martyr. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


rious Traditor. A Spanish female of no- 
ble birth and of opulence, accused of per- 
sonal hostility to Cecilian, animated the 
Carthaginian faction; but the whole prov- 
ince assumed the right of interference 
with the appointment to the primacy, and 
Donatus, bishop of Case Nigre, placed 
himself at the head of the opponent party. 
The commanding mind of Donatus sway- 
ed the countless hierarchy which crowded 
the different provinces of Africa. The 
Numidian bishops took the lead ; Secun- 
dus, the primate of Numidia, at the sum- 
mons of eae appeared in Carthage 
at the head of seventy of his bishops. 
Appealtothe This self-installed Council of 
civil power. Carthage proceeded to cite Ce- 
cilian, who refused to recognise its author- 
ity. The council declared his election 
void. The consecration by a bishop guil- 
ty of tradition was the principal ground 
on which his election was annulled. But 
darker charges were openly advanced, 
or secretly murmured against Cecilian ; 
charges which, if not entirely ungrounded, 
show that the question of tradition had, 
during the persecution, divided the Chris- 
tians into fierce and hostile factions. He 
was said to have imbittered the last hours 
of those whose more dauntless resistance 
put to shame the timorous compliance of 
Mensurius and his party. He took his 
station with a body of armed men, and 
precluded the pious zeal of their adherents 
from obtaining access to the prison of 
those who had been seized by the govern- 
ment ;* he prevented, not merely the con- 
solatory and inspiriting visits of kinsmen 
and friends, but even the introduction of 
food and other comforts in their state of 
starving destitution. The Carthaginian 
faction proceeded to elect Majorinus to the 
vacant see. Both parties appealed to the 
civil power; and Anulinus, the prefect of 
Africa, who, during the reign of Dioclesian, 
had seen the Christians dragged before 
his tribunal, and whose authority they then 
disclaimed with uncompromising unanim- 
ity, now saw them crowding in hostile fac- 
tions to demand his interference in their 
domestic discords. The cause was refer- 
red to the imperial decision of Constan- 
tine. Ata later period the Donatists, be- 
ing worsted in the strife, bitterly reproach- 
ed their adversaries with this appeal to the 
civil tribunal: “ What have Christians to 
do with kings, or bishops with palaces 1} 
Their adversaries justly recriminated that 
they had been as ready as themselves to 
request the intervention of the govern- 
ment. Constantine delegated the judg- 

* Optatus, i., 22. tb: 


mie 


’ 


293 


ment in their cause to the bishops of Gaul,* 
but the first council was composed of a 
great majority of Italian bishops ; Council of 
and Rome for the first time wit- Rome. 

mek Ἢ public trial of a Christian cause 
before an assembly of bishops presided 
over by her prelate. ‘The council was 
formed of the three Gallic bishops of Co- 
logne, of Autun, and of Arles. The Ital- 
ian bishops (we may conjecture that these 
were considered the more important sees, 
or were filled by the most influential prel- 
ates) were those of Milan, Cesena, Quin- 
tiano, Rimini, Florence, Pisa, Faenza, Ca- 
pua, Benevento, Terracina, Preneste, Tres 
‘Taberne, Ostia, Ursinum (Urbinum), Fo- 
rum Claudii. Cecilian and Donatus ap- 
peared each at the head of ten bishops of 
his party. Both denounced their adver- 


peal on the invalidity of an ordination by 
a bishop, Felix of Apthunga, who had been 
guilty of that delinquency. The party of 
Cecilian accused almost the whole of the 
Numidian bishops, and Donatus himself, 
as involved in the same guilt. It was a 
wise and temperate policy in the Catholic 
party to attempt to cancel all imbittering 
recollections of the days of trial and in- 
firmity ; to abolish all distinctions, which 
on one part led to pride, on the other to 
degradation ; to reconcile in these haleyon 
days of prosperity the whole Christian. 
world into one harmonious confederacy. 
This policy was that of the government, 
At this early period of his Christianity, if 
he might yet be called a Christian, Con- 
stantine was little likely to enter into the 
narrow and exclusive principles of the Do- 
natists. As an emperor, Christianity was 
recommended to his favour by the harmon- 
izing and tranquillizing influence which it 
exercised over a large body of the people. 
If it broke up into hostile feuds, it lost its! 
value as an ally or an instrument of civil) 
government. But it was exactly this lev- 
elling of all religious distinctions, this lib- 
eral and comprehensive spirit, that would 


* Augustin, writing when the episcopal authori- 
ty stood on a nearer or even a higher level than that 
of the throne, asserts that Constantine did not dare 
to assume a cognizance over the election of a bish- 
op. Constantinus non ausus est de causa episcopi 
judicare.— Epist. cv., ἢ. 8. Natural equily; as well 
as other reasons, would induce Constantine to del- 
egate the affair to a Christian commission. The 
account of Optatus ascribes to Constantine speech- 
es which it is difficult ro reconcile with his public 
conduct as regards Christianity at this period of his 
life. The Council of Rome was held A.D. 313, 
2d October. 4 

The decrees of the Conncil of Rome and of 
Arles, with other documents on the subjeet, may 
be found in the fourth volume of Routh. 


294 


annihilate the less important differences | 
which struck at the vital principle of Do-_ 
natism. They had confronted all the mal- | 
ice of the persecutor, they had disdained 
to compromise any principle, to c§ncede 
the minutest point; and were they to 
abandon a superiority so hardly earned, 
and to acquiesce in the readmission of all 
those who had forfeited their Christian 
privileges to the same rank? Were they 
not to exercise the high function of read- 
mission into the fold with proper severi- 
ty? The decision of the council was fa- 
vourable to the cause of Cecilian. Dona- 
tus appealed to the emperor, who retained 
the heads of both parties in Italy to allow 
time for the province to regain its quiet. 
In defiance of the emperor, both the leaders 
fled back to Africa, to set themselves at the 
head of their respective factions. The pa- 
A.D. 314, tient Constantine summoneda new, 
Ist Aug. q more remote council at Arles: 
Cecilian and the African bishops were 
cited to appear in that distant province ; 
public vehicles were furnished for their 
conveyance at the emperor’s charge ; each 
bishop was attended by two of his inferior 
clergy, with three domestics. The Bishop 
of Arles presided in this council, which 
confirmed the judgment of that in Rome. 

A second Donatus now appeared upon 
the scene, of more vigorous and more 
persevering character, greater ability, and 
with all the energy and self-confidence 
which enabled him to hold together the 
faction. They now assumed the name of 
᾿ Donatists. On the death of Majorinus, 
Donatus succeeded to the dignity of anti- 
Bishop of Carthage: the whole African 
province continued to espouse the quarrel ; 
the authority of the government, which 
had been invoked by both parties, was 
scornfully rejected by that against which 
the award was made. Three times was 
the decision repeated in favour of the 
Catholic party, at Rome, at Arles, and at 
Milan; each time was more strongly es- 
ap.316, ‘tblished the self-evident truth, 

τ τ ΤΟ which was so late recognised by 
the Christian world, the incompetency of 
any council to reconcile religious differ- 
ences. The suffrages of the many cannot 
bind the consciences, or enlighten the 


over the mind of the emperor. 


minds, or even Overcome the obstinaey, 
of the few. Neither party can yield with- 
out abandoning the very principles by 
which they have been constituted a party. 
A commission issued to Alius, prefect of 
the district, to examine the charge against 
Felix, bishop of Apthunga, gave a favour- 
able verdict.* An imperial commission 


- See the Acta Purgationis Felicis, in Routh, iv., 71. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of two delegates to Carthage ratified the 
decision of the former councils. At every 
turn the Donatists protested against the 
equity of the decree; they loudly com- 


| plained of the unjust and partial influence 


exercised by Osius, bishop of Cordova, 
At length 
the tardy indignation of the government 
had recourse to violent measures. The 
Donatist bishops were driven into ponatists 
exile, their churches destroyed or persecuted. 
sold, and the property seized for the im- 
perial revenue. The Donatists defied the 
armed interference as they had disclaimed 
the authority of the governmen®® This first } 
development of the principles of Christian 
sectarianism was as stern, as inflexible, 
and as persevering as in later times. The 
Donatists drew their narrow pale around 
their persecuted sect, and asserted them- 
selves to be the only elect people of Christ; 
the only people whose clergy could claim 
an unbroken apostolical succession, vitia- 
ted in all other communities of Christians 
by the inexpiable crime of tradition. Wher- 
ever they obtained possession of a church, 
they burned the altar; or, where wood 
was scarce, scraped off the infection of 


heretical communion; they melted the | 


cups, and sold, it was said, the sanctified 
metal for profane, perhaps for pagan uses; 
they rebaptized all who joined their sect ; 
they made the virgins renew their vows; 
they would not even permit the bodies of 
the Catholics to repose in peace, lest they 
should pollute the common cemeteries. 
The implacable faction darkened into a 


sanguinary feud. For the first time hu-' 


man blood was shed in conflicts between. 
followers of the Prince of Peace. Each 
party recriminated on the other, but nei- 
ther denies the barbarous scenes of massa- 
cre and license which devastated the A fri- 
can cities. The Donatists boasted of their 
martyrs, and the cruelties of the Catholic 
party rest on their own admission: they 
deny not, they proudly vindicate their bar- 
barities. “15 the vengeance of God to be 
defrauded of its victims ?”* and they ap- 
peal to the Old Testament to justify, by 
the examples of Moses, of Phineas, and of 
Elijah, the Christian duty of slaying by 
thousands the renegades or the unbeliev- 
ers. 

{n vain Constantine at length published 


* This damning passage is found in the work of 
the CatholféOptatus: Quasi omnino in vindictam 
Dei nullus mereatur occidi, Compare the whole 
chapter, iii., 6. There is a very strong statement 
of the persecutions which they endured from the 
Catholics in the letter putin by the Donatist bishop 
Habet Deum in the conference held during the 
reign of Honorius.—Apud Dupin, No 258, in finee 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


μή νϑυ edict of peace: the afflicted 

™“““ province was rent asunder till the 
close of his reign, and during that of his 
son, by this religious warfare. For, on 
the other hand, the barbarous fariaticism 
of the Cireumcellions involved the Do- 
The Circum- Natist party in the guilt of in- 
cellions. surrection, and connected them 
with revolting atrocities, which they were 
accused of countenancing, of exciting, if 
not actually sanctioning by their presence. 
That. which, in the opulent cities or the 
well-ordered communities, led to fierce 
and irreconcilable contention, grew up 
among a wild borderers on civilization 
into fanatical phrensy. Where Christian- 


\ ity has outstripped civilization, and has 
_ not had time to effect its beneficent and 


humanizing change, whether in the bosom 
of an old society or within the limits of 
savage !ife, it becomes, in times of violent 


| exciterzent, instead of a pacific principle 


to assuage, a new element of ungoverna- 
ble strife. The long peace which had 
been enjoyed by the province of Africa, 
and the flourishing corn-trade which it 
conducted as the granary of Rome and of 
the Italian provinces, had no doubt ex- 
tended the pursuits of agriculture into the 
Numidian, Geetulian, and Mauritanian vil- 
lages. The wild tribes had gradually be- 
come industrious peasants, and among 
them Christianity had found an open field 
for its exertions, and the increasing agri- 
cultural settlements had become Christian 
bishoprics. But the savage was yet only 
half tamed ; and no sooner had the flames 
of the Donatist conflict spread into these 
peaceful districts, than the genuine Chris- 
tian was lost in the fiery marauding child 
of the desert. Maddened by oppression, 
wounded in his religious feelings by the 
expulsion and persecution of the bishops, 
from his old nature he resumed the fierce 
spirit of independence, the contempt for 
the laws of property, and the burning de- 
sire of revenge: of his new religion he 
retained only the perverted language, or, 
rather, that of the Old Testament, with an 
implacable hatred of all hostile sects; a 
stern ascetic continence, which perpetu- 
ally broke out into paroxysms of unbri- 
dled licentiousness ; and a fanatic passion 


for martyrdom, which assumed the acts. 


of a kind of methodical insanity. 

The Cireumcellions commenced their 
ravages during the reign of Constantine, 
and continued in arms during that of his 
successor Constans. No sooner had the 
provincial authorities received instructions 
to reduce the province by force to religious 
unity, than the Circumcellions, who had at 
first confined their ravages to disorderly 


295 


and hasty incursions, broke out into open 
revolt.* They defeated one body of the 
imperial troops, and killed Ursacius, the 
Roman general. They abandoned by a 
simultaneous impulse their agricultural 
pursuits ; they proclaimed themselves the 
instruments of Divine justice, and the pro- 
tectors of the oppressed; they first as- 
serted the wild theory of the civil equali- 
ty of mankind, which has so often, in later 
periods of the world, become the anima- 
ting principle of Christian fanaticism; they 
proclaimed the abolition of slavery; they 
thrust the proud and opulent master from 
his chariot, and made him walk by the side 
of his slave, who, in his turn, was placed 
in the stately vehicle ; they cancelled all 
debts, and released the debtors; their most 
sanguinary acts were perpetrated in the 
name of religion, and Christian language 
was profaned by its association with their 
atrocities ; their leaders. were the captains 
of the saints ;+ the battle hymn, Praise to 
God! their weapons were not swords, for 
Christ had forbidden the use of the sword 
to Peter, but huge and massy clubs, with 
which they beat their miserable victims 
to death.t They were bound by vows of 
the severest continence, but the African 
temperament, in its state of feverish ex- 
citement, was too strong for the bonds of 
fanatical restraint; the companies of the 
saints not merely abused the privileges 
of war by the most licentious outrages on 
the females, but were attended by troops 
of drunken prostitutes, whom they called 
their sacred virgins. But the most extra- 


ordinary development of their fanaticism , 


was their rage for martyrdom. Passion for 
When they could not obtain it martyrdom, 
from the sword of the enemy, they in- 
flicted it upon themselves. The ambi- 
tious martyr declared himself a candidate 
for the crown of glory: he then gave him- 
self up to every kind of revelry, pam- 
pering, as it were, and fattening the vic- 
tim for sacrifice. When he had wrought 
himself to the pitch of phrensy, he rushed 
out, and, with a sword in one hand and 
money in the other, he threatened death 
and offered reward to the first comer who 
would satisfy his eager longings for the 


* The Circumcellions were unacquainted with 
the Latin language, and are said to have spoken 
only the Punic of the country. 

+ Augustine asserts that they were led by their 
clergy, Vv. xi., p. 575. 

t The Donatists anticipated our Puritans in those 
strange religious names which they assumed. Ha- 
bet Deum appears among the Donatist bishops in a 
conference held with the Catholics at Carthage 
A.D. 411. See the report of the conference in the 
Donatistan Monumenta collected by Dupin, at the 
end of his edition of Optatus. 


® 


i 


296 


glorious crown. They leaped from preci- 
pices; they went into the pagan temples 
to provoke the vengeance of the worship- 
ers: 
: Such are the excesses to which Chris- 
_ tianity is constantly liable, as the religion 
of a savage and uncivilized people; but, 
/on the other hand, it must be laid down 
/as ἃ political axiom equally universal, 
that this fanaticism rarely bursts out into 
disorders dangerous to society, unless 
goaded and maddened by persecution. 
Donatism was the fatal schism of one 
province of Christendom : the few com- 
munities formed on these rigid principles 
in Spain and in Rome died away in neg- 
lect; but, however diminished its influ- 
ence, it distracted the African province for 
three centuries, and was only finally ex- 
tirpated with Christianity itself, by the all- 
absorbing progress of Mohammedanism. 
At one time Constantine resorted to milder 
measures, and issued an edict of toleration. 
But in the reign of Constans, the persecu- 
tion was renewed with more unrelenting 
severity. Two imperial officers, Paul and 
Macurius, were sent to reduce the prov- 
ince to religious unity. The Circumcel- 
lions encountered them with obstinate 
valour, but were totally defeated in the 
sanguinary battle of Bagnia. In the la- 
ter reigns, when the laws against heresy 
became more frequent and severe, the Do- 
natists were named with marked reproba- 
tion in the condemnatory edicts. Yet, in 
the time of Honorius, they boasted, in a 


} 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


conference with the Catholics, that they 
equally divided at least the province of 
Numidia, and that the Catholics only ob- 
tained a majority of bishops by the unfair 
means of subdividing the sees. This con- 
ference was held in the vain, though then 
it might not appear ungrounded, hope of 
reuniting the great body of the Donatists 
with the Catholic communion. The Do- 
natists, says Gibbon, with his usual Sar- 
casm, and more than his usual truth, had 
received a practical lesson on the conse- 
quences of their own principles. A small 
sect, the Maximinians, had been formed 
within their body, who asserted them- 
selves to be the only genuine church of 
God, denied the efficacy of the-sacra- 
ments, disclaimed the apostolic power of 
the clergy, and rigidly appropriated to their 
Own narrow sect the merits of Christ and 
the hopes of salvation. But neither this 
fatal warning, nor the eloquence of St. 
Augustine, wrought much effect on the 
Puritans of Africa; they still obstinately 
deniédthe legality of Czcilian’s ordina- 
tion ; still treated their adversaries as the 
dastardly traditors of the Sacred Writings; 
still dwelt apart in the unquestioning con- 
viction that they were the sole subjects 
of the kingdom of Heaven; that to them — 
alone belonged the privilege of immortali- 
ty through Christ, while the rest of the 
world, the unworthy followers of Christ, 
not less than the blind and unconverted 
heathen, were perishing in their outcast 
and desperate state of condemnation. — 


= 


CHAPTER II. 


By the victory over Maxentius, Constan- 
The East tine had become master of half 
still pagan. the Roman world. Christianity, if 
it had not contributed to the success, shar- 
ed the advantage of the triumph. By the 
edict of Milan the Christians had resumed 
all their former rights as citizens, their 
churches were re-opened, their public ser- 
vices recommenced, and their silent work 
of aggression on the hostile paganism be- 
gan again under the most promising auspi- 
ces. The equal favour with which they 
were beheld by the sovereign appeared both 
to their enemies and to themselves an open 
declaration on their side. The public acts, 
the laws, and the medals of Constantine,* 


* Eckhel supposes that the heathen symbols dis- 


CONSTANTINE BECOMES SOLE EMPEROR. 


show how the lofty eclectic indifferentism 
of the emperor, which extended impartial 
protection over all the conflicting faiths, or 
attempted to mingle together their least in- 
harmonious elements, gradually but slow- 
ly gave place to the progressive influence 
of Christianity. Christian bishops ap- 
peared as regular attendants upon the 


appeared from the coins of Constantine after his 
victory over Licinins.—Doctr. Numm, in Constant. 

I may add here another observation of this great 
authority on such subjects. Excute universam 
Constantini monetam, nunquam in ea aut Christi 
imaginem aut Constantini effigiem cruce insignem 
reperies * * * * In nonnullis jam monogramma 


Christi $2 P inseritur labaro aut vexillo, jam in 
areé nummi solitarié excubat, jam aliis, ut patebit, 
comparat modis. 


.- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


court; the internal dissensions of Chris- 
tianity became affairs of state ; the pagan 
party saw, with increasing apprehension for 
their own authority and the fate of Rome, 
the period. the secular games, on the due 
celebration of which depended the duration 
of the Roman sovereignty, pass away un- 
‘ honoured.* It was an extraordinary change 
in the constitution of the Western 
world when the laws of the em- 
pire issued from the court of Treves, and 
Italy and Africa awaited the changes in 
their civil and religious constitution from 
the seat of government on the barbarous 
German frontier. The munificent grant 
of Constantine for the restoration of the 
African churches had appeared to commit 
him in favour of the Christian party, and 
had, perhaps, indirectly contributed to in- 
flame the dissensions in that province. 

A new law recognised the clerical order 
Clerical or. 88 ἃ distinct and privileged class. 
der recogni- It exempted them from the oner- 
Fed by the ous municipal offices, which had 

; begun to press heavily upon the 
more opulent inhabitants of the towns. It 

_is the surest sign of misgovernment when 

the higher classes shrink from the posts 
_of honour and of trust. During the more 
flourishing days of the empire, the decu- 
rionate, the chief municipal dignity, had 
been the great object of provincial ambi- 
tion. 
of the towns; they supplied the magis- 
trates from their body, and had the right 
of electing them. 

Under the new financial system intro- 
duced by Dioclesian, the decurions were 
made responsible for the full amount of 
taxation imposed by the cataster or as- 
sessment on the town and district. As 
the payment became more onerous or dif- 
ficult, the tenants, or even the proprietors, 
either became insolvent or fled their coun- 
try. But the inexorable revenue still ex- 
acted from the decurions the whole sum 
assessed on their town or district. The 
office itself grew into disrepute, and the 
law was obliged to force that upon the re- 
luctant citizen of wealth or character 

_which had before been an object of eager 
- emulation and competition.{ The Chris- 
tians obtained the exemption of their ec- 
clesiastical order from these civil offices. 
The exemption was grounded on the just 


A.D. 315. 


* Zosimus, |. ii, δ. 1. 

t+ Savigny, Rémische Recht, i.,18. Compare the 
whole book of the Theodosian Code, De Decurion- 
ibus. Persons concealed their property to escape 
serving the public oftices.—Cod. Theod., iii., 1-8. 

t See two dissertations of Savigny on the taxa- 
tion of the empire, in the Transactions of the Ber- 
lin Academy, and translated in the Cambridge 


Classical Researches. 
Pp 
war , 


The decurions formed the senates | 


| 


297 


plea of its incompatibility with their re- 
ligious duties.* ‘The emperor declared in 
a letter to Cecilian, bishop of Carthage, 
that the Christian priesthood ought not to 
be withdrawn from the worship of God, 
which is the principal source of the pros- 
perity of the empire. The effect of this 
immunity shows the oppiessed and disor- 
ganized state of society :+| numbers of per- 
sons, in order to secure this exemption, 
rushed at once into the clerical order of 
the Christians; and this manifest abuse 
demanded an immediate modification of 
the law. None were to be admitted into 
the sacred order except on the 4 p 390. 
vacancy of a religious charge, Exemption 
and then those only whose pov- fom the de- 
erty exempted them from the ᾿ 
municipal functions.{ Those whose prop- 
erty fmposed upon them the duty of the 
decurionate, were ordered to abandon their 
religious profession. Such was the des- 
potic power of the sovereign, to which the 
Christian Church still submitted, either on 
the principle of passive obedience, or in 
gratitude for the protection of the civil au- 
thority. The legislator interfered without 
scruple in the domestic administration of 
the Christian community, and the Chris- 
tians received the imperial edicts in silent 
submission. The appointment of a Chris- 
tian, the celebrated Lactantius, to super- 
intend the education of Crispus, the eldest 
son of the emperor, was at once a most 
decisive and most influential step towards 
the public declaration of Christianity as 
the religion of the imperial family. An- 
other important law, the groundwork of 
the vast property obtained by the Church, 
gave it the fullest power to receive the be- 
quests of the pious. Their right of hold- 
ing property had been admitted apparently 
by Alexander Severus, annulled by Dio- 
clesian, and was now conceded in the most 
explicit terms by Constantine.§ ; 
But half the world remained still disu- 
nited from the dominion of Con- Wars with 
stantine and of Christianity. The Licinius. 


* The officers of the royal household and their 
descendants had the same exemption, which was 
likewise extended to the Jewish archisynagogi or 
elders.—Le Beau, 165. Cod. Theodos., xvi., 8, 2. 

The priests and the flamines, with the decurions, 
were exempt from certain inferior offices, xii., v. 2. 

+ See the various laws on this, subject.—Codex 
Theodos., xvi., 2, 3, 6-11. 

t Cod. Theodos., xvi., 2, 17, 19. 

§ Habeat unusquisque licentiam, sanctissimo 
Catholic venerabilique concilio, decedens bono- 
rum, quod piacet, relinquere. Non sint cassa ju- 
dicia. Nihil est, quod magis hominibus debetur, 
quam ut supreme voluntatis, postquam aliud jam 
velle non possint, liber sit status, et licens, quod 
iterum non redit, imperium.—Cod. Th., xvi., 2, 4, 
De Episcopis. “This law is assigned to the year 321. 


298 


first war with Licinius had been closed by 
the battles of Cibale and Mardia, and a 
new partition of the empire. It was suc- 
ceeded by a hollow and treacherous peace 
of nine years.* The favour shown by 
Constantine to his Christian subjects 
seems to have thrown Licinius upon the 
opposite interest. The edict of Milan 
had been issued in the joint names of the 
two emperors. In his conflict with Max- 
imin, Licinius had avenged the oppres- 
sions of Christianity on their most re- 
lentless adversary. But when the crisis 
approached which was to decide the fate 
of the whole empire, as Constantine had 
adopted every means of securing their 
cordial support, so Licinius repelled the 
allegiance of his Christian subjects by 
disfavour, by mistrust, by expulsion from 
offices of honour, by open persecution, 
till, in the language of the ecclesiastical 
historian, the world was divided into two 
regions, those of day and of night.t The 
Licinius bee Vices, as well as the policy of 
comes more Licinius, might disincline him to 
decidedly endure the importunate presence 
si is of the Christian bishops in his 
court ; but he might disguise his hostile 
disposition to the churchmen in his de- 
clared dislike of eunuchs and of cour- 
tiers :{ the vermin, as he called them, of 
the palace. The stern avarice of Licinius 
would be contrasted to his disadvantage 
with the profuse liberality of Constantine ; 
his looser debaucheries with the severer 
morals of the Western emperor. Licin- 
ius proceeded to purge his household 
troops of those whose inclination to his 
rival he might, not without reason, mis- 
trust ; none were permitted to retain their 
rauk who refused to sacrifice. He pro- 
hibited the synods of the clergy, which 
he naturally apprehended might degener- 
ate into conspiracies in favour of his rival. 
He confined the bishops to the care of 
their own dioceses. He affected, in his 
care for the public morals, to prohibit the 
promiscuous worship of men and women 
in the churches ;|| and insulted the sanc- 
tity of the Christian worship, by com- 
manding that it should be celebrated in 
the open air. The edict prohibiting all 
access to the prisons, though a strong 
and unwilling testimony to the charitable 
exertions of the Christians, and by their 
writers represented as an act of wanton 


* 314 to 323. + Euseb., Vita Constant., i., 49. 

+ Spadonum et Aulicorum omnium vehemens 
domitor, tineas soricesque palatii eos appellans.— 
Aur. Vict., Epit. 

t Vit. Constant., 1., 41. 

ὁ Vit. Constant. Women were to be instructed 
by the deaconesses alone.—Vit. Const., 1,, 53. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ae 
and unexampled inhumanity, was caused 
probably by a jealous policy rather than 
by causeless cruelty of temper. It is 
quite clear that the prayers of the Chris- 
tians, perhaps more worldly weapons, were 
armed in favour of Constantine. The 
Kastern churches would be jealous of their 
happier Western brethren, and naturally 
would be eager to bask in the equal sun- 
shine of imperial favour. At length, ei- 
ther fearing the effect of their prayers 
with the Deity whom they addressed,* or 
their influence in alienating the minds of 
their votaries from his own cause to that 
of him who, in the East, was considered 
the champion of the Christian cause, Li- 
cinius commanded the Christian churches 
in Pontus to be closed; he destroyed 
some of them, perhaps for the defiance of 
his edicts. Some acts of persecution 
took place; the Christians fled again into 
the country, and began to conceal them- 
selves in the woods and caves. Many 
instances of violence, some of martyr- 
dom, occurred,t particularly in Pontus. 
There was a wide-spread apprehension 
that a new and general persecution was 
about to break out, when the Emperor of 
the West moved, in the language of the 
Christian historian, to rescue the whole 
of mankind from the tyranny of one. 
Whether, in fact, Licinius avowed the 
imminent war to be a strife for mastery 
between the two religions, the decisive 
struggle between the ancient gods. of 
Rome and the new divinity of the Chris- 
tians ;} whether he actually led the chief 
officers and his most eminent political 
partisans into a beautiful consecrated 
grove, crowded with the images of the 
gods; and appealed, by the light of bla- 
zing torches and amid the smoke of sac- 
rifice, to the gods of their ancestors 
against his atheistic adversaries, the fol- 


* Συντελεῖσθαι γὰρ οὐκ ἡγεῖτο ὑπὲρ αὑτοῦ 
τὰς εὐχὰς, συνειδὸτε φαύλῳ τοῦτο λογιζόμενος, 
ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὲρ τοῦ ϑεοφιλοῦς βασιλέως πᾶντα πράτ- 
τειν ἡμᾶς καὶ τὸν ϑεὸν ἱλεοῦσθαι πέπειστο.--- 
Euseh., x., 8. 

+ Sozomen, H. E., i., 7, asserts that many of the 
clergy, as well as bishops, were martyred. Dod- 
well, however, observes (De Paucitate Martyrum, 
91), Caveant fabulatores ne quos alios sub Licinio 
martyres faciant praterquam episcopos.—Compare 
Ruinart. There is great difficulty about Basileus, 
bishop of Amasa. He is generally reckoned by 
the Greek writers as a martyr (see Pagi, ad an. 316, 
n. x.); but he is expressly stated by Philostorgius 
(lib. i.), confirmed by Athanasius (Orat. 1, contra 
Arianos), to have been present at the Council of 
Nice some years afterward. t Vit. Const., 1], 5, 

ὁ Ὑπαχθεὶς τισὶν ὑπισχνουμένοις ἀυτῷ κρατή- 
σειν, εἰς ἑλλήνισμον ἐτράπη .--- ϑοζοιηθῃ, i., 7. 

Sacrifices and divinations were resorted to, and 
promised to Licinivs universal empire. 


/ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Η 
lowers of a foreign and unknown deity, 
whose ignominious sign was displayed in 
the van of their armies; yet the propaga- 
tion of such stories shows how complete- 
ly, according to their own sentiments, the 
interests of Christianity were identified 
‘with the cause of Constantine.* On both 


sides were again marshalled all the super- 


natural terrors which religious hope or 
superstitious awe could summon. _Divi- 
ners, soothsayers, and Egyptian magi- 
cians animated the troops of Licinius.t 
The Christians in the army of Constan- 
tine attributed all their success to the 
prayers of the pious bishops who accom- 
panied his army, and especially to the 
holy labarum, whose bearer passed un- 
hurt among showers of fatal javelins.f 

The battle of Hadrianople, and the na- 
Battle of ._ Val victory of Crispus, decided 
Hadrianople. the fate of the world, and the 
A.D. 828, establishment of Christianity as 
the religion of the empire. The death of 
Licinius reunited the whole Roman world 
under the sceptre of Constantine. 

Eusebius ascribes to Constantine, during 
this battle, an act of Christian mercy at 
least as unusual as the appearance of the 
banner of the cross at the head of the 
‘Roman army. He issued orders to spare 
the lives of his enemies, and offered re- 
wards for all captives brought in alive. 
Even if this be not strictly true, its exag- 
geration or invention, or even its relation 
as a praiseworthy act, shows the new 
spirit which was working in the mind of 
man.§ 

Among the first acts of the sole em- 
peror of the world was the repeal of all the 
edicts of Licinius against the Christians, 
the release of all prisoners from the dun- 
geon or the mine, or the servile and hu- 
miliating occupations to which some had 
been contemptuously condemned in the 
manufactories conducted by women; the 
recall of all the exiles; the restoration of 
all who had been deprived of their rank 
in the army or in the civil service ; the 
restitution of all property of which they 
had been despoiled—that of the martyrs 
to the legal heirs, where there were no 
heirs to the Church—that of the churches 
was not only restored, but the power to 
receive donations in land, already granted 
to the Western churches, was extended to 
the Eastern. The emperor himself set 


* Vit. Constant., 11., 4. 

+ Euseb., Vit. Constant., i., 49. 

t Eusebius declares that he heard this from the 
lips of Constantine himself. One man, who, in 
his panic, gave up the cross to another, was imme- 
diately transfixed in his flight. No one actually 
around the cross was wounded. 

ὁ Vit. Const., ii., 13. 


299 


the example of restoring all which had 
been confiscated to the state. 

Constantine issued two edicts, recount- 
ing all these exemptions, restitutions, and 
privileges: one addressed to the church- 
es, the other to the cities of the East; 
the latter alone is extant. Its tone might 
certainly indicate that Constantine con- 
sidered the contest with Licinius as in 
some degree a war of religion: his own 
triumph and the fate of his enemies are 
adduced as unanswerable evidences to the 
superiority of that God whose followers 
had been so cruelly persecuted ; the res- 
toration of the Christians to all their 
property and immunities was an act, not 
merely of justice and humanity, but of 
gratitude to the Deity. 

But Constantine now appeared more 
openly to the whole world as the head of 
the Christian community. He sat, not 
in the Roman senate, deliberating on the 
affairs of the empire, but presiding in a 
council of Christian bishops, summoned 
from all parts of the world, to de- 
cide, as of infinite importance to 
the Roman empire, a contested point of 
the Christian faith. The council was held 
at Nice, one of the most ancient of the 
Eastern cities. The transactions of the 
council, the questions which were agita- 
ted before it, and the decrees which it is- 
sued, will be postponed for the present, in 
order that this important controversy, 
which so long divided Christianity, may 
be related in a continuous narrative : we 
pass to the following year. e 

Up to this period Christianity had seen 
much to admire, and little that gonguct of 
it would venture to disapprove, Constantine 
in the public acts or the domes- 10 his ene- 
tic character of Constantine. His ἢ 
offences against the humanity of the Gos- 
pel would find palliation, or, rather, vindi- 
cation and approval, in a warrior and a> 
sovereign. The age was not yet so fully 
leavened with Christianity as to condemn 
the barbarity of that Roman pride which 
exposed without seruple the brave captive 
chieftains of the German tribes in the 
amphitheatre. Again, after the triumph 
of Constantine over Maxentius, this bloody 
spectacle had been renewed at Treves, on 
a new victory of Constantine over the 
Barbarians. The extirpation of the family 
of a competitor for the empire would pass 
as the usual, perhaps the necessary, policy 
of the times. The public hatred would 
applaud the death of the voluptuous Max- 
entius, and that of his family would be the 
inevitable consequences of his guilt. Li- 
cinius had provoked his own fate by re- 
sistance to the will of God and his per- 


A.D. 325. 


+ 


900. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. » 


secution of the religion of Christ. Nor 
was the fall of Licinius followed by any 
general proscription; his son lived for a 
few years to be the undistinguished victim 
of a sentence which involved others, in 
whom the public mind took far deeper in- 
terest. Licinius himself was permitted 
to live a short time at Thessalonica :* it 
is said by some that his life was guaran- 
teed by a solemn oath, and that he was 
permitted to partake of the hospitality of 
the conqueror ;t yet his death, though the 


brother-in-law of Constantine, was but an 


expected event.{ The tragedy which took 
place in the family of Constantine betray- 
ed to the surprised and anxious world 
that, if his outward demeanour showed 
respect or veneration for Christianity, its 
milder doctrines had made little impres- 
sion on the unsoftened paganism of his 
heart. 

Crispus, the son of Constantine by 
AD. 296. Minervina, his first wife, was a 
Crispus, son YOuth of high and brilliant prom- 
wt ΘΟΝ ΠΟΙ, ise. In his early years his 

; education had been intrusted to 
the celebrated Lactantius, and there is 
reason to suppose that he was imbued by 
his eloquent preceptor with the Christian 
doctrines ; but the gentler sentiments in- 
stilled by the new faith had by no means 
unnerved the vigour or tamed the martial 
activity of youth. Had he been content 
with the calmer and more retiring virtues 
of the Christian, without displaying the 
dangerous qualifications of a warrior and 
a statesman, he might have escaped the 
fatal jealousy of his father, and the arts 
which were no doubt employed for his 
ruin. In his campaign against the Bar- 
barians, Crispus had shown himself a wor- 
thy son of Constantine, and his naval vic- 
tory over the fleet of Licinius had com- 

_pleted the conquest of the empire. The 


_ conqueror of Maxentius and of Licinius, 


the undisputed master of the Roman world, 
might have been expected to stand supe- 


* Le Beau (Hist. des Empéreurs, i., 220) recites 
with great fairness the various accounts of the death 
of Licinius, and the motives which are said to have 
prompted it. But he proceeds to infer that Licini- 
us must have been guilty of some new crime to in- 
duce Constantine to violate his solemn oath. 

+ Contra religionem sacramenti Thessalonice 
privatus occisus est.—Eutrop., lib. x. 

1 Eusebius says that he was put to death by the 
laws of war, and openly approves of his execution 
ard that of the other enemies of God. Nouw 
πολέμου διακρίνας TH πρεπούσῃ παρεδίδου τιμω- 
pia * * καὶ ἀπώλλυντο, τὴν προσήκουσαν ὑπέχ- 
οντες δίκην, οἱ τῆς ϑεομαχίας σύμβουλοι. How 
singularly does this contrast with the passage 
above! See p.388 (Vit. Const. ii., 13); bigotry and 
mercy advancing hand in hand, the sterner creed 
overpowering the Gospel. 


rior to that common failing of weak mon- 
archs, a jealous dread of the heir to their 
throne. The unworthy fears of Constan- 
tine were betrayed by an edict inconsist- 
ent with the early promise of his reign. 
He had endeavoured, soon after his acces- 
sion, to repress the odious crime of dela- 
tion; a rescript now appeared, inciting by 
large reward and liberal promise of favour 
those informations which he had before 
nobly disdained, and this edict seemed to 
betray the apprehensions of the govern- 
ment that some widely-ramified and dark- 
ly-organized conspiracy was afoot. But, 
if such conspiracy existed, it refused, by 
the secrecy of its own proceedings, to en- 
lighten the public mind. : 

Rome’ itself, and the whole Roman 
world, heard with horror and 5). of 
amazement, that in the midst of Crispus. 
the solemn festival, which was April, 
celebrating with the utmost splen- 
dour the twentieth year of the emperor’s 
reign, his eldest son had been suddenly 
seized, and, either without trial or after a 
hurried examination, had been transported 
to the shore of Istria, and perished by an 
obscure death.* Nor did Crispus fall 
alone; the young Licinius, the nephew of 
Constantine, who had been spared after 
his father’s death, and vainly honoured 
with the title of Caesar, shared his fate. 
The sword of justice or of cruelty, once 
let loose, raged against those who were 
suspected as partisans of the dangerous 
Crispus, or as implicated in the wide- 
spread conspiracy, till the bold satire of 
ai eminent officer of state did not scruple, 
in some lines privately circulated, to com- 
pare the splendid but bloody times with 
those of Nero.t 

But this was only the first act of the 
domestic tragedy ; the death of his Death of 
wife Fausta, the partner of twenty Fausta. 
years of wedlock, the mother of his three 
surviving sons, increased the general hor- 
ror. She was suffocated in a bath, which 
had been heated to an insupportable de- 
gree of temperature. Many rumours were 
propagated throughout the empire con- 
cerning this dark transaction, of which 

* Vict. Epit. in Constantino., Eutrop., lib. x. Zo- 
simus, il., c. 29. Sidonius, v., epist. 8. Of the ec- 
clesiastical historians, Philostorgius (lib 11, 4) at- 
tributed the death of Crispus to the arts of his step- 
mother. He adds a strange story, that Constan- 
tine was poisoned by his brothers in revenge for 
the death of Crispus. Sozomen, while he refutes 
the notion of the connexion of the death of Crispus 
with the conversion of Constantine, admits the fact, 
Laren: 
+ The consul Albinus: 

Saturni aurea secla quis requiret? 


Sunt hec gemmea sed Neroniana. 
Sid. Apoll., v. 8. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ys 

the real secret was no doubt concealed, if 
not in the bosom, within the palace of 
Constantine. The awful crimes which 
had thrilled the scene of ancient tragedy 
were said to have polluted the imperial 
chamber. The guilty stepmother had 
either, like Phaedra, revenged the insensi- 
bility of the youthful Crispus by an accu- 
sation of incestuous violence, or the crime, 
actually perpetrated, had involved them 
both in the common guilt and ruin. In 
accordance with the former story, the 
miserable Constantine had discovered too 
late the machinations which had stained 
his hand with the blood of a guiltless son: 
in the agony of his remorse he had fasted 
forty days; he had abstained from the use 
of the bath; he had proclaimed his own 
guilty precipitancy, and the innocence of 
his son, by raising a golden statue of the 
murdered Crispus, with the simple but 
emphatic inscription, “ ΤῸ my unfortunate 
son.” ‘The Christian mother of Constan- 
tine, Helena, had been the principal agent 
in the detection of the wicked Fausta; it 
was added that, independent of her un- 
natural passion for her stepson, she was 
found to have demeaned herself to the 
embraces of a slave. 

It is dangerous to attempt to recon- 
cile with probability these extraordinary 
events, which so often surpass, in the 
strange reality of their circumstances, the 
wildest fictions. But, according to the 
ordinary course of things, Crispus would 
appear the victim of political rather than 
of domestic jealousy. The innocent Li- 
cinius might be an object of suspicion 
as implicated in a conspiracy against the 
power, but not against the honour, of 
Constantine. The removal of Crispus 
opened the succession of the throne to 
the sons of Fausta. The passion of ma- 
ternal ambition is much more consistent 
with human nature than the incestuous 
love of a stepmother, advanced in life 
and with many children, towards her hus- 
band’s son. The guilt of compassing the 
death of Crispus, whether by the atrocious 
accusations of a Phaedra, or by the more 
vulgar arts of common court intrigue, 
might come to light at a later period; and 
the indignation of the emperor at having 
been deluded into the execution of a gal- 
lant and blameless son, the desire of palli- 
ating to the world and to his own con- 
science his own criminal and precipitate 
weakness, by the most unrelenting re- 
venge on the subtlety with which he had 
been circumvented, might madden him to 
a second act of relentless barbarity.* 


* Gibbon has thrown doubts on the actual death 
of Fausta, vol. i., p. 368. 


ἡ κα 


301 


But, at all events, the unanimous con- 
sent of the pagan and most οἵ pasan 
the Christian authorities, as well account of 
as the expressive silence of Eu- 's event. 
sebius, indicate the unfavourable impres- 
sion made on the public mind by these 
household barbarities. But the most re- 
markable circumstance is the advantage 
which was taken of this circumstance by 
the pagan party to throw a dark shade 
over the conversion of Constantine to the 
Christian religion. Zosimus has presery- 
ed this report; but there is good reason 
for supposing that it was a rumour, eager- 
ly propagated at the time by the more de- 
sponding votaries of paganism.* In the 
deep agony of remorse, Constantine ear- 
nestly inquired of the ministers of the an- 
cient religions whether their lustrations 
could purify the soul from the blood of a 
son. The unaccommodating priesthood 
acknowledged the inefficacy of their rites 
in a case of such inexpiable atrocity,t and 
Constantine remained to struggle with the 
unappeased and unatoned horrors of con- 
science. An Egyptian, on his journey from 
Spain, passed through Rome, and, being 
admitted to the intimacy of some of the 
females about the court, explained to the 
emperor that the religion of Christ pos- 
sessed the power of cleansing the soul 
from all sin. From that time Constan- 
tine placed himself entirely in the hands 
of the Christians, and abandoned altogeth- 
er the sacred rites of his ancestors. If 
Constantine at this time had been long an 
avowed and sincere Christian, this story 
falls to the ground; but if, according to 
our view, there was still something of 
ambiguity in the favour shown by Con- 
stantine to Christianity, if it still had 


something rather of the sagacious states- 
» 


* See Heyne’s ποΐθ᾽ on this passage of Zosimus. — 

+ According to Sozomen, whose narrative, as 
Heyne observes (note on Zosimus, p. 552), proves 
that this story was rot the invention of Zosimus, 
but rather the version of the event current in the 
pagan world ; it was not a pagan priest, but a Pla- 
tonic philosopher named Sopater, who thus denied 
the efficacy of any rite or ceremony to wash the 
soul clean from fiilal blood. It is true that neither 
the legal ceremonial of paganism nor the principles 
of the later Platonism could afford any hope or 
pardon to the murderer. Julian (speaking of Con- 
stantine in Cesar) insinuates the: facility with 
which Christianity admitted the μιαίφονος, as well 
as other atrocious delinquents, to the Divine for- 
giveness. 

The bitterness with which the pagan party judg- 
ed of the measures of Constantine, is shown in the 
turn which Zosimus gives tohis edict discouraging 
divination. ‘ Having availed himself of the advan- 
tages of divination, which had predicted his own 
splendid successes, he was jealous lest the prophet- 
ic art should be equally prodigal of its glorious 
promises to others.” 


302 


man than of the serious proselyte, there 
ἴα, be some slight groundwork of truth 
in this fiction. Constantine may have re- 
lieved a large portion of his subjects from 
grievous oppression, and restored their 
plundered property ; he may have made 
munificent donations to maintain their cer- 
emonial; he may have permitted the fa- 
mous labarum to exalt the courage of his 
Christian soldiery ; he may have admit- 
ted their representatives to his court, en- 
deavoured to allay their fierce feuds in 
Africa, and sanctioned by his presence the 
“meeting of the Council of Nice to decide 
on the new controversy which began to 
distract the Christian world; he may have 
proclaimed himself, in short, the worship- 
per of the Christians’ God, whose favour- 
ites seemed likewise to be those of fortune, 
and whose enemies were devoted to igno- 
miny and disaster (such is his constant 
language)*: but of the real character and 
the profounder truths of the religion he 
may still have been entirely, or perhaps 
in some degree, disdainfully ignorant: the 
lofty indifferentism of the emperor pre- 
dominated over the obedience of the pros- 
elyte towards the new faith. 

But it was now the man, abased by re- 
morse, by the terrors of conscience, it may 
be by superstitious horrors, who sought 
some refuge against the divine Nemesis, 
the avenging furies which haunted his 
troubled spirit. It would be the duty as 
well as the interest of an influential Chris- 
tian to seize on the mind of the royal 
proselyte while it was thus prostrate in 
its weakness, to enforce more strongl 
the personal sense of religion upon the af- 
flicted soul. And if the emperor was un- 
derstood to have derived the slightest con- 
solation under this heavy burden of con- 
scious guilt from the doctrines of Christi- 
anity; if his remorse and despair were 
allayed or assuaged, nothing was more 
likely than that paganism, which constant- 
ly charged Christianity with receiving the 
lowest and most depraved of mankind 


* It is remarkable in all the proclamations and 
documents which Eusebius assigns to Constantine, 
some even written by his own hand, how almost 
exclusively he dwells on this worldly superiority 
of the God adored by the Christians over those of 
the heathen, and the visible temporal advantages 
which attend on the worship of Christianity. His 
own victory and the disasters of his enemies are 
his conclusive evidences of Christianity. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
4 


among its proselytes, should affect to as- 
sume the tone of superior moral dignity, 
to compare its more uncompromising mor- 
al austerity with the easier terms on 
which Christianity appeared to receive the 
repentant sinner. In the bitterness of 
wounded pride and interest at the loss of 
an imperial worshipper, it would revenge 
itself by ascribing his change exclusively 
to the worst hour of his life, and to the 
least exalted motive. It is a greater dif- 
ficulty that, subsequent to this period, the 
mind of Constantine appears to have re- 
lapsed in some degree to its imperfectly 
unpaganized Christianity. His conduct 
became ambiguous as before, floating be- 
tween a decided bias in favour of Chris- 
tianity and an apparent design to harmo- 
nize with it some of the less offensive parts 
of heathenism. Yet it is by no means 
beyond the common inconsistency of hu- 
man nature, that with the garb and atti- 
tude Constantine should throw off the 
submission of a penitent. His mind, re- 
leased from its burden, might resume its 
ancient vigour, and assert its haughty su- 
periority over the religious as well as 
over the civil allegiance of his subjects. 
A new object of ambition was dawning on 
his mind; a new and absorbing impulse 
was given to all his thoughts : the found- 
ation of the second Rome, the new impe- 
rial city on the Bosphorus. 

Nor was this sole and engrossing object 
altogether unconnected with the senti- 
ments which arose out of this dark trans- 
action. Rome had become hateful to Con- 
stantine ; for, whether on this point identi- 
fying herself with the pagan feeling, and 
taunting the crime of the Christian with 
partial acrimony, or pre-surmising the de- 
sign of Constantine to reduce her to the 
second city of the empire, Rome assumed 
the unwonted liberty of insulting the em- 
peror. The pasquinade which compared 
his days to those of Nero was affixed to 
the gates of the palace; and so galling was 
the insolence of the populace, that the em- 
peror is reported to have consulted his 
brothers on the expediency of calling out 
his guards for a general massacre. Mild- 
er councils prevailed; and Constantine 
took the more tardy, but more deep-felt 
revenge, of transferring the seat of empire 
from the banks of the Tiber to the shores 
of the Bosphorus. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


308 


* 


CHAPTER III. 


FOUNDATION OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 


Tur foundation of Constantinople marks 
Foundation OMe Of the great periods. of 
of Constan- change in the annals of the 
tinople ~~ world. +Both its immediate* and 
its remoter connexion with the history 
of Christianity are among those results 
which contributed to its influence on the 
destinies of mankind. The removal of 
the seat of empire from Rome might, in- 
deed, at first appear to strengthen the de- 
caying cause of paganism. The senate 
became the sanctuary, the aristocracy of 
Rome; in general, the unshaken adherents 
of the ancient religion. But its more re- 
mote and eventual consequences were fa- 
vourable to the consolidation and energy 
of the Christian power in the West. The 
absence of a secular competitor allowed 

_ the papal authority to grow up and to de- 
velop its secret strength. By the side of 
the imperial power, perpetually contrasted 
~ with the pomp and majesty of the throne, 
constantly repressed in its slow but steady 
advancement to supremacy, or obliged to 
contest every point with a domestic an- 
tagonist, the pope would hardly have gain- 
ed more political importance than the pa- 
triarch of Constantinople. The extinction 
of the Western empire, which, indeed, had 
long held its court in Milan or Ravenna rath- 
er than in the ancient capital, its revival 
only beyond the Alps, left all the awe which 
attached to the old Roman name, or which 
followed the possession of the imperial 
city, to gather round the tiara of the pon- 
tiff. In any other city the pope would in 
vain have asserted his descent from St. 

Peter; the long habit of connecting to- 

gether the nan¥® of Rome with supreme 

dominion, silently co-operated in estab- 
lishing the spiritual despotism of the pa- 
pal see. 

Even in its more immediate influence, 
favourableto the rise of Constantinople was 
Christianity. favourable to the progress of 
Christianity. It removed the seat of gov- 
ernment from the presence of those awful 
temples, to which ages of glory had at- 
tached an inalienable sanctity, and with 
which the piety of all the greater days of 


+ Constantine seized the property of some of the 
temples for the expense of building Constantinople, 
but did not change the established worship ; so says 
Libanuis. 

Τῆς κατὰ νόμους δὲ ϑεραπείας ἐκίνησεν ὀυδὲ ἐν. 
—Vol. ii., p. 162. 


the republic had associated the supreme 
dominion and the majesty of Rome. It 
broke the last link which combined the 
pontifical and the imperial character. The 
Emperor of Constantinople, even if he had 
remained a pagan, would have lost that 
power which was obtained over men’s 
minds by his appearing in the chief place 
in all the religious pomps and processions, 
some of which were as old as Rome itself. 
The senate, and even the people, might be 
transferred to the new city ; the deities of 
Rome clung to their native home, and 
would have refused to abandon their an- 
cient seats of honour and worship. 

Constantinople arose, if not a Christian, 
certainly not a pagan city. The constantino: 
new capital of the world had no ple a _Chris- 
ancient deities, whose worship '"*? ΟἿΣ. 
was inseparably connected with her more 
majestic buildings and solemn customs. 
The temples of old Byzantium had fallen 
with the rest of the public edifices, when 
Severus in his vengeance razed the rebel- 
lious city to the ground. Byzantium had 
resumed sufficient strength and importance 
to resist a siege by Constantine himself in 
the earlier part of his reign; and some 
temples had reappeared during the recon- 
struction of the city.* The fanes of the 
Sun, of the Moon, and of Aphrodite, were 
permitted to stand in the Acropolis, though 
deprived of their revenues.t That of Cas- 
tor and Pollux formed part of the Hippo- 
drome, and the statues of those deities 
who presided over the games stood undis- 
turbed till the reign of Theodosius the 
Younger.f 

Once determined to found a rival Rome 
on the shores of the Bosphorus, Building of 
the ambition of Constantine was "5 ον. 
absorbed by this great object. No expense 
was spared to raise a city worthy of the 
seat of empire; no art or influence to col- 
lect inhabitants worthy of such a city. 
Policy forbade any measure which would 
alienate the minds of any class or order 
who might add to the splendour or swell 


ety 

* There isa long list of these temples in V. Ham 
mer’s Constantinopel und die Bosporus, i., p. 189, 
&c. Many of them are named in Gyllius, but it 
does not seem clear at what period they ceased to 
exist. The Paschal Chronicle, referred to by V. 
Hammer, says nothing of their:conversion into 
churches by Constantine. 


+ Malala, Constantinus, x. + Zosimus, ii., 31. 


+ 


804 al Ὁ 
ane 


the population of Byzantium ; and policy 


_was the ruling principle of Constantine in 
the conduct of the whole transaction. It 
was the emperor whose pride was now 


_ pledged to the accomplishment of his 


scheme, with that magnificence which be- 
came the founder of the empire, not the 
exclusive patron of one religious division 
of his subjects. Constantinople was not 
only to bear the name, it was to wear an 
exact resemblance of the elder Rome. 


_ The habitations of men, and the public 


buildings for business, for convenience, for 
amusement, or for splendour, demanded 
the first care of the founder. The impe- 
‘perial palace arose, in its dimensions and 
magnificence equal to that of the older 
city. The skill of the architect was lav- 
ished on the patrician mansions, which 
were so faithfully to represent to the no- 
bles who obeyed the imperial invitation 
the dwellings of their ancestors in the an- 
cient Capitol, that their wondering eyes 
could scarcely believe their removal ; their 
Penates might seem to have followed 
them.* The senate-house, the Auguste- 
um, was prepared for their counsels. For 
the mass of the people, markets, and fount- 
ains, and aqueducts, theatres and hippo- 
dromes, porticoes, basilice, and forums, 
rose with the rapidity of enchantment. 
One class of buildings alone was wanting. 
If some temples were allowed to stand, it 
is clear that no new sacred edifices were 
erected to excite and gratify the religious 


feelings of the pagan party,t and the build- 


ing of the few churches which are ascri- 
bed to the pious munificence of Constantine 
seems slowly to have followed the extra- 
ordinary celerity with which the city was 
crowded with civil edifices. A century 
after, a century during which Christianity 
had been recognised as the religion of the 
empire, the metropolis contained only 
fourteen churches, one for each of its 


* Sozomen,ii., 3. In the next reign, however, 
Themistius admits the reluctance of the senators to 
remove : προτοῦ μὲν ὑπ᾽ ἀνάγκης ἐτιμᾶτο ἡ γε- 
ρουσὶα, καὶ ἡ τιμὴ τιμωρίας ἐδόκει μηδ᾽ οτιοῦν 
διαφέρειν.---Οταὶ. Protrep., p. 57. 

+ Of the churches built by Constantine, one was 
dedicated to S. Sophia (the supreme Wisdom), the 
other to Eirene, Peace ; a philosophic pagan might 
have admitted the propriety of dedicating temples 
to each of these abstract names. The consecrating 
to individual saints was of a later period.—Soz, ii, 
3. The ancient Temple of Peace, which afterward 
formed part of the Santa Sophia, was appropriately 
transformed into a Christian Church. ‘The Church 
of the Twelve Apostles appears, from Eusebius 
(Vit. Const., iv., 58), to have been built in the last 
year of his reign and of his life, as a burial-place for 
himself and his family. Sozomen, indeed, says that 
Constantine embellished the city πολλοῖς καὶ, με- 
γίστοις εὐκτηρίοις οἴκοις. 


‘HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


if, 


wards or divisions. Yet Constantine by 
no means neglected those measures which 
might connect the new city with the reli- 
gious feelings of mankind. Heaven in- 
spired, commanded, sanctified the founda- 
tion of the second Rome. The ancient 
ritual of Roman paganism contained a sol- 
emn ceremony, which dedicated a new 
city to the protection of the Deity. 

see He ders edict. announced to the 
world that Constantine, by the ; 
command of God, had founded. τὸ ων euns- 
the eternal city. When the em- 22". 
peror walked, with a spear in his hand, in 
the front of the stately procession which 
was to trace the boundaries of Constanti- 
nople, the attendants followed in wonder 


his still advancing footsteps, which seem-_ 


ed as if they never would reach the ap- 
pointed limit. One of them, at length, 
humbly inquired how much farther he pro- 
posed to advance. “‘ When he that goes 
before me,” replied the emperor, “ shall 
stop.” But, however the Deity might have 
intimated his injunctions to commence the 
work, or whatever the nature of the invis- 
ible guide which, as he declared, thus di- 
rected his steps, this vague appeal to the 
Deity would impress with the same re- 
spect all, and by its impartial ambiguity 
offend none, of his subjects. In earlier 
times the pagans would have bowed down 
in homage before this manifestation of the 
nameless tutelar deity of the new city; at 
the present period they had become fa- 
miliarized, as it were, with the concentra- 
tion of Olympus into one supreme Being ;* 
the Christians would of course assert the 
exclusive right of the one true God to this 
appellation, and attribute to his inspiration 
and guidance every important act of the 
Christian emperor.t 

But, if splendid temples were not erect- 
ed to the decaying deities of paganism, 
their images were set u ingled indeed 
with other noble works ΘῈ art, in all the 
public places of Constantinople. If the 
inhabitants were not encouraged, at least 
they were not forbidden to pay divine hon- 
ours to the immortal sculptures of Phidi- 
as and Praxiteles, which were brought 
from all quarters to adorn the squares and 


* The expression of the pagan Zosimus shows 
how completely this language had been adopted by 
the heathen: πᾶς γὰρ χρόνος τῷ ϑείῳ βραχὺς, det 
Te ὄντι, καὶ ἐσομένῳ. He isspeaking of an oracle, 
in which the pagan party discovered a prediction of 
the future glory of Byzantium. One letter less 
would make it the sentence of a Christian appeal- 
ing to prophecy. es 

{Αἴ a later period the Virgin Mary obtained the 
honour of having inspired the foundation of Con- 
stantinople, of which she became the tutelary guar- 
dian, I had almost written, deity. 


A 


ye 


‘ 


᾿ κἀς 4. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


baths of Byzantium. The whole Roman 
world contributed to the splendour of Con- 
‘stantinople. ‘The tutelar deities of all the 
cities of Greece (their influence, of course, 
much enfeebled by their removal from 
their local sanctuaries) were assembled. 
The Minerva of Lyndus, the Cybele of 
Mount Dindymus, which was said to have 
been placed there by the Argonauts, the 
Muses of Helicon, the Amphitrite of 
Rhodes, the Pan consecrated by united 
Greece after the defeat of the Persians, the 
Delphic tripod. ‘The Dioscuri overlook- 
ed the Hippodrome. At each end of the 
principal forum were two shrines, one of 
which held the statue of Cybele, but de- 


ο΄ prived of her lions and her hands, from the 


attitude of command distorted into that of 
a suppliant for the welfare of the city: in 
the other was the Fortune of Byzantium.* 
To some part of the Christian community 
this might appear to be leading, as it were, 
the gods of paganism in triumph; the pa- 
gans were shocked, on their part, by their 
violent removal from their native fanes 
and their wanton mutilation. Yet the 
Christianity of that age, in full posses- 
sion of the mind of Constantine, would 
sternly have interdicted the decoration of 
a Christian city with these idols ; the work- 
manship of Phidias or of Lysippus would 
have found no favour when lavished on 
images of the demons of paganism. 

The ceremonial of the dedication of the 
cityt was attended by still more dubious 
circumstances, After a most splendid ex- 
hibition of chariot games in the Hippo- 
drome, the emperor moved in a magnifi- 
cent car through the most public part of 
the city, encircled by all his guards, in the 
attire of a religious ceremonial, and bear- 
ing torches in their hands. ‘The emperor 
himself bore a golden statue of the For- 
tune of the city in his hands. An impe- 
rial edict enacted the annual celebration 
of this rite. On the birthday of the city, 
the gilded statue of himself, thus holding 
the same golden image of Fortune, was 
annually to be led through the Hippo- 
drome to the foot of the imperial throne, 
and to receive the adoration of the reign- 
ing emperor. The lingering attachment 
of Constantine to the favourite supersti- 
tion of his earlier days may be traced on 
still better authority. The Grecian wor- 


* Euseb., Vit. Const., iii, 54. Sozomen, ii., 5. 
Codinus, or C. P., 30-62, Le Beau, i., 305. 

Eusebius would persuade his readers that these 
statues were set up in the public places to excite 
the general contempt. Zosimus admits with bit- 
terness that-they were mutilated from want of re- 
spect to the ancient religion, ii.,31. Compare Socr., 
Eccl. Hist., 1-16. 

+ Paschal Chronicle, p. 529, edit. Bonn. 


Qe 


+ 


. » 
. " 


ship of Apollo had been exalted into the 
Oriental veneration of the Sun, as the 
visible representative of the Deity; and 
of all the statues which were introduced 
from different quarters, none were re- 
ceived with greater honour than those of 
Apollo. In one part of the city stood the 
Pythian, in the other the Sminthian dei- 
ty.* The Delphic tripod, which, accord- 
ing to Zosimus, contained an image of 
the god, stood upon the column of the 
three twisted serpents, supposed to repre- 
sent the mythic Python. But on a still 
loftier, the famous pillar of porphyry, stood 
an image in which (if we are to credit mod- 
ern authority, and the more modern our 
authority, the less likely is it statue of 
to have invented so singular a Constantine. 
statement) Constantine dared to mingle to- 
gether the attributes of the Sun, of Christ, 
and of himself.t According to one tra- 
dition, this pillar was based, as it were, 
on another superstition. The venerable 
Palladium itself, surreptitiously conveyed 
from Rome, was buried beneath it, and 
thus transferred the eternal destiny of the 
old to the new capital. ‘The pillar, form- 
ed of marble and of porphyry, rose to the 
height of 120 feet. The colossal image 
on the top was that of Apollo, either from 
Phrygia or from Athens. But the head 
of Constantine had been substituted for 
that of the god. ‘The sceptre proclaimed 
the dominion of the world, and it held in 
its hand the globe, emblematic of univer- 
sal empire. Around the head, instead of 
rays, were fixed the nails of the true cross. 
Is this paganism approximating to Chris- 
tianity, or Christianity degenerating into 
paganism? Thus Constantine, as found- 
er of the new capital, might appear to 
some still to maintain the impartial digni- 
ty of emperor of the world, presiding with 
serene indifference over the various na- 
tions, orders, and religious divisions which 
peopled his dominions ; admitting to the 
privileges and advantages of citizens in 
the new Rome all who were tempted to 
make their dwelling around her seat of 
empire. 

Yet, even during the reign of Constan- 
tine, no doubt, the triumphant progress of 
progress of Christianity tended Christianity. 
to efface or to obscure these lingering ves- 
tiges of the ancient religion. If here and 
there remained a shrine or temple belong- 
ing to Polytheism, built in proportion to 
the narrow circuit and moderate popula- 


* Euseb, Vit. Const., 11]., 54. ; 

t The author of the Antiq. Constantinop. apud 
Banduri. See Von Hammer, Constantinopel und 
die Bosporus, i., 162. Philostorgius says that the 
Christians worshipped this image, ii., 17. 


306 


lation of old Byzantium, the Christian 
churches, though far from numerous, were 
gradually rising, in their dimensions more 
suited to the magnificence and populous- 
ness of the new city, and in form proclaim- 
ing the dominant faith of Constantinople. 
The Christians were most likely to crowd 
into a new city; probably their main 
strength still lay in the mercantile part 
of the community: interest and religion 
would combine in urging them to settle in 
this promising emporium of trade, where 
their religion, if it did not reign alone and 
exclusive, yet maintained an evident su- 
periority over its decaying rival. The old 
aristocracy, who were inclined to Christi- 
anity, would be much more loosely attach- 
ed to their Roman residences, aud would 
be most inclined to obey the invitation of 
the emperor, while the large class of the 
indifferent would follow at the same time 
the religious and political bias of the sov- 
ereign. Where the attachment to the old 
religion was so slight and feeble, it was a 
trifling sacrifice to ambition or interest 
to embrace the new, particularly where 
there was no splendid ceremonial, no con- 
nexion of the priestly office with the high- 
er dignity of the state; nothing, in short, 
which could enlist either old reverential 
feelings or the imagination in the cause 
of Polytheism. The sacred treasures, 
transferred from the pagan temples to 
the Christian city, sank more and more 
into national monuments or curious re- 
mains of antiquity ; their religious signifi- 
cance was gradually forgotten: they be- 
came, in the natural process of things, a 
mere collection of works of art. 

In other respects Constantinople was 
Theamphi- not a Roman city. An amphi- 
theatre. theatre, built on the restoration 
of the city after the siege of Severus, was 
permitted to remain, but it was restricted 
to exhibitions of wild beasts; the first 
Christian city was never disgraced by the 
_ bloody spectacle of gladiators.* There 
were theatres, indeed, but it may be doubt- 
ved whether the noble religious drama of 
Greece ever obtained popularity in Con- 
stantinople. The chariot-race was the 
amusement which absorbed all others; 
and to this, at first, as it was not ne- 
cessarily connected with the pagan wor- 
ship, Christianity might be more indul- 


* An edict of Constantine (Cod. Theod., xv., 12), 
if it did not altogether abolish these sanguinary 
shows, restricted’ them to particular occasions. 
Cruenta spectacula in otio civili, et domestic4 
quiste non placent. Criminals were to be sent to 
the mines. But it should seem that captives taken 
in war might still be exposed in the amphitheatre. 
In fact, these bloody exhibitions resisted some time 
jonger the progress of Christian humanity. _ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


gent. How this taste grew into a pas- 
sion, and this passion into a phrensy, the 
later annals of Constantinople bear mel- 
ancholy witness. Beset with powerful 
enemies without, oppressed by a tyran- 
nous government within, the people of 
Constantinople thought of nothing but the 
colour of their faction in the Hippodrome, 
and these more engrossing and madden- 
ing contentions even silenced the ani- 
mosity of religious dispute. 
During the foundation of Constantino- 
ple, the emperor might appear to the Chris- 
tians to have relapsed from the head of the 
Christian division of his subjects into the © 
common sovereign of the Roman world. 
In this respect his conduct did not ratify 
the promise of his earlier acts in the Kast. 
He had not only restored Christianity, de- 
pressed first by the acts of Maximin, and 
afterward by the violence of Licinius, but 
in many cases he had lent his countenance 
or his more active assistance to the re- 
building their churches on a more impo- 
sing plan. Yet, to all outward appear- 
ance, the world was still pagan: every 
city seemed still to repose under the tu- 
telary gods of the ancient religion: every- 
where the temples rose above the Ancient 
buildings of men: if here and there temples. 
a Christian church, in its magnitude or in 
the splendour of its architecture, might 
compete with the solid and elegant fanes 
of antiquity, the Christians had neither 
ventured to expel them from their pos- 
sessions, or to appropriate to their own 
use those which were falling into neglect 
or decay. As yet there had been no in- 
vasion but on the opinions and moral in- 
fluence of Polytheism. The temples, in 
deed, of pagan worship, though subse 
quently, in some instances, converted to 
Christian uses, were not altogether suited 
to the ceremonial of Christianity.* The 
Christians might look on their stateliest 
buildings with jealousy, hardly with en- 
vy. Whether raised on the huge sub- 
structures and in the immense masses of 
the older Asiatic style, as at Baalbec, or 
the original Temple at Jerusalem; whether 
built on the principles of Grecian art, when 
the secret of vaulting over a vast build- 
ing seems to have been unknown; or, 
after the general introduction of the arch 
by the Romans had allowed the roof to 
spread out to ampler extent, still the ac- 
tual enclosed temple was rarely of great 
dimensions.t ‘The largest among the 


* Compare an excellent memoir by M. Quatre- 
mére de Quincy on the means of lighting the an- 
cient temples (Mem. de l'Institut, ii, 171), and 
Hope on Architecture. 

+ M. de Quincy gives the size of some of the an- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Greeks were hypethral, open to the sky.* 
If we judge from the temples crowded to- 
gether about the Forum, those in Rome 
contributed to the splendour of the city 
rather by their number than their size. 
The rites of Polytheism, in fact, collected 
together their vast assemblages rather as 
spectators than as worshippers.t ‘The al- 
tar itself, in general, stood in the open air, 
in the court before the temple, where the 
smoke might find free vent, and rise in its 
grateful odour to the heavenly dwelling of 
the gods. The body of the worshippers, 
therefore, stood in the courts or the sur- 
rounding porticoes. They might approach 
individually, and make their separate liba- 
tion or offering, and then retire to a con- 
venient distance, where they might watch 
the movements of the ministering priest, 
receive his announcement of the favour- 
able or sinister signs discovered in the 
victim, or listen to the hymn, which was 
the only usual form of adoration or prayer. 
However Christianity might admit grada- 
tions in its several classes of worshippers, 
and assign its separate station according 
to the sex or the degree of advancement 
in the religious initiation; however the 
penitents might be forbidden, until recon- 
ciled with the Church, or the catechumens 
before they were initiated into the com- 
munity, to penetrate beyond the outer por- 
tico or the inner division in the church, 
yet the great mass of a Christian congre- 
gation must be received within the walls 
of the building; and the service consist- 
_ ing, not merely in ceremonies performed 
by the priesthood, but in prayers, to which 
all present were expected to respond, and 
in oral instruction, the actual edifice there- 
fore required more ample dimensions. 

In many towns there was another pub- 
lic building, the Basilica, or Hall 
of Justice,{ singularly adapted for 
the Christian worship. This was a large 


Basilicas. 


cient temples: Juno at Agrigentum, 116 (Paris) 
feet ; Concord, 120; Pestum, 110; Theseus, 100; 
Jupiter at Olympia, or Minerva at Athens, 220-220; 
Jupiter at Agrigentum, 322; Selinus, 320; Ephe- 
sus, 350; Apollo Dindymus at Miletus, 360, p. 195. 
* The real hypzthral temples were to particular 
divinities ; Jupiter Fulgurator, Céelum, Sol, Luna. 
+ Eleusis, the scene of the mysteries, of all the 
ancient temples had the largest nave ; it was turbe 
theatralis capacissimum.—Vitruv., vii. “OyAov ε- 
eat ya Ν 
ἄτρου δέξασθαι dvvawevov.—Strabo. 
118 Basilique fut !’édifice des anciens, qui con- 
vint 4 la célébration de ses mystéres. La vaste 
capacité de son intérieur, les divisions de son plan, 
les grandes ouvertures, qui introduisaient de toutes 
parts la lumiére dans son enceinte, Je tribunal qui 
devint la place des célébrans, et du cheeur, tout se 
trouva en rapport avec les pratiques du nouveau 
culte.-—-Q. de Quincy, p. 173.. See Hope on Archi- 
tecture, p. 87. 


ΗΝ, 
aha 


307 


chamber, of an oblong form, with a plain, 
flat exterior wall. The pillars, which in 
the temples were without, stood within 
the basilica ; and the porch, or that which 
in the temple was an outward portico, was 
contained within the basilica. ‘This hall 
was thus divided by two rows of columns 
into a central avenue with two side aisles. 
The outward wall was easily pierced for 
windows, without damaging the symme- 
try or order of the architecture. In the 
one the male, in the other the female, ap- 
pellants to justice waited their turn.* The 
three longitudinal avenues were crossed 
by one in a transverse direction, elevated 
a few steps, and occupied by the advo- 
cates, notaries, and others employed in 
the public business. At the farther end, 
opposite to the central avenue, the build- 


ing swelled out into a semicircular recess, 


with a ceiling rounded off; it was called 
absis in the Greek, and in Latin tribunal. 
Here sat the magistrate with his assess- 
ors, and hence courts of justice were call- 
ed tribunals. 

The arrangement of this building coin- 
cided with remarkable propriety with the 
distribution of a Christian congregation.t 
The sexes retained their separate places 
in the aisles; the central avenue became 
the nave, so called from the fanciful anal- 
ogy of the church to the ship of St. Peter, 
The transept, the Βημα or chorus, was oc- 
cupied by the inferior clergy and the sing- 
ers.{ The bishop took the throne of the 
magistrate, and the superior clergy ranged 
on each side on the seats of the assessors. 

Before the throne of the bishop, either 
within or on the Verge of the recess, stood 
the altar. This was divided from the nave 
by the cancelli, or bars, from whence hung 
curtains, which, during the celebration of 
the communion, separated the participants 
from the rest of the congregation. 

As these buildings were numerous, and 
attached to every imperial residence, they 
might be bestowed at once on the Chris- 


tians, without either interfering with the 


course of justice, or bringing the religious 
feelings of the hostile parties into collis- 
ion.§ Two, the Sessorian and the Lateran, 


* According to Bingham (lviii., c. 3), the women 
occupied galleries in each aisle above the men. 
This sort of separation may have been borrowed 
from the synagogue ; probably the practice was not 
uniform. 

+ Some few churches were of an octagonal form, 
some in that of across.—See Bingham, l. viii., c. 3. 

t Apost. Const., 1. ii., ¢. 57. 

ὁ There were eighteen at Rome; many of these 
pasilice had become exchanges, or places for gen- 
eral business. Among the Roman basilice P. Vic- 
tor reckons the Basilice Argentariorum.—Ciam- 
pini, tom. i., p. 8. ᾿ : 

Some basilica: were of a very large size. One is 


ays 


% 


308 


were granted to the Roman Christians by 
Constantine. And the basilica appears to 
have been the usual form of building in 
the West, though, besides the porch, con- 
nected with, or rather included within, the 
building, which became the Narthex, and 
was occupied by the catechumens and the 
penitents, and in which stood the piscina, 
or font of baptism, there was, in general, 
an outer open court surrounded with col- 
onnades. This, as we have seen in the 
description of the church at Tyre, was 
general in the East, where the churches 
retained probably more of the templar 
form; while in Constantinople, where they 
were buildings raised from the ground, 
Constantine appears to have followed the 
form of the basilica. 

By the consecration of these basilicas to 
Relative posi tH purposes of Christian wor- 
tion of Chris- Ship, and the gradual erection of 
tianity and pa- Jarge churches in many of the 
oe Eastern cities, Christianity be- 
gan to assume an outward form and dig- 
nity commensurate with its secret moral 
influence. In imposing magnitude, if not 
in the grace and magnificence of its archi- 
tecture, it rivalled the temples of antiquity. 


But as yet it had neither the power, nor |} 


probably the inclination, to array itself in 
the spoils of paganism. Its aggression 
was still rather that of fair competition 
than of hostile destruction. It was con- 
tent to behold the silent courts of the pa- 
gan fanes untrodden but by a few casual 
worshippers; altars without victims, thin 
wreaths of smoke rising where the air 
used to be clouded with the reek of heca- 
tombs ; the priesthood mutmuring in bitter 
envy at the throngs which passed by the 
porticoes of their temples towards the 
Christian church. The direct interference 
with the freedom of pagan worship seems 
to have been confined to the suppression 
of some of those Eastern rites which were 
offensive to public morals. Some of the 
Syrian temples retained the obscene cere- 
monial of the older Nature-worship. Re- 
ligious prostitution, and other monstrous 
enormities, appeared under the form of di- 
vine adoration. The same rites which had 
endangered the fidelity of the ancient Is- 
raelites, shocked the severe purity of the 
Temples Christians. A temple in Syria 
suppressed. of the female principle of gen- 
eration, which the later Greeks identified 
with their Aphrodite, was defiled by these 
unspeakable pollutions ; it was levelled to 
the ground by the emperor’s command, 
the recesses of the sacred grove laid open 


described by the younger Pliny, in which 180 judges 
were seated, with a vast multitude of advocates and 
‘auditors.—Plin., Epist., vi., 33. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


. 


to the day, and the rites interdicted.* A 
temple of Asculapius at Auge in Cilicia 
fell under the same proscription. The 
miraculous cures pretended to be wrought 
in this temple, where the suppliants pass- 
ed the night, appear to have excited the 
jealousy of the Christians; and this was, 


perhaps, the first overt act of hostility 


against the established paganism.t In 
many other places the frauds of the priest- 
hood were detected by the zealous incre- 
dulity of the Christians; and Polytheism, 
feebly defended by its own party, at least 
left to its fate by the government, assailed 
on all quarters by an active and perse- 
vering enemy, endured affront, exposure, 
neglect, if not with the dignified patience 
of martyrdom, with the sullen equanimity 
of indifference. : 

Palestine itself, and its capital, Jerusa- 
lem, was an open province, of which Chris- 
tianity took entire and almost undisputed 
possession. Paganism in the adjacent 
regions had built some of its most splen- 
did temples ; the later Roman architecture 
at Gerasa, at Petra, and at Baalbec, ap- 
pears built on the massive and enormous 
foundations of the older native structures ; 
ut in Palestine proper it had made no 
strong settlement. ‘Temples had been 
raised by Hadrian in his new city on the 
site of Jerusalem. One dedicated to Aph- 
rodite occupied the spot which Christian 
tradition or later invention asserted to be 
the sepulchre of Christ.{ The prohibition 
issued by Hadrian against the admission 
of the Jews into the Holy City Copristianity 
doubtless was no longer en- atJerusalem. 
forced; but, though not forcibly depressed 
by public authority, Judaism itself waned 
in its own native territory before the as- 
cendancey of Christianity. 

It was in Palestine that the change. 
which had been slowly working into Chris- 
tianity itself began to assume a more defi- 
nite and apparent form. The religion, re- 
issued, as it were from its cradle, in a char- 
acter, if foreign to its original simplicity. 
singularly adapted to achieve and maintain 
its triumph over the human mind. It no 
longer confined itself to its purer moral 
influence ; it Was no more a simple, spirit- 
ual faith, despising all those accessories 
which captivate the senses, and feed the 
imagination with new excitement. It no 
longer disdained the local sanctuary, nor 
stood independent of those associations 
with place which became a universal and 


* Euseb., Vit. Const., iii., 55. + Ibid., iii., 56. 

+ This temple was improbably said to have been 
built on this spot by Hadrian to insult the Chris- 
tians ; but Hadrian’s hostility was against the re- 
bellious Jews, not against the Christians. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


spiritual religion. It began to have its 
hero-worship, its mythology, and to crowd 
the mind with images of a secondary de- 
gree of sanctity, but which enthralled and 
Kept in captivity those who were not ripe 
for the pure moral conception of the Deity, 
and the impersonation of the Godhead in 
Jesus Christ. It was, as might not un- 
reasonably be anticipated, a female, the 
Empress Helena, the mother of Constan- 
tine, who gave, as it were, this new colour- 
ing to Christian devotion. In Palestine, 
indeed, where her pious activity was chief- 
ly employed, it was the memory of the 
Redeemer himself which hallowed the 
scenes of his life and death to the imagina- 
tion of the believer. 
arose over the place of his birth at Beth- 
lehem; that of his burial, near the sup- 
posed Calvary: that of his ascension on 
the Mount of Olives. So far the most spir- 
itual piety could not hesitate to proceed; 
to such natural and irresistible claims upon 
its veneration no Christian heart could re- 
fuse to yield. The cemeteries of their 
brethren had, from the commencement of 
Christianity, exercised a strong influence 
over the imagination. They had frequent- 
ly, in times of trial, been the only places 
of religious assemblage. When hallowed 
to the feelings by the remains of friends, 
of bishops, of martyrs, it was impossible 
to approach them without the profoundest 
reverence; and the transition from rev- 
erence to veneration, to adoration, was 
too easy and imperceptible to awaken the 
jealousy of that exclusive devotion due to 
God and the Redeemer. The sanctity of 
the place where the Redeemer was sup- 
posed to have been laid in the sepulchre 
was still more naturally and intimately 
associated with the purest sentiments of 
devotion. 

But the next step, the discovery of the 
true cross, was more important. It ma- 
terialized at once the spiritual worship of 
Christianity. It was reported through- 
out wondering Christendom that tradition 
or a vision having revealed the place of 
the Holy Sepulchre, the fane of Venus had 
been thrown down by the imperial com- 
mand, excavations had been made, the 
Holy Sepulchre had come to light, and 
with the sepulchre three crosses, with the 
inscription originally written by Pilate in 
three languages over that of Jesus. As 
it was doubtful to which of the crosses 
the tablet with the inscription belonged, a 
miracle decided to the perplexed believers 
the claims of the genuine cross.* The 


* The excited state of the Christian mind, and 
the tendency to this materialization of Christianity, 
may be estimated by the undoubting credulity with 


Splendid churches. 


309 


precious treasure was divided ; part, en- 
shrined in a silver case, remained at Je- 
rusalem, from whence pilgrims constant- 
ly bore fragments of the still vegetating 
wood to the West, till enough was accu- 
mulated in the different churches to build 
a ship of war. Part was. sent to Constan- 
tinople : the nails of the passion of Christ 
were turned into a bit for the war-horse 
of the emperor, or, according to another 
account,wepresented the rays of the sun 
around the head of his statue. 

A magnificent church, called at first the 
Church of the Resurrection (An- Gyurcnes 
astasis), afterward that of the Ho- built in 
ly Sepulchre, rose on the sacred Palestine. 
spot hallowed by this discovery ; in which, 
from that time, a large part of the Chris- 
tian world has addressed its unquestion- 
ing orisons. It stood in a large open 
court, with porticoes on each side, with 
the usual porch, nave, and choir. The 
nave was inlaid with precious marbles ; 
and the roof, overlaid with gold, showered 
down a flood of light over the whole build- 
ing; the roofs of the aisles were likewise 
overlaid with gold. At the farther end 
arose a dome supported by twelve pillars, 
in commemoration of the twelve apostles ; 
the capitals of these were silver vases. 
Within the church was another court, at 
the extremity of which stood the chape 
of the Holy Sepulchre, lavishly adorned 
with gold and precious stones, as it were 
to perpetuate the angelic glory which 
streamed forth on the day of the resurrec- 
tion.* 

Another sacred place was purffied by 
the command of Constantine, and dedica- 
ted to Christian worship. Near Hebron 
there was the celebrated oak or terebinth- 
tree of Mambre, which tradition pointed 
out as the spot where the angels appeared 
to Abraham. It is singular that the hea- 
then are said to have celebrated religious 
rites at this place, and to have worshipped 
the celestial visitants of Abraham. It was 
likewise, as usual in the East, a celebrated 
emporium of commerce. The worship 
may have been like that at the Caaba of 
Mecea before the appearance of Moham- 
med, for the fame of Abraham seems to 
have been preserved among the Syrian 
and Arabian tribes as well as the Jews. 


which they entertained the improbable notion that 
the crosses were buried with our Saviour, not only 
that on which he suffered, but those of the two 
thieves also. From the simple account of the bu- 
rial in the Gospels, how singular a change to that 
of the discovery of the cross in the ecclesiastical 
historians.—Socrates, i., 17. Sozomen, ii.,1.. The- 
odoret, i., 18. \ 

* Sea Vit, Constant., iii., 29, et seq ; this 
seems to be the sense of the auther. 


2 


310 


It is remarkable that, at a later period, the 
Jews and Christians are said to have met 
in amicable devotion, and offered their 


tt 


2 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


* 


common incense and suspended their lights 
in the church erected over this spotby 
the Christian emperor.* 


CHAPTER IY. 


TRINITARIAN 


Bur it was as arbiter of religious dif- 
Trinitarian ferences, aS presiding in their 
controversy. solemn councils, that Constan- 
tine appeared to the Christians the avow- 


ed and ostensible head of their commu- 


nity. Immediately after his victory over 
Licinius, Constantine had found the Kast, 
novsless than the West, agitated by the dis- 
sensions of his Christian subjects. He 
had hoped to allay the flames of the Do- 
natist schism by the consentient and im- 
partial authority of the Western churches. 
A more extensive, if as yet less fiercely 
agitated, contest disturbed the Eastern 
provinces. Outward peace seemed to be 
restored only to give place to intestine 
dissension. We must reascend the course 
of our history for several years, in order 
to trace in one continuous narrative the 
rise and progress of the Trinitarian con- 
troversy. This dissension had broken out 
soon after Constantine’s subjugation of 
the East ; already, before the building of 
Constantinople, it had obtained full pos- 
session of the public mind, and the great 
Council of Nice, the first real senate of 
Christendom, had passed its solemn de- 
cree. The Donatist schism was but a 
local dissension: it raged, indeed, with 
fatal and implacable fury, but it was al- 
most entirely confined to the limits of a 
single province. The Trinitarian contro- 
versy was the first dissension which rent 
asunder the whole body of the Christians, 
arrayed in almost every part of the world 
two hostile parties in implacable opposi- 
tion, and at a later period exercised a 
powerful political influence on the affairs 
of the world. How singular an illustra- 
tion of the change already wrought in the 
mind of man by the introduction of Chris- 
tianity. Questions which, if they had 
arisen in the earlier period of the world, 
would have been limited to a priestly 
caste ; if in Greece, would have been con- 
fined to the less frequented schools of 
Athens or Alexandrea, and might have 
produced some intellectual excitement 
among the few who were conversant with 
the higher philosophy, now agitated the 
populace of great cities and occupied the 


CONTROVERSY. 


councils of princes, and at a later period 
determined the fate of kingdoms and the 
sovereignty of great part of Europe.t It 
appears still more extraordinary, since 
this controversy related to a purely spec- 
ulative tenet. The disputants of either 
party might possibly have asserted the 
superior tendency of each system to en- 
force the severity of Christian morals or 
to excite the ardour of Christian piety ; 
but they appear to have dwelt little, if at 
all, on the practical effects of the conflict- 
ing opinions. In morals, in manners, in 
habits, in usages, in church government, 
in religious ceremonial, there was no dis- 
tinction between the parties which divided 
Christendom. The Gnostic sects incul- 
cated a severer asceticism, and differed 
in many of their usages from the genera 
body of the Christians: the Donatist fac- 
tions commenced at least with a question 
of church discipline, and almost grew into 
a strife for political ascendancy: the Ari- 
ans and Athanasians first divided the world 
on a pure question of faith. From this 
period we may date the introduction of 
rigorous articles of belief, which required 
the submissive assent of the mind to every 
word and letter of an established creed, 
and which raised the slightest heresy of 
opinion into a more fatal offence against 
God, and a more odious crime in the es- 
timation of man, than the worst moral de- 
linquency or the most flagrant deviation 
from the spirit of Christianity. 

The Trinitarian controversy was the 
natural, though tardy, growth Origin ofthe 
of the Gnostic opinions: it controversy. 
could scarcely be avoided when the ex- 
quisite distinctness and subtlety of the 
Greek language were applied to religious 
opinions of an Oriental origin. Even the 
Greek of the New Testament retained 
something of the significant and reveren- 
tial vagueness of Eastern expression. This 
vagueness, even philosophically speaking, 


* Antoninus in Itinerario. 
on Euseb., Vit. Const., iii., 53 

+ For instance, when the savage orthodoxy of 
the Franks made the more refined Arianism of the 


See Heinichen, note 


| Visigoths a pretext for hostile invasion. 


‘ 


᾿ 


4. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


may better convey to the mind those mys- 
terious conceptions of the Deity which 
are beyond the province of reason, than 
the anatomical precision of philosophic 
Greek. The first Christians were content 
to worship, with undefining fervour, the 
Deity as revealed in the Gospel. ‘They 
assented to, and repeated with devout ad- 
oration, the words of the Sacred Writings, 
or those which had been made use of 
from the apostolic age: but they did not 
decompose them, or, with nice and scru- 
pulous accuracy, appropriate peculiar 
terms to each manifestation of the God- 
head. It was the great characteristic of 
the Oriental theologies, as described in a 
former chapter, to preserve the primal 
and parental Deity at the greatest possi- 
ble distance from the material creation. 
This originated in the elementary tenet 
of the irreclaimable evil of matter. In 
the present day, the more rational be- 
liever labours under the constant dread, 
if not of materializing, of humanizing too 
much the Great Supreme. A certain de- 
gree of indistinctness appears inseparable 
from that vastness of conception which 
arises out of the more extended knowl- 
edge of the works of the Creator. A 
more expanding and comprehensive phi- 
losophy increases the distance between 
the Omnific First Cause and the race of 
man. All that defines seems to limit and 
circumscribe the Deity. Yet, in thus rev- 


ec κων erentially repelling the Deity 
struggle be- τ . Ν 
fuente the lato an unapproachable sphere, 


intellectual and investing him, as it were, in 
and devo. anature absolutely unimaginable 
Sid of by the mind; in thus secluding 
the Deity. him from the degradation of be- 
ing vulgarized, if the expression may be 
ventured, by profane familiarity, or circum- 
scribed by the narrowness of the human 
‘intellect, God is gradually subtilized and 


τ sublimated into a being beyond the reach 


of devotional feelings, almost superior to 


adoration. ‘There is in mankind, and in 
the individual man, on the one hand, an 
intellectual tendency to refine the Deity 
into a mental conception; and, on the 
other, an instinctive counter tendency to 
impersonate him into a material, and, 
when the mind is ruder and less intel- 
lectual, a mere human being. Among 
the causes which have contributed to the 
successful promulgation of Christianity, 
and the maintenance of its influence over 
‘the mind of man, was the singular beauty 
and felicity with which its theory of the 
conjunction of the Divine and human na- 
ture, each preserving its separate attri- 
butes, on the one hand, enabled the mind 


ν 
4 4 


311 


of the Deity, on the other, to approximate 


it, as it were, to. human interests and 
sympathies. But this is done rather by a 
process of instinctive feeling than by strict 
logical reasoning. Even here there is 
a perpetual strife between the intellect, 
which guards with jealousy the divine 
conception of the Redeemer’s nature ; 
and the: sentiment, or even the passion, 
which so draws down the general notion 
to its own capacities, so approximates 
and assimilates it to its own ordinary 
sympathies, as to absorb the Godhead in 
the human nature. : 

The Gnostic systems had universally ad- 
mitted the seclusion of the primal Deity 
from all intercourse with matter; that in- 
tercourse had taken place, through a de- 
rivative and intermediate being, more or 
less remotely proceeding from the sole 
fountain of Godhead. This, however, 
was not the part of Gnosticism which 
was chiefly obnoxious to the general sen- 
timents of the Christian body. Their 
theories about the malignant nature of 
the Creator; the identification of the God 
of the Jews with this hostile being; the 
Docetism which asserted the unreality of 
the Redeemer—these points, with their 
whole system of the origin of the worlds 
and of mankind, excited the most vigor- 
ous and active resistance. But when the 
wilder theories of Gnostic sm began to 
die away, or to rank themselves under 
the hostile standard of Manicheism ; when 
their curious cosmogonical notions were 
dismissed, and the greater part of the 
Christian world began to agree in the 
plain doctrines of the eternal supremacy 
of God—the birth, the death, the resur- 
rection of Christ as the Son of God, the 
effusion of the Holy Spirit—questions be- 
gan to arise as to the peculiar nature and 
relation between the Father, Son, and 
Holy Ghost. Jn all the systems a binary, 
in most a triple, modification of the Deity 
was admitted. The Logos, the Divine 
Word or Reason, might differ in the va- 


rious schemes in its relation to the pa- 


rental Divinity and to the universe ; but 
it had this distinctive and ineffaceable 
character, that it was the Mediator, the 
connecting link between the unseen and 
unapproachable world and that of man. 
This Platonism, if it may be so called, 
was universal. It differed, indeed, widely 
in most systems from the original philos- 
ophy of the Athenian sage; it had ac- 
quired a more Oriental and imaginative 
cast. Plato’s poetry of words had been 
expanded into the poetry of conceptions. 
It may be doubted whether Plato himself 


to preserve inviolate the pure conception | impersonated the Logos, the Word or 


 Noetus. 
7 


a 


“| ma or 


| rather an attribute of the Godhead. 
- one sense it was the chief of these arche- 


~ world, had isolated this sect. 


« = 4 ἃ * a : 
᾿ wt : , 
ν 
es ὑ 
312 | HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, ἢ xi! 
τῷ + Ν χὰ , , = h 
_ Reason, of the Deity ; with him it was; more modest and unoffending Sabellian- ὁ 


In 


typal ideas, according to which the Crea- 
tor framed the universe ; in another, the 
principle of life, motion, and harmony 
which pervaded all things. ‘This Plato- 
nism had gradually absorbed all the more 
intellectual class ; it hovered over, as it 
were, and gathered under its wings, all the 
religions of the world. It had aiready 
modified Judaism; it had allied itself with 
the Syrian and Mithraic worship of the 
Sun, the visible Mediator, the emblem of 
the Word ; it was part of the general Na- 
ture-worship ; it was attempting to renew 
paganism, and was the recognised and 
leading tenet in the higher Mysteries. 
Disputes on the nature of Christ were, 
indeed, coeval with the promulgation of 
Christianity. Some of the Jewish con- 
verts had never attained to the sublimer 
notion of his mediatorial character; but 
this disparaging notion, adverse to the 
ardent zeal of the rest of the Christian 
The imper- 
fect Christianity of the Ebionites had long 
ago expired in an obscure corner of Pales- 
tine. In all the other divisions of Chris- 
tianity, the Christ had more or less ap- 
proximated to the office and character of 
this being, which connected mankind with 
the Eternal Father. 

Alexandrea, the fatal and prolific soil of 
Controversy Speculative controversy, where 
commences Speculative controversy was 
at Alexan’ ost likely to madden into furi- 

ea. ὃ Ὁ δ» 

ι ous and lasting hostility, gave 

_ birth to this new element of disunion in the 
Christian world. The Trinitarian ques- 
tion, indeed, had already been agitated 
within a less extensive sphere. 
Noetus, an Asiatic either of Smyr- 
Ephesus, had dwelt with such exclu- 
sive zeal on the unity of the Godhead, as 
to absorb, as it were, the whole Trinity 


into one undivided and undistinguished 


Being. The one supreme and impassible 


_ Father united to himself the man Jesus, 


” 


Be ἡ 
Δ under different forms, who existed in the 


- _,whom he had created by so intimate a 


| conjunction that the Divine unity was not 
destroyed. His adversaries drew the con- 
clusion that, according to this blaspheming 
theory, the Father must have suffered on 
the cross, and the ignominious name of 
Patripassians adhered to the few followers 
of this unprosperous sect. 
Sabellianism had excited more atten- 
"| Sabellian- tion. Sabellius was an African of 
ism. the Cyrenaic province. Accord- 
ing to his system, it was the same Deity, 


Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. A 


| human mind, may have been thus succes 


ism might perhaps be imagined in accord- 


ance with modern philosophy. ‘The man- 


ifestations of the same Deity, or, rather, | 


of his attributes, through which alone the 
Godhead becomes comprehensible to the 


ively made in condescension to our weak- 
ness of intellect. It would be the same 
Deity, assuming, as it were, an objective 
form, so as to come within the scope of 
the human mind; a real difference as re- 
gards the conception of man, perfect unity 
in its subjective existence. 
ever, though some of its terms may appear) 
the same with the Sabellianism of anti- 
quity, would be the Trinitarianism of a) 
philosophy unknown at this period. The 
language of the Sabellians implied, to the | 


jealous ears of their opponents, that the 


distinction between the persons of the 
Trinity was altogether unreal. Whi e 
Sabellian party charged their adverts 
with a heathen Tritheistic worship, they 
retorted by accusing Sabellianism of anni- 
hilating the separate existence of the Son 
and the Holy Ghost. But Sabellianism 
had not divided Christianity into two irre- 
concilable parties. Even now, but for 
the commanding characters of the cham-_ 
pions who espoused each party, the Trin-— 
itarian controversy might have been lim- 
ited to a few provinces, and. become ex- 
tinct in some years. But it arose, not 
merely under the banners of men endow- 
ed with those abilities which command the 
multitude ; it not merely called into ac- 
tion the energies of successive disputants, 
the masters of the intellectual attainments 
of the age ; itappeared at a critical period, 
when the rewards of success were more 
splendid, the penalty upon failure propor- 
tionately more severe. The contest was 
now not merely for a superiority over ἃ ἡ 


few scattered and obscure communities, it 


was agitated on a vaster theatre, that of | 


‘the Roman world; the proselytes whom 


it disputed were sovereigns ; it contested 
the supremacy of the human mind, which 
was now bending to the yoke of Christi- 
anity. It is but judging on the common 
principles of human nature to conclude, 
that the grandeur of the prize supported 
the ambition and inflamed the passions of 
the contending parties; that human mo- 
tives of political power and aggrandize- 
ment mingled with the more spiritual in- 
fluences of the love of truth and zeal for 
the purity of religion. , 
The doctrine of the Trinity, that is, the 
divine nature of the Father, the trinitarian- 
Son, and the Holy Ghost, was ism. 
acknowledged by all. To each of these 


+ 


»Ὲ 


This, how- Ἢ 


{: 


5- * 7 


| 


»*% 
313 


st : 
The days even of a Lucian were past.* 
Discord, which at times is fatal to a na- 


᾿ A 
τ distinct and separate beings, both parties 


ascribed the attributes of the Godhead, 


᾿ς HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ἡ 
V3 


with the exception of self-existence, which 
- was restricted by the Arians to the Fa- 
ther. Both admitted the anti-mundane Be- 
ing of the Son and the Holy Spirit. But, 


tion or to a sect, Seems at others, by the 
animating excitement of rivalry, the stir- 
ring collision of hostile energy, to favour 
the development of moral strength. ‘The 
Christian republic, like Rome when it was 


οἰ according to the Arian, there was a time, 
before the commencement of the ages, 
Ὶ when the parent Deity dwelt alone in un- 
ΠῚ developed, undivided unity. At this time, 


rent asunder by domestic factions, calmly 
proceeded in her conquest of the world. , 
The plain and intelligible principle which 


. immeasurably, incalculably, inconceivably 
“remote, the majestic solitude ceased, the 
Divine unity was broken by an act of the 
_ sovereign Will, and the only-begotten Son, 
the image of the Father, the vicegerent of 
all the Divine power, the intermediate 
went in all the long subsequent work of 
creation, began to be.* _ 
_ Such was the question which led to all 
the evils of human strife: hatred, perse- 
cution, bloodshed. But, however pro- 
» foundly humiliating this fact in the history 
bt OF ‘kind, and in the history of Chris- 
tianity an epoch of complete revolution 
from its genuine spirit, it may fairly be 
inquired whether this was not an object 
‘more generous, more unselfish, and at least 
as wise, as many of those motives of per- 
~ sonal a advantage and aggran- 
dizement, or many of those magic words 
which, embraced by two parties with blind 
and unintelligent fury, have led to many 
of the most disastrous and sanguinary 
events in the annals of man. It might, in- 
deed, have been supposed that a profound 
metaphysical question of this kind would 
have been far removed from the passions 
of the multitude; but with the multitude, 


᾿- 


and that multitude often comprehends: 
nearly the whole of society, it is the pas- 


sion which seeks the object, not the object 
which, of its own exciting influence, in- 
flames the passion. In fact, religion was 
become the one dominant passion of the 
whole Christian world, and everything al- 
lied to it; or rather, in this case, which 
seemed to concern its very essence, could 
no longer be agitated with tranquillity or 
debated with indifference. The pagan par- 
ty, miscalculating the inherent strength of 
the Christian system, saw, no doubt, in 
these disputes the seeds of the destruction 
of Christianity. ‘The contest was brought 
on the stage at Alexandrea;f{ but there was 
no Aristophanes, or, rather, the serious 
and unpoetic time could not have produ- 
ced an Aristophanes, who might at once 
show that he understood, while he broadly 
ridiculed, the follies of his adversaries. 


* Compare the letter of Arius, in Theodoret, lib, 
i., c. v. [and the translation of it in Mosheim’s Instit. 
of Eccl. Hist., vol. i., p. 288, n. (16)]. . 

t Euseb., Vit. Constant., ii, 61. Socrates, 1, 6. 

RR 


united the opponents of Arius was no 
doubt a vague, and, however perhaps 
overstrained, neither ungenerous nor un- 
natural jealousy, lest the dignity of the 
Redeemer, the cbject of their grateful ado- 
ration, might in some way be lowered by 
the new hypothesis. The divinity of the’ 
Saviour seemed inseparably connected | 
with his coequality with the Father; it 
was endangered by the slightest conces 
sionon this point. It was their argument, 
that if the Son was not coeval in existence 
with the Father, he must have been crea- 
ted, and created out of that which was not 
pre-existent. 
be liable to mutability; and it was assert- 
ed in the public address of the patriarch 
of Alexandrea, that this fatal consequence / 
had been extorted from an unguarded Ari- 
an, if not from Arius himself: that it was. 


possible that the Son might have fallen, like 


the great rebellious angel.t 

The patriarch of this important see, the 
metropolis of Egypt. was named jeyander 
Alexander. It was said that Ari- patriarch of 
us, a presbyter of acute powers 4lexandrea. 
of reasoning, popular address, and blame- 
less character, had declined that episcopal 
dignity.{ The person of Arius} was tall 
and graceful ; his countenar alm 5 
pale, and subdued; his manners en- ἡ 
gaging; his conversation fluent and per- — 
suasive. He was well acquainted with 
human sciences ; as a disputant, subtle, in-. 
genious, and fertile in resources. His 
enemies add to this character, which them- 
selves have preserved, that this humble 
and mortified exterior concealed unmeas- 
ured ambition; that his simplicity, frank- 


* The Philopatris, of whatever age it may be, is 
clearly not Lucian's ; and, at most, only slightly 
touches these questions. 

+ Epiphan., Her., 69, tom. i., p. 723-727. 

t See Philostorgius (the Arian writer). Theo- 
doret, on the other hand, says that he brought for- 
ward his opinions from envy at the promotion of 
Alexander, i., 2.—See the Epistle of Alexander, in 
Socrat., Hist. Eccl., 1, 6. 

§ Arius is said, in his early life, to have been im- 
plicated in the sect of the Meletians, which seems _ 
to have been rather a party thana sect.) They were — 
the followers of Meletius, bishop of Lycopolis, who 
had heen deposed for having sacrificed during the — 
persecution. Yet this sect or party lasted for more _ 
than a century. 


But a created being must — 


¥ 


* 
" 


» 


σι 


4 ΄“- 
βαρ νι “ 
5 Arius. — 


‘wi 


F« eS 


314 . 7 
ness, and honesty only veiled his craft and 
love of intrigue ; that he appeared to stand 
aloof from all party merely that he might 
guide his cabal with more perfect com- 
mand, and agitate and govern the hearts 
of men. Alexander was accustomed, 
whether for the instruction of the people 
or the display of his own powers, to debate 
in public these solemn questions on the 
nature of the Deity, and the relation of the 
Son and the Holy Spirit to the Father. 
According to the judgment of Arius, Alex- 
ander fell inadvertently into the heresy of 


‘Sabellianism, and was guilty of confound- 


ing in the simple unity of the Godhead 
the existence of the Son and of the Holy 
Ghost.* 

The intemperate indignation of Alexan- 
der at the objections of Arius betrayed 
more Of the baffled disputant or the wound- 
ed pride of the dignitary, than the sereni- 
ty of the philosopher or the meekness of 
the Christian. He armed himself ere long 
in all the terrors of his office, and promul- 
gated his anathema in terms full of exag- 
geration and violence. “The impious 
Arius, the forerunner of Antichrist, had 
dared to utter his blasphemies against the 
Divine Redeemer.” Arius, expelled from 
Alexandrea, not indeed before his opinions 
had spread through the whole of Egypt 
and Libya,f retired to the more congenial 
atmosphere of Syria.{ There his vague 
theory caught the less severely reasoning 
and more imaginative minds of the Syrian 


* Socrates, i., 5, 6. 

+ The account of Sozomen says that Alexander 
at first vacillated, but that he afterward command- 
ed Arius to adopt his opinions: τὸν “Apetov ὁμοίως 
φρονεῖν ἐκέλευσε. Sozomen acknowledges the 
high character of many of the Arian bishops ; πλείσ- 
τους ἀγαθοῦ βίου προσχήματι σεμνοὺς, καὶ πιθ- 
ανότητι λόγου δεινοὺς, συλλαμθανομένους τοῖς 
ἀμφὶ τὸν "ΑἈρειον. 

t It was during his retreat that he wrote his fa- 
mous Thalia, the gay and convivial title of which is 
singularly out of keeping with the grave and seri- 
ous questions then in agitation. His adversaries 
represent this as a poem full of profane wit, and 
even of indecency. It was written in the same meas- 
ure, and to the same air, with the Sotadic verses, 
which were proverbial for their grossness even 
among the Greeks. It is difficult to reconcile this 
account of the Thalia with the subtle and politic 
character which his enemies attribute to Arius, still 
less to the protection of such men as Eusebius of 
Nicomedia and the other Syrian prelates. Arius 
likewise composed hymns in accordance with his 
opinions, to be chanted by sailors, those who work- 


ed at the mill, or travellers. Songs of this kind 


abounded in the Greek poetry; each art and trade 
had its song,* and Arius may have intended no more 
than to turn this popular practice in favour of Chris- 
tianity, by substituting sacred for profane songs, 
which, of course, would be imbued with his own 


* Tigen, de Scoliorum Poesi, p, xiii. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


bishops :* the lingering Orientalism pre- 
pared them for this kindred hypothesis. 
The most learned, the most pious, the 
most influential, united themselves to his 
party. The chief of these were the two 
prelates named Eusebius, one the ecclesi- | 
astical historian, the other bishop of the. 
important city of Nicomedia. 'l'hrough- 
out the East the controversy was propa- 
gated with earnest rapidity. It was not: 
repressed by the attempts of Licinius to 
interrupt the free intercourse between the 
Christian communities and his prohibition 
of the ecclesiastical synods. The ill- 
smothered flame burst into tenfold fury on 
the reunion of the East to the empire of 
Constantine. The interference of the em- 
peror was loudly demanded to allay the 
strife which distracted the Christendom 
of the East. The behaviour of Constan- 
tine was regulated by the most perfect 
equanimity, or, more probably, guided by 
some counsellor of mild and more humane 
Christianity : his letter of peace Letter of 
was in its spirit a model of Constantine. 
temper and conciliation.t With profound 
sorrow he had heard that his designs for 
the unity of the empire, achieved by his 
victory over Licinius, as well as for the 
unity of the faith, had been disturbed by 
this unexpected contest. His impartial 
rebuke condemned Alexander for unneces- 
sarily agitating such frivolous and unim- 
portant questions, and Arius for not sup- 
pressing, in prudent and respectful silence 
his objections to the doctrine of the patri- 
arch. It recommended the judicious re-— 
serve of the philosophers, who had never 
debated such subjects before an ignorant 
and uneducated audience, and who differ- 
ed without acrimony on such profound 
questions. He entreated them, by the 
unanimous suppression of all feelings of 
unhallowed animosity, to restore his cheer- 
ful days and undisturbed nights. Of the 


» 


opinions. Might not the Thalia have been written 
in the same vein, and something in the same spirit, 
with which a celebrated modern humorist and 
preacher adapted hymns to some of the most popu- 
lar airs, and declared that the devil ought not to 
have all the best tunes? The general style of Arius 
is said to have been soft, effeminate, and popular, 
The specimen from the Thalia (in Athanas., Or. i., 
cont. Ar.,c. 5) is very loose and feeble Greek. Yet 
it is admitted that he was an expert dialectician ; and 
no weak orator would have maintained so long such 
a contest. were é 

* The bishops of Ptolemais in the Pentapolis, and 
Theonas of Marmarica, joined his party. The fe- 
males were inclined to his side. Seven hundred 
virgins of Alexandrea, and of the Mareotic nome, 
owned him for their spiritual teacher.—Compare 
the letter of Alexander in Theodoret, ch. iv. 

+ See the letter in Euseb , Vit. Constant., ii., 64- 
72 [and a translation of it in Mosheim’s Instit. of 


| E.H., vol. i, p. 290, ἡ. (21). ᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Ν 


same faith, the same form of worship, 
they ought to meet in amicable synod, to 
adore their common God in peaceful har- 
mony, and not to fall into discord as to 
accuracy of expression on these most 
minute of questions ; to enjoy and allow 
freedom in the sanctuary of their own 
minds, but to remain united in the com- 
mon bonds of Christian iove.* 

It is probable that the hand of Hosius, 
bishop of Cordova in Spain, is to be tra- 
ced in that royal and Christian letter. The 
influence of Hosius was uniformly exer- 
cised in this manner. Wherever the edicts 
of the government were mild, conciliating, 
and humane, we find the Bishop of Cor- 
dova. It is by no means an improbable 
conjecture of Tillemont, that he was the 
Spaniard who afterward, in the hour of 
mental agony and remorse, administer- 
ed to the emperor the balm of Christian 
penitence. 

Hosius was sent to Egypt as the impe- 
rial commissioner to assuage the animos- 
ity of the distracted Church. But reli- 
gious strife, in Egypt more particularly, 
its natural and prolific soil, refused to lis- 
ten to the admonitions of Christian wis- 
dom or imperial authority. Eusebius com- 
pares the fierce conflicts of parties—bish- 
ops with bishops, people with people—to 
the collision of the Symplegades.t From 
the mouths of the Nile to the Cataracts, 
the divided population tumultuously dis- 
puted the nature of the Divine unity.{ 

A general council of the heads of the 
Council of various Christian communities 
Nice. throughout the Roman empire 
was summoned by the imperial mandate, 
to establish, on the consentient authority 
of assembled Christendom, the true doc- 
trine on these contested points, and to al- 
lay forever this propensity to hostile dis- 
Controversy Putation. The same paramount 
about keep- tribunal was to settle definitively 
ing Faster. another subordinate question, re- 
lating to the time of keeping the Easter 
festival. Many of the Eastern communi- 


᾿ ties shocked their more scrupulous breth- 


ren by following the calculations and ob- 
serving the game sacred days with the im- 
pious and abhorred Jews; for, the farther 
'we advance in the Christian history, the 
estrangement of the Christians from the 


*°A δ᾽ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἐλαχίστων τούτων ζητήσεων 
ἐν. ἀλλήλοις ἀκριθολογεῖσθε, κἂν μὴ πρὸς μιὰν 
γνώμην συμφέρησθε, μένειν εἴσω λογισμοῦ προσ- 
ἤκεξιντῆς διανοίας ἀποῤῥήτῳ τηρούμενοι.--- Εα- 
seb., Vit. Const., ii., 71. 

+ Vit. Const., iii., 4. 

t Ἔριδες ἐν ἑκάστῃ πόλει καὶ κώμῃ, καὶ μάχαι 
ὧδ τῶν ϑείων δογμάτων éyiyvovto.—Theodoret, 
i., 6, 


315 


Jews darkens more and more into abso- 
lute antipathy. = 
~~ Inthe month of May or June (the 20th*), 
in the year 325, met the great pee 
Council of Nice. Not half acen- τ 
tury before, the Christian bishops had been 
only marked as the objects of the most 
cruel insult and persecution. They had 
been chosen, on account of their eminence 
in their own communities, as the peculiar 
victims of the stern policy of the govern- 
ment. They had been driven into exile, 
set to work in the mines, exposed to eve- 
ry kind of humiliation and suffering, from 
which some had in mercy been released 
by death. They now assembled, under 
the imperial sanction, a religous senate 
from all parts at least of the Eastern world, 
for Italy was represented only by two 
presbyters of Rome ; Hosius appeared for 
Spain, Gaul, and Britain. The spectacle 
was altogether new to the world. No 
wide-ruling sovereign would ever have 
thought of summoning a conclave of the 
sacerdotal orders of the different religions ; 
a synod of philosophers to debate some 
grave metaphysical or even political ques- 
tion was equally inconsistent with the or- 
dinary usages and sentiments of Grecian 
or Roman society. 

The public establishment of post-horses 
was commanded to afford every facility, 
and that gratuitously, for the journey of 
the assembling bishops.t Vehicles or 
mules were to be provided, as though the 
assembly were an affair of state, at the 
public charge. At a later period, when 
councils became more frequent, the hea- 
then historian complains that the public 
service was impeded, and the post-horses 
harassed and exhausted by the incessant: 
journeying to and fro of the Christian 
delegates to their councils. They were 
sumptuously maintained during the sitting 
at the public charge.f 

Above three hundred bishops were pres- 
ent, presbyters, deacons, acolyths Number of 
without number,§ a considerable bishops 
body of laity: but it was the Preset. 
presence of the emperor himself which 
gave its chief weight and dignity to the 
assembly. Nothing could so much con- 
firm the Christians in the opinion of their 
altered position, or declare to the world 
at large the growing power of Christiani- 


* One of these dates rests on the authority of 
Socrates, xiii., 26; the other of the Paschal Chron- 
icle, p. 282.—Compare Pagi, p. 404. ‘ 

+ Euseb., Vit. Const., ii., 6. Theodoret, i., 7. 

1 Euseb., iii., 9. ἘΝ 

ὁ There was one bishop from Persia, one from 
Scythia. Eusebius states the number at 250; 
that in the text is on the authority of Theodoret, 
and of the numbers said to have signed the creed. 


“ye 


“ 


916 


ty, as this avowed interest taken in their 
domestic concerns, or so tend to raise 
the importance attached even to the more 
remote and speculative doctrines of the 
new faith, as this unprecedented conde- 
scension, so it would seem to the heathen, 
First meet- 00 the part of the emperor. The 
ings of the council met, probably, in a spa- 
council.  Gious basilica.* Eusebius de- 
scribes the scene as himself deeply im- 
pressed with its solemnity. The assem- 
bly sat in profound silence, while the 
great officers of state and other dignified 
persons (there was no armed guard) en- 
tered the hall, and awaited in proud and 
trembling expectation the appearance of 
the emperor of the world in a Christian 
council. Constantine at length entered ; 
he was splendidly attired ; the eyes of the 
bishops were dazzled by the gold and pre- 
cious stones upon his raiment. The ma- 
jesty of his person and the modest dignity 
of his demeanour heightened the effect : 
the whole assembly rose to do him hon- 
our; he advanced to a low golden seat 
prepared for him, and did not take his 
seat (it is difficult not to suspect Eusebius 
of highly colouring the deference of the 
emperor) till a sign of permission had 
been given by the bishops.t One of the 
leading prelates (probably Eesebius the 
historian) commenced the proceedings 
with a short address, and a hymn to the 
Almighty God. Constantine then deliv- 
ered an exhortation to the unity in the 
Latin language, which was interpreted to 
the Greek bishops. His admonition seems 
at first to have produced no great effect. 
Mutual accusation, defence, and recrimi- 
Behaviour of Nation prolonged the debate.f 
Constantine, Constantine seems to have 
been present during the greater part of 
the sittings, listening with patience, soft- 
ening asperities, countenancing those 
whose language tended to peace and 
union, and conversing familiarly, in the 
best Greek he could command, with the 
different prelates. The courtly flattery 


*'There is along note in Heinichen’s Eusebius 
to prove that they did not meet in the palace, but 
in a church; as though the authority of their pro- 
ceedings depended on the place of their assembly. 
It was probably a basilica, or hall of justice; the 
kind of building usually made over by the govern- 
ment for the purposes of Christian worship; and, 


in general, the model of the earliest Christian edi- 


fices. 

+ Οὐ πρότερον ἢ τοὺς ἐπισκόπους ἐπινεῦσαι. 
See also Socrates, 1., 8. In Theodoret (i., 7) this 
has grown into his humbly asking permission to sit 


down. ἢ 
¢t Constantine burned the libels which the bish- 


ops had presented against each other. Many of 
these (the ecclesiastical historian intimates) arose 
out of private animosities.—Socrates, 1., 6. 


oR. 


. J) ‘ 
‘ , 4 ᾿ q 


os 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of the council might attribute to Con- 
stantine himself what was secretly sug- 
gested by the Bishop of Cordova. For, 
powerful and comprehensive as his mind 
may have been, it is incredible that a 
man so educated, and engaged during the 
early period of his life with military and 
civil affairs, could have entered, particu- 
larly being unacquainted with the Greek 
language, into these discussions on reli- 
gious metaphysics. 

The council sat for rather more than 
two months.* ‘Towards the close, Con- 
stantine, on the occasion of the com- 
mencement of the twentieth year of his 
reign,t condescended to invite the bishops 
to a sumptuous banquet. All attended, 
and, as they passed through the imperial 
guard, treated with every mark of respect, 
they could not but call to mind the total 
revolution in their circumstances. Euse- 
bius betrays his transport by the acknowl- 
edgment that they could scarcely believe 
that it was a reality, not a vision; to the 
grosser conception of those who had not 
purified their minds from the millennial 
notions, the banquet seemed the actual 
commencement of the kingdom of Christ. 

The Nicene Creed was the result of the 
solemn deliberation of the assem- Nicene 
bly. It was conceived with some Creed. 
degree of Oriental indefiniteness, harmo- 
nized with Grecian subtlety of expression. 
The vague and somewhat imaginative ful- 
ness of its original Eastern terms was not 
too severely limited by the fine precision 
of its definitions. One fatal word broke 
the harmony of assent with which it was 
received by the whole council. Christ was 
declared Homoousios, of the same sud- 
stance with the Father,{ and the undenia- 
ble, if perhaps inevitable, ambiguity of 
this single term involved Christianity in 
centuries of hostility. To one party it 
implied absolute identity, and was there- 
fore only ill-disguised Sabellianism; to 


the other it was essential to the coequal 
Ug ge i lg  ΣΝ 

* According to some, two months and eleven 
days ; to others, two months and six days. 

+ This seems to reconcile the difficulty stated by 
Heinichen. ‘The twentieth year ofConstantine’s 
reign began the 8th Cal. Aug, A.D. 325. Euse- 
bius uses the inaccurate word é~Anpovro.—Vit. 
Const., ili., 14. y 

t+ Athanasius himself allowed that the bishops 
who deposed Paul of Samosata were justified in 
rejecting the word ὁμοούσιον, because they un- 
derstood it in a material or corporeal sense. But 
the privilege allowed to those who had died in or- 
thodox reputation was denied to the Arians and 
semi-Arians.—De Synodis, Athanas., Oper., 1., p. 
759. It is impossible to read some pages of this 
treatise without the unpleasant conviction that 
Athanasius was determined to make out the Arians 
to be in the wrong. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


and coeval dignity of the three persons in 
the Godhead. ‘To some of the Syrian 


bishops it implied or countenanced the | 


material notion of the Deity.* It was, it 
is said by one ecclesiastical historian, a 
battle in the night, in which neither party 
could see the meaning of the other.t+ 

Three hundred and eighteen bishops 
Five recu. Confirmed this creed by their sig- 
sants. natures; five alone still contest- 
ed the single expression, the Homoousion : 
Eusebius of Nicomedia, Theognis of Nice, 
Theonas of Marmarica, Maris of Chalce- 
don, and Eusebius of Cesarea. Eusebius 
of Nicomedia and Theognis were banish- 
ed. Eusebius of Cesarea, after much hes- 
itation, consented to subscribe, but sent 
the creed into his diocese with a com- 
ment explanatory of the sense in which 
he understood the contested word. His 
chief care was to guard against giving the 
slightest countenance to the material con- 
ception of the Deity. Two only with- 
stood with uncompromising resistance the 
Ranishment decree of the council. The sol- 
of Arius. emn anathema of this Christian 
senate was pronounced against Arius and 
his adherents ; they were banished by the 
civil power, and they were especially in- 
terdicted from disturbing the peace of Al- 
exandrea by their presence.} 


* Myre yap δύνασθαι τὴν αὕλον καὶ νοέραν Kai 
ἀσώματον φύσιν, σωμάτικόν TL πάθος ὑφίστασθαι. 
This is the language of Fusebius. 

Φασὶ δὲ ὅμως περὶ τοῦτον, ὡς ἄρα ϑέλων ὁ 
Θεὸς τὴν γεννετὴν κτίσαι φύσιν, ἐπειδὴ ἑώρα μὴ 
δυναμένεν αὐτὴν μετασχεῖν τῆς τοῦ πατρὸς 
ἀκράτου, καὶ τῆς Tap’ αὐτοῦ δημιουργίας, ποιεῖ 
καὶ κτίζει πρώτως μόνος μόνον ἕνα, καὶ καλεῖ 
τοῦτον υἱὸν καὶ λόγον. ἵνα τούτου μέσου γενομέ- 
νου, οὕτως λοιπὸν καὶ τὰ πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ γενέσ- 
θαι δυνηθῇ. ταῦτα οὐ μόνον εἰρήκασιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ 
γράψαι τετολμῆκασιν Εὐσέβιύς τε, καὶ "Αρειος 
καὶ ὁ ϑύσας ’Aotéptoc.—Athan., Orat. ii, c. 24. 
Compare Mohler (a learned and strongly orthodox 
Roman Catholic writer), Athanasius der Grosse, Ὁ. 
i., p. 195. Mohler but dimly sees the Gnostic or 
Oriental origin of this notion, which 1165 at the bot- 
tom of Arianism. 

+ his remarkable sentence does credit to the 
judgment and impartiality of Socrates: Nuctoayiac 
de οὐδὲν ἀπεῖχε τὰ γιγνομένα. OUTE yap ἀλλήλους 
ἐφαίνοντο νοοῦντες, ἀφ᾽ ὧν ἀλλήλους βλασφημεῖν 
ὑπελάμθανον᾽ οἱ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ ὁμοουσίου τὴν λέξιν 
ἐκκλίνοντες τὴν Σαθελλίου καὶ Μοντανοῦ δόξαν 
εἰσηγεῖσθαι. ἀυτὴν τοὺς προσδεχομένους ἐνόμιζον" 
καὶ διὰ τοῦτο βλασφήμους ἐκάλουν, ὡς ἀναιροῦν- 
τες τὴν ὕπαρξιν Tod υἱοῦ τοῦ Θεοῦ: οἱ δὲ πάλιν 
TH ὁμοουσίῳ προσκείμενοι πολὺυθεΐαν εἰσάγειν 
τοὺς ἑτέρους νομίζοντες, ὡς ‘EAAnviouov εἰσαγόν- 
τας ἐξετρώποντο .-- (Ὁ. 23. 

{ In one passage in the De Synodis, Athanasius 
accused not only the Arian, but the semi-Arian par- 
ty, Eusebius as well as Arius, of something like So- 
cinianism 

Ὡς ἔστιν υἱὸς ὅμοιος πάτρι, ἀλλὰ διὰ THY συμ- 


ὃν 
317 
Peace might seem to be restored ; the 
important question set at rest by the uni- 
ted authority of the emperor, and a repre- 
sentative body which might fairly presume 
to deliver the sentiments of the whole 
Christian world. But the Arians were 
condemned, not convinced ; discomfited, 
not subdued.* Rather more than two 
years elapsed, eventful in the private life 
of Constantine, but tranquil in the history 
of the Christian Church. The imperial 
assessor in the Christian council had ap- 
peared in the West under a different char- 
acter, as the murderer of his son and of 
his wife. He returned to the East deter- 
mined no more to visit the imperial city, 
where, instead of the humble deference 
with which all parties courted his appro- 
bation, he had been unable to close his 
ears against the audacious and bitter pas- 
quinade which arraigned his cruelty to his 
own family. His return to the East, in- 
stead of overawing the contending factions 
into that unity which he declared to be 
the dearest wish of his heart, by his own 
sudden change of conduct was the signal 
for the revival of the fiercest contentions. 
The Christian community was (nee in 
now to pay a heavy penalty for the opinions 
the pride and triumph with which of Constan- 
they had hailed the interference ""° 
of the emperor in their religious questions. 
The imperial decisions had been admitted 
by the dominant party, when on their own 
side, to add weight to the decree of the 
council; at least they had applauded the 
sentence of banishment pronounced by the 
civil power against their antagonists ; that 
authority now assumed a different tone, 
and was almost warranted, by their own 
admission, in expecting the same prompt 
obedience. ‘The power which had exiled 
might restore the heretic to his place and 
station. Court influence, however obtain- 
ed through court intrigue, or from the ca- 
price of the ruling sovereign, by this fatal, 
perhaps inevitable step, became the arbi- 
ter of the most vital questions of Christian 
faith and discipline ; and thus the first pre- 
cedent of a temporal punishment. 4 γ). 398-- 
for an ecclesiastical offence was 336. 
a dark prognostic, and an example, of the 
difficulties which would arise during the 
whole history of Christianity, when the 
communities, so distinctly two when they 


were separate and adverse, became one — 


φωνίαν δόγματων Kal τῆς διδασκαλίας (p. 766, 
Athan., Op 1). 

* The writings of Arius and his followers were 
condenined tobe burned. If we are to believe Soz- 
omen (which I confess that 1 am disinclined to do), 
the concealment of such works was made a cap- 
ital offence !—E. H., lib. i., ¢. 21. 


ν 
ν 
- 
we 


318 . 


by the identification of the church and the 
state. The restoration of a banished man 
to the privileges of a citizen by the civil 
power seemed to command his restora- 
tion to religious privileges by the ecclesi- 
astical authority.* : 
The Arian party gradually grew into 
favour. A presbyter of Arian sentiments 
had obtained complete command over the 
mind of Constantia, the sister of Constan- 
‘tine. On her dying bed she entreated him 
to reconsider the justice of the sentence 
against that innocent, as she declared, and 
misrepresented man. Arius could not be- 
lieve the sudden reverse of fortune; and 
not till he received a pressing letter from 
Constantine himself did he venture to 
leave his place of exile. A person of still 
greater importance was at the same time 
reinstated in the imperial favour. Among 
the adherents of the Arian form, perhaps 
Eusebius of the most important was Eusebi- 
Nicomedia. us, bishop of Nicomedia. A 
dangerous suspicion that he had been too 
closely connected with the interests of 
Licinius during the recent struggle for 
empire had alienated the mind of Con- 
stantine, and deprived Eusebius of that 
respectful attention which he might have 
commanded by his station, ability, and ex- 
perience. With Theognis, bishop 
of Nice, his faithful adherent in 
opinion and in fortune, he had been sent 
into exile ; it is remarkable that the prel- 
ates of these two sees, the most important 
in that part of Asia, should have concurred 
in these views. ‘The exiled prelates, in 
their petition for reinstatement in their 
dioceses, declared (and, notwithstanding 
the charge of falsehood which their op- 
ponents to the present day do not seruple 
to make, would they have ventured in a 
public document addressed to Constantine 
to misstate a fact so notorious?) they 
solemnly protested that they had not re- 
fused their signatures to the Nicene Creed, 
but only to the anathema pronounced 
against Arius and his followers. ‘ Their 
obstinacy arose, not from want of faith, 
but from excess of charity.” They re- 
turned in triumph to their dioceses, and 
ejected the bishops who had been appoint- 
ed in their place. No resistance appears 
to have been made. But the Arians were 
not content with their peaceable re-estab- 
lishment in their former station. How- 
ever they might attempt to harmonize 
their doctrines with the belief of their ad- 
versaries, by their vindictive aggression 
on the opposite party they belied their 
pretensions to moderation and the love of 


A.D. 327. 


* Socf., 1:25,.20; “802. ii., 27. 


a 


ὰ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


peace. Eusebius, whom Constantine had 
before publicly denounced in no measured 
terms, grew rapidly into favour. The 
complete dominion which from this time 
he appears to have exercised over the 
mind of Constantine, confirms the natural 
suspicion that the opinions of the emperor 
were by no means formed by his own in- 
dependent judgment, but entirely governed 
by the Christian teacher who might obtain 
his favour. Eusebius seems to have suc- 
ceeded to the influence exercised with so 
much wisdom and temper by Hosius of 
Cordova. He became bishop of Constan- 
tinople, and was the companion of Con- 
stantine in his visits to Jerusalem ;* and 
the high estimation in which the emperor 
held Eusebius of Cesarea, according to 
the statements made, and the documents 
ostentatiously preserved by that writer in 
his ecclesiastical history, could not but 
contribute to the growing ascendancy of 
Arianism. They were in possession of 
some of the most important dioceses in 
Asia; they were ambitious of establishing 
their supremacy in Antioch. 

The suspicious brevity with which Eu- 
sebius glides over the early part ap. 398. 
of this transaction, which his Conduet of 
personal vanity could not allow eens 
him to omit, confirms the state- Antioch. 
ment of their adversaries as to the un- 
justifiable means employed by the Arians 
to attain this object. Eusebius of Nico- 
media and Theognis passed through An- 
tioch on their way to Jerusalem. On their 
return they summoned Eustathius, the 
bishop of Antioch, whose character had 
hitherto been blameless, to answer before 
a hastily-assembled council of bishops on 
two distinct charges of immorality and 
heresy. The unseemly practice of bring- 
ing forward women of disreputable char- 
acter to charge men of high station in the 
church with incontinency, formerly em- 
ployed by the heathens to calumniate the 
Christians, was now adopted by the reck- 
less hostility of Christian faction. The 
accusation of a prostitute against Eustath- 
ius, of having been the father of her child, 
is said afterward to have been’completely 
disproved. The heresy with which Eus 
tathius was charged was that of Sabellian- 
ism, the usual imputation of the Arians 
against the Trinitarians of the opposite 
creed. Two Arian bishops having occu- 
pied the see of Antioch, but fora very short 
time, an attempt was made to remove Eu- 
sebius of Cesarea to that diocese, no doubt 
by the high reputation of his talents, to 
overawe or to conciliate the Eustathian 


* Theodoret, i., 2. 


‘ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


party. Eusebius, with the flattering ap- 
probation of the emperor, declined the 
dangerous post. Eustathius was deposed, 
and banished, by the imperial edict, to 
Thrace; but the attachment, at least of a 
large part, of the Christian population of 
Antioch refused to acknowledge the au- 
thority of the tribunal or the justice of the 
sentence. The city was divided into two 
fierce and hostile factions—they were on 
the verge of civil war—and Antioch, where 
the Christians had first formed themselves 
into a separate community, but for the 
vigorous interference of the civil power 
and the timely appearance of an imperial 
commissioner, might have witnessed the 
first blood shed, at least in the East, in a 
Christian quarrel. 

It is impossible to calculate how far the 
authority and influence of the Syrian bish- 
ops, with the avowed countenance of the 
emperor (for Constantius, the son of Con- 
stantine, was an adherent of the Arian 
opinions) might have subdued the zeal of 
the orthodox party. It is possible that, 
but for the rise of one inflexible and in- 
domitable antagonist, the question might 
either have sunk to rest, or the Christian 
world acquiesced, at least the East, in a 
vague and mitigated Arianism. 

Athanasius had been raised by the dis- 
cernment of Alexander to a sta- 
tion of confidence and dignity. 
He had filled the office of secretary to the 
Alexandrean prelate. In the Council of 
Nice he had borne a distinguished part, 
and his zeal and talents designated him at 
once as the head of the Trinitarian party. 
On the death of Alexander, the universal 
voice of the predominant anti-Arians de- 
manded the elevation of Athanasius. In 
vain he attempted to conceal himself, and 
to escape the dangerous honour. At thir- 
ty years of age Athanasius was placed on 
aa the episcopal throne of the see, 
τ τ which ranked with Antioch, and 
afterward with Constantinople, as the most 
important spiritual charge in the East.* 

The imperial mandate was issued to re- 
ceive Arius and his followers within the 
pale of the Christian communion.t But 
Constantine found, to his astonishment, 
that an imperial edict, which would have 
_ been obeyed in trembling submission from 
one end of the Roman empire to the other, 
even if it had enacted a complete political 
revolution, or endangered the property and 
privileges of thousands, was received with 
deliberate and steady disregard by a sin- 


Athanasius. 


* The Arians asserted this election to have been 
carried by the irregular violence of a few bishops, 
contrary to the declared suffrages of the majority. 

¢ Athanas., Apol. contra Ar. Soz., ii., 22. 


319 


gle Christian bishop. During two reigns 
Athanasius contested the authority of the 
emperor. He endured persecution, cal- 
umny, exile; his life was frequently en- 
dangered in defence of one single tenet, 
and that, it may be permitted to say, the 
most purely intellectual, and apparently 
the most remote from the ordinary pas- 
sions of man: he confronted gyarces 
martyrdom, not for the broad against _ 
and palpable distinction between Athanasius. — 
Christianity and heathenism, but for fine 
and subtle expressions of the Christian 
creed.* He began and continued the con- 
test, not for the toleration, but for the su- 
premacy of his own opinions. 

Neither party, in truth, could now yield 
without the humiliating acknowledgment 
that all their contest had been on unim- 
portant and unessential points. The pas- 
sions and the interests, as well as the con- 
science, were committed in the strife. 
The severe and uncompromising temper 
of Athanasius, no doubt, gave some ad- 
vantage to his jealous and watchful an- 
tagonists. Criminal charges began to mul- 
tiply against a prelate who was thus fall- 
en in the imperial favour.t| They were 
assiduously instilled into the ears of Con- 
stantine ; yet the extreme frivolousness 
of some of these accusations, and the tri- 
umphant refutation of the more material 
charges, before a tribunal of his enemies, 
establish undeniably the unblemished vir- 
tue of Athanasius.{t He was charged with 


*,.I am not persuaded, either by the powerful el- 
oquence of Athanasius himself or by his able mod- 
ern apologist, Mohler, that the opinions, at least of 
the Syrian semi-Arians, were so utterly irreconcila- 
ble with the orthodoxy of Athanasius, or likely to 
produce such fatal consequences to the general 
system of Christianity, as are extorted from them 
by the keen theological precision of Athanasius. 

+ Theodoret mentions one of these customary 
charges of licentiousness, in which a woman of 
bad character accused Athanasius of violating her 
chastity. Athanasius was silent, while one of his 
friends, with assumed indignation, demanded, “ Do 
you accuse me of this crime?” ‘ Yes,” replied the 
woman, supposing hin to be Athanasins, of whom 
she was ignorant, ‘‘ you were the violator of my 
chastity.”—L. 1., ¢. 30. 

t It is remarkable how little stress is jaid on the 
persecutions which Athanasius is accused of hav- 
ing carried on through the civil authority. Accu- 
satus preterea est de injuriis, violentiaé cede, atque 
ipsa episcoporum internecione. Quique etiam die- 
bus sacratissimis pasche tyrannico more seviens, 
Ducibus atque Comitibus junctus: quique propter 
ipsam aliquos in cnstodia recludebant, aliquos vero 
verberfbus flagellisque vexabant, cxteros diversis 
tormentis ad communionem eyus sacrilegam adige- 
bant. These charges neither seem to have been 
pressed nor refuted, as half so important as the act 
of sacrilege.—See the protest of the Arian bishops 
at Sardica, in Hilarii, Oper., Hist. Fragm, iil.. c. 6. 
See also the accusations of violence on -his return 
to Alexandrea. Ibid., 8. 


a, 


rz, -" 


' Arsenius. 


oe 
taxing the city to provide linen vestments 
for the clergy, and with treasonable cor- 
respondence with an enemy of the emper- 
or. Upon this accusation he was sum- 
moned to Nicomedia, and acquitted by the 
emperor himself. He was charged as 
having authorized the profanation of the 
holy vessels and the sacred books in a 
‘church in the Mareotis, a part of his dio- 
cese. A certain Ischyras had assumed 
the office of presbyter without ordination. 
Maearius, who was sent by Athanasius to 
prohibit his officiating in his usurped dig- 
nity, was accused by Ischyras of over- 
throwing the altar, breaking the cup, and 
burning the Scriptures. It is not impos- 
sible that the indiscreet zeal of an inferior 
may have thought it right to destroy sa- 
cred vessels thus profaned by unhallowed 
hands. But from Athanasius himself the 
charge recoiled without the least injury. 
But a darker charge remained behind, com- 
prehending two crimes, probably in those 
days looked upon with equal abhorrence : 
magic and murder. The enemies of Ath- 
anasius produced a human hand, said to 
be that of Arsenius, a bishop attached to 
the Meletian heresy, who had disappeared 
from Egypt in a suspicious manner. The 
hand of the murdered bishop had been 
kept by Athanasius for unhallowed pur- 
poses of witchcraft. In vain the emissa- 
ries of Athanasius sought for Arsenius in 
Egypt, though he was known to be con- 
cealed in that country; but the superior 
and one of the monks of a monastery 
were seized, and compelled to confess that 
he was still living, and had Jain hid in 


. their sanctuary. Yet the charge was not 


abandoned: it impended for more than 
two years over the head of Athanasius. 
A council, chiefly formed of the enemies 
of Athanasius, was summoned at Tyre. 
It was intimated to the Alexandrean prel- 
ate, that, if he refused to appear before 
the tribunal, he would be brought by force. 
Athanasius stood before the tribunal. He 
Synod of AS arraigned on this charge; the 
Tyre. hand was produced. ΤῸ the as- 
A.D. 335. tonishment of the court, Athana- 
sius calmly demanded whether those pres- 
ent were acquainted with the person of 
He had been well known to 
raany. A man was suddenly brought into 
the court, with his whole person folded in 
his mantle. Athanasius uncovered the 
head of the witness. He was at once rec- 
ognised as the murdered Arsenius. Still 
the severed hand lay before them, and the 
adversaries of Athanasius expected to con- 
vict him of having mutilated the victim of 
his jealousy. Athanasius lifted up the 
mantle on one side, and showed the right 


ἐ . 
© HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ἡ 


ay, ae 
hand; he lifted up the other, and showed 
the left. In a calm tone of sarcasm, he 
observed that the Creator had bestowed 
two hands on man; it was for his ene- 
mies to explain how Arsenius had pos- 
sessed a third.* A fortunate accident had 


brought Arsenius to Tyre; he had been 


discovered by the friends of Athanasius. 
Though he denied his name, he was known 
by the Bishop of Tyre ; and this dramatic 
scene had been arranged as the most ef- 
fective means of exposing the malice of 
the prelate’s enemies. His discomfited 
accusers fled in the confusion. = = 

The implacable enemies of Athanasius 
were constrained to fall back upon the 
other exploded charge, the profanation of 
the sacred vessels by Macarius. A com- 
mission of inquiry had been issued, who 
conducted themselves, according.to the 


statement of the friends of Athanasius, — 


with the utmost violence and partiality. 
On their report, the bishop of the impor- 
tant city of Alexandrea was deposed from 
his dignity. But Athanasius bowed not 
beneath the storm. He appears to have 
been a master in what may be called, with- 
out disrespect, theatrical effect. As the 
emperor rode through the city Of, thanasius 
Constantinople, he was arrested in Constan- 
by the sudden appearance of a “neple. 

train of ecclesiastics, in the midst of which 
was Athanasius. The offended emperor, 
with a look of silent contempt, urged his 
horse onward. “ God,” said the prelate, 
with a loud voice, “shall judge between 
thee and me, since you thus espouse the 
cause of my calumniators. I demand only 
that my enemies be summoned and my 
cause heard in the imperial presence.” 
The emperor admitted the justice of his 
petition ; the accusers of Athanasius were 
commanded to appear in Constantinople. 
Six of them, including the two Eusebii, 
obeyed the mandate. But a new charge, 
on a subject skilfully chosen tO New accu- 
awaken the jealousy of the em- sations. 

peror, counteracted the influence which 
might have been obtained by the eloquence 
or the guiltlessness of Athanasius. It is 
remarkable, that an accusation of a very 
similar nature should have caused the cap- 
ital punishment of the most distinguished 
among the heathen philosophic party, and 
the exile of the most eminent Christian 
prelate. Constantinople entirely depend- 
ed for the supply of corn upon foreign im- 
portations. One half of Africa, including 
Egypt, was assigned to the maintenance 
of the new capital, while the Western di- 
vision alone remained for Rome. Atsome 


* Theodoret, i., 30, 


ἀπ 


a 


s 
Ἵ 


ν 
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period during the later years ὁ Constan- | ance of the Nikene Creed by Arius himself, 


tine, the adverse winds detained the Alex- 
andrean fleet, and famine began to afflict 
the inhabitants of the city. ‘The populace 
was in tumult; the government looked 
anxiot for means to allay the danger- 
ous ferment. ‘The Christian party hed 
ath of So. 3861. with jealousy and alarm 
paterthephi- the influence which a heathen 
Aosopher. philosopher, named Sopater, had 
‘obtained over the mind of Constantine.* 
Sopater was a native of Apamea, the 
scholar of lamblichus. The emperor took 
' great delight in his society, and was thus 
danger of being perverted, if not to hea- 
‘thenism, to that high Platonic indifierent- 
ism which would leave the two religions 
on terms of perfect equality. He was 
seen seated on public occasions by the em- 
peror’s side, and boasted, it was said, that 
the dissolution of heathenism would be 
arrested by his authority. During the 


τς famine the emperor entered the theatre ; 
- instead of the usual acclamations, he was 


--yeceived with a dull and melancholy si- 


~ Jence. 


‘The enemies of Sopater seized the 
opportunity of accusing the philosopher of 


» magic: his unlawful arts had bound the 


winds in the adverse quarter. If the em- 
peror did not, the populace would readily 
believe him to be the cause of their calam- 
ities. He was sacrificed to the popularity 
of the emperor; the order for his decapi- 
tation was hastily issued and promptly ex- 
ecuted. 
In the same spirit which caused the 
death of the heathen philosopher, Athan- 
asius was accused of threatening to force 
the emperor to his own measures by stop- 
ping the supplies of corn from the port of 
Alexandrea. Constantine listened with 
jealous credulity to the charge. ‘The dan- 
ger of leaving the power of starving the 
capital in the hands of one who might be- 


A.D. 336. come hostile to the government, 
February. touched the pride of the emper- 
Banishment 


of Athauasi- ΟΥ̓ in the tenderest point. Athan- 
ustoTreves. asius was banished to the re- 
mote city of ‘reves. 

But neither the exile of Athanasius, nor 
the unqualified—his enemies, of course, as- 
serted insincere or hypocritical—accept- 


* Zosimis, i., 40. Sozom., 1-5. Eunap. in 
fides., p, 21-25, edit. Boissonade. Suidas, voc. 
Σώπατρος, If we are to believe Eunapius, the 
Christiais might reasonably take alarm at the inti- 
macy of Constantine with Sopater : 6 μὲν βασιλεὺς 
ἑαλώκει τε ὑπ᾽ αὐτῷ καὶ δημοσίᾳ σύνεδρον εἶχεν, 
εἰς τὸν δεξιὸν καθίζων τοπὸν" ὃ καὶ ακοῦσαι καὶ 
ἰδεῖν ἄπιστον: οἱ δὲ παραδυναστεύοντες (the Chris- 
tians, a remarkable admission of their influence), 
ῥηγνύμενοι τῷ φθόνῳ πρὸς βασιλείαν ἄρτι φιλοσο- 

᾿ φεῖν μετὰμανθάνουσαν.---Ῥ, 21. 
9 


allayed the differences. 
Alexandrea had been the cause of new 
dissensions. He was recalled to Constan- 
tinople, where a council had Arius in Con 
been held, in which the Arian stuntiuople, 


en ; “321 


His presence in © 


party maintained and abused their pre-— 


dominance. But Alexander, the bishop 
of Constantinople, still firmly resisted the 
reception of Arius into the orthodox com- 
munion. Affairs were hastening to a cri- 
sis. ‘The Arians, with the authority of the 
eniperor on their side, threatened to force 
their way into the church, and to compel 
the admission of their champion. The 
Catholics, the weaker party, had recourse 
to prayer; the Arians already raised the 
voice of triumph. While Alexander was 
prostrate at the altar, Arius was borne 
through the wondering city in a kind of 
ovation, surrounded by his friends, and 
welcomed with loud acclamations by his 
own party. As he passed the porphyry col- 
umn, he was forced to retire into a house 
to relieve his natural wants. His return 
was anxiously expected, but in pear of 
vain; he was found dead; as his Arius. 


antagonists declared, his bowels had burst 


out, and relieved the Church from the pres- 
ence of the obstinate heretic. We cannot 


wonder that, at such a period of excite- , 


ment, the Catholics, in that well-timed in- 
cident, recognised a direct providential in- 
terference in their favour. It was ascri- 
bed to the prevailing prayers of Alexander 
and his clergy. Under the specious pre- 
text of a thanksgiving for the deliverance 
of the Church from the imminent peril of 
external violence, the bishop prepared a 
solemn service. Athanasius, in a public 
epistle, alludes to the fate of Judas, whieh 
had befallen the traitor to the coequal dig- 
nity of the Son. His hollow charity ill 
disguises his secret triumph.* 

Whatever effect the death of Arius 
might produce upon the mind of Constan- 
tine, it caused no mitigation in his unfa- 
vourable opinion of Athanasius. He con- 
temptuously rejected the petitions which 
were sent from Alexandrea to solicit his 
reinstatement; he refused to recall that 
“proud, turbulent, obstinate, and intracta- 
ble” prelate. It was not till his death-bed 
that his consent was hardly extorted for 
this act of mercy, or, rather, of justice. 

The baptism of Constantine on his death- 


* It was a standing argument of Athanasius, that 
the death of Arius was a sufficient refutation of his 
heresy. 

Εἰς γὰρ τελείαν κατάγνωσιν τῆς αἱρέσεως τῶν 
᾿Αρειανῶν, αὐτάρκης ἢ περὶ τοῦ ϑανάτου ’Αρέιου 
γενομένη παρὰ τοῦ κυρίου κρίσις --- Πεα, Epist. ad 
Monachos, 3, Op., v. i., 344. 


822 


Baptismof bed is one of those questions 


» Constantine. which has involved ecclesias- 


tical historians in inextricable embarrass- 
ment. The fact is indisputable: it rests 
on the united authority of the Greek and 
Latin writers. Though he had so openly 
poused the cause of Christianity, though 
"ἢ had involved himself so deeply in the 
interests of the Christian community, at- 
tended on their worship, presided, or, at 


_ least, sanctioned their councils with his 


presence, and had been constantly sur- 
rounded by the Christian clergy, the em- 
peror had still deferred till the very close 
of his life his formal reception into the 
Christian Church, the ablution of his sins. 
the admission to the privileges and hopes 
of the Christian, by that indispensable rite 
of baptism.* There seems but one plain 
‘solution of this difficulty. The emperor 
constantly maintained a kind of superiori- 
ty over the Christian part of his subjects. 
It was still rather the lofty and impartial 
condescension of a protector than the spir- 
itual equality of the proselyte. He still 
asserted, and in many cases exercised, the 
privilege of that high indifferentism, which 
ruled his conduct by his own will or judg- 
ment rather than by the precepts of a se- 
vere and definite religion. He was reluc- 
tant, though generally convinced of the 
truth, and disposed to recognise tle supe- 
riority of the Christian religion, to com- 
mit himself by the irrevocable act of initi- 
ation. He may have been still more un- 
willing to sever himself entirely from the 
heathen majority of his subjects, lest by 
such a step, in some sudden yet always 
possible crisis, he might shake their alle- 
giance. In short, he would not surrender 
any part of his dignity as emperor of the 
world, especially as he might suppose 
that, even if necessary to his salvation as 
a Christian, he could command at any time 
the advantages of baptism. On the other 
hand, the Christians, then far more pliant 
than when their undisputed au- 
‘ thority ruled the minds of mon- 
* Mosheim’s observations on the Christianity of 
Constantine are characterized by his usual good 
sense and judgment. De Rebus Christ. anté Const. 
Magnum, p. 965 [and Institutes of E. H.,1., 213, 
&c.]. 1 extract only a few sentences. Erat primis 
post victum Maxentium annis in animo ejus cum 
omnis religionis, tum Christiane imprimis, parom 
sana et propius ἃ Grecorum et Romanorum opin- 
jone remota notio. Nescius enim salutis et bene- 
ficiorum & Christo humano generi partorum, Chris- 
tum Deum esse putabat, qui cultorum suorum 
fidem et diligentiam felicitate hujus vite, rebusque 
secundis comparare, hostes vero et contemptores 
mox pcenis, malisque omnis generis afficere potuit. 
* * * Jta sensim de vera religionis Christiane in- 
dole * * edoctus stultitiam et deformitatem an- 
tiquarum superstitionum clarius perspiciebat, et 
Christo uni sincere nomen dabat, p. 977, 978. 


A.D. 337 


ν. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


¥ 


archs with absolute sway, hardly emer- 
ged from persecution, struggling for a 
still contested supremacy, divided among 
themselves, and each section courting the | 
favour of the emperor, were glad to ob- 
tain an imperial convert on his own terms. 
In constant hope that the emperor him- 
self would take this decisive step, they 
were too prudent or too cautious to urge 
it with imperious or unnecessary vehe- 
mence. He was not so entirely their 
own but that he might still be estranged 
by indiscretion or intemperance ; he would 
gradually become more enlightened, and 
they were content to wait in humble pa- 
tience till that Providence who had raised 
up this powerful protector should render 
him fully, and exclusively, and openly 
their own. - 

If it be difficult to determine the extent 
to which Constantine proceeded ,, 
in the establishment of Christi- whieh pa- 
anity, it is even more perplex- gansm was 
ing to estimate how far he ex- Suppressed. 
erted the imperial authority in the aboli- 
tion of paganism. Conflicting evidence 
encounters us at every point. Eusebius, 
in three distinct passages in his “ Life of 
Constantine,” asserts that he prohibited 
sacrifice ;* that he issued two laws to pro- 
hibit, both in ‘the city and in the country, 
the pollutions of the old idolatry, the set- 
ting up of statues, divinations, and other 
unlawful practices; and to command the. 
total abolition of sacrifice ;} that through- 
out the Roman empire the “doors of | 
idolatry” were closed to the people and 
to the army, and every kind of sacri- 
fice was prohibited.{ ‘Theodoret asserts 4 - 
that Constantine prohibited sacrifice, and, 
though he did not destroy, shut up all-the 
temples. In a passage of his Panegyr- 
ic,|| Eusebius asserts that he sent two of- 
ficers into every part of the empire, who» 
forced the priests to surrender up the 
statues of their gods, which, having been 
despoiled of their ornaments, were melted 
or destroyed. These strong assertions of 


ἃ Overy ἀπείρητο, il., 44. De tae 

+ Ato κατὰ τὸ αὐτὸ ἐπέμποντο νόμοι" ὁ μὲν 
εἴργων τὰ μυσαρὰ τῆς κατὰ πόλεις καὶ χώρας τὸ 
παλαιὸν συντελουμένης εἰδωλολατρίας, ὡς μήτε 
ἐγέρσεις ξοάνων ποιεῖσθαι τολμᾷν, μήτε, μαν- 
τείαις καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις περιεργίαις ἐπιχειρεῖν, 
μήτε μὴν ϑύειν καθόλου μηδένα, ii., 45. 

1 Καθόλου, δε τοῖς ὑπὸ τῇ Ῥωμαῖων ἀρχῇ δή- 
μοις TE καὶ στρατιωτικοῖς, πύλαι ἀπεκλείοντο 
εἰδωλολατρὶας, ϑυσίας τε τρόπος ἀπηγορεύετο πᾶς, 
iv., 23; διεκωλύετο μὲν ϑύειν εἰδῶλοις, ibid., 25; 
δήμοις may mean the magistracy, the public cere- 
monial. baie 

§ Theodoret, vi., 21. 
17. Orcs , 28 


Ἂ Compare Sozomen, jii., 

vi ; ' 

_ || De Laudib. Constant., i., 8. 
s 


Pon 


᾿ 
- 


»-Ὅ e 


- HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ee are, to a certain extent, con- 
firmed by expressions in the laws of his 
successors, especially one of Constans, 
which appeals to an edict of his father 
Constantine which prohibited sacrifice.* 
On the other hand, Eusebius himself in- 
serts, and ascribes to a date posterior to 
some of these laws, documents which he 
professes to have seen in Constantine’s 
own hand, proclaiming the most impartial 
toleration to the pagans, and deprecating 
compulsion in religious matters. “Let all 
enjoy the same peace; let no one disturb 
another in his religious worship; let each 
act as he thinks fit; let those who with- 
hold their obedience from Thee” (it is an 
address to the Deity) “have their temples 
falsehood if they think right.”+ He ex- 
horts to mutual charity, and declares, “ It 
is a very different thing willingly to submit 
to trials for the sake of immortal life, and 
to force others by penalties to embrace 
one faith.”{ These generous sentiments, 
if Constantine was issuing edicts to close 
the temples, and prohibiting the sacred 
rites of his pagan subjects, had been the 
grossest hypocrisy. The laws against the 
soothsayers spoke, as was before shown, 
the same tolerant language with regard to 
the public ceremony of the religion.) Can 
the victory over Licinius so entirely have 
changed the policy of Constantine as to 
induce him to prohibit altogether rites 
which but a few years before he had sanc- 
tioned by his authority ? 
_ The pagan writers, who are not scrupu- 
lous in their charges against the memory 
of Constantine, and dwell with bitter re- 
sentment on all his overt acts of hostility 
to the ancient religion, do not accuse him 
of these direct encroachments on pagan- 
ism. Neither Julian nor Zosimus lay this 
to his charge. Libanius distinctly asserts 
that the temples were left open and undis- 


_*Cesset superstitio, sacrificiorum aboleatur in- 
sania. Nam quicunque contra legem divi Princi- 
is, parentis nostri, et hanc nostra mansuetudinis 
jussionem ausus fuerit sacrificia celebrare, compe- 
tens in eum vindicta, et presens sententia exsera- 
--tur.—Cod. Theodos., xvi., 10,2. See likewise the 
᾿ note of Godefroy. 
_ F Ὁμοΐαν τοῖς: πιστεύουσιν οἱ πλανώμενοι χαι- 
ροντες λαμθανέτωσαν εἰρήνης τε καὶ ἡσυχίας ἀπό- 
λαυσὶν * * Μηδεὶς τὸν ἕτερον παρενοχλείτω" ἕκ- 
ἄστος ὅπερ ἡ ψυχὴ βούλεται τοῦτο καὶ πραττέτω 
* ἃ Οἱ δ᾽ ἑαυτοὺς ἀφέλκοντες, ἐχόντων βουλόμε- 
νοι τὰ τῆς ψευδολογίας Teuévy.—Vit Const., ii., 26. 

t "Αλλο γὰρ ἐστι, τὸν ὑπὲρ ἀθανασίας dbAov 
ἐκουσίως ἐπαναιρεῖσθαι, ἅλλο τὸ μετὰ τιμωρίας 
ἐπαναγκάζειν.---Ο.. 60. 

ὁ Qui vero id vobis existimatis conducere, adite 
aras publicas atque delubra et consuetudinis vestre 
celebrate solemnia ; nec enim prohibemus preteri- 
te usurpationis officia libera luce tractari.—Cod. 
~Theodos.,, xvi., 10. 


323 


turbed during his reign, and that pagan- 
ism remained unchanged.* 

All historical records strongly confirm 
the opinion that paganista was openly 
professed ; its temples restored : its rites 
celebrated ; neither was its priesthood de- 
graded from their immunities, nor the es- 
tates belonging to the temples generally 
alienated; in short, that it was the public 
religion of a great part of the empire ; and 
still confronted Christianity, ifnot on equal 
terms, still with pertinacious resistance, 
down to the reign of Theodosius, and even 
that of his sons. Constantine himself, 
though he neither offered sacrifices, nor 
consulted the Sibylline books, nor would 
go up to the temple of the Capitoline Ju- 
piter with the senate and the people, per- 
formed, nevertheless, some of the func- 
tions, at least did not disdain the appella- 
tion, of supreme pontiff.t 

Perhaps we may safely adopt the fol- 
lowing conclusions. There were two 
kinds of sacrifices abolished by Constan- 
tine. 51. The private sacrifices, connected 
with unlawful acts of theurgy and of ma- 
gic; those midnight offerings to the pow- 
ers of darkness, which in themselves were 
illegal, and led to scenes of unhallowed 11- 
cense.§ II. Those which might be con- 
sidered the state sacrifices, offered by the 
emperor himself, or by his representatives 
in his name, either in the cities or in the 


* Τῆς κατὰ νὸμου δὲ ϑεραπείας ἐκίνησεν οὐδὲ 
ἕν.-- Ῥτο Templis, vol. ii., p. 162. ΠΝ 

Libanus adds that Constantius, on a certain 
change of circumstances, first prohibited sacrifice. 
—Compare also Orat.,26, Julian, Orat. vii., p. 424. 

{ See, in Gruter, p. 100, n. 6, the inscription on 
the restoration of the Temple of Concord during 
the consulship of Paulinus (A.C. 331, 332), by the 
authority of the prefect of the city, and S. P.Q.R. 
Altars were erected to other pagan gods.— Compare 
Beugnot, i., 106. 

M. Beugnot, in his Destruction du Paganisme en 
Occident, has collected with great industry the 
proofs of this fact, from inscriptions, medals, and 
other of the more minute contemporary memorials. 

1 There is a medal extant of Constantine as su- 
preme pontiff. 

§ See the laws relating to divination, above, p. 
290 

M. la Bastie and M. Beugnot would consider the 
terms Ta μυσαρὰ τῆς εἰδωλολατριας, in the rescript 
of Constantine, and the “‘ insana superstitio” of the 
law of Constans, to refer exclusively to these noc- 
turnal and forbidden sacrifices. M. Beugnot has ob- 
served that Constantine always uses respectful and 
courteous language concerning paganism. Vetus 
observantia, vetus consuetudo; templorum solem- 
nia; consuetudinis gentilitie solemnitas. ‘The laws 
of the later emperors employ very different terms. 
Error; dementia; error veterum; profanus ritus ; 
sacrilegus ritus; nefarius ritus; superstitio pa- 
gana, damnabilis, damnata, deterrima, impia; fu- 
neste superstitionis errores; stolidus paganorum 
error.—Cod. Theodos., t. v., p. 255. Beugnot, tom. 
1., p. 80. 


Sg 


(324 

3 
army. 
many Christians to offices of trust, and no 
doubt many who were ambitious of such 
offices conformed'to the religion of the em- 
peror, probably most of the high dignities 
of the state were held by pagans. Anedict 
might be required to induce them to depart 
from the customary usage of sacrifice, 
which with the Christian officers would 
quietly fall into desuetude.* But still, the 
sacrifices made by the priesthood, at the 
expense of the sacerdotal establishments, 
and out of their own estates—though in 
some instances these estates were seized 
by Constantine, and the sacerdotal colle- 
ges reduced to poverty—and the public 
sacrifices, offered by the piety of distin- 
guished individuals, would be made as 
usual. In the capital there can be little 
doubt that sacrifices were offered, in the 
name of the senate and people of Rome, 
till a much later period. 

Christianity may now be said to have 
Leval estab- ascended the imperial throne: 
lisiment of with the single exception of Ju- 
Christianity. Jian, from this period the mon- 
archs of the Roman empire professed the 
religion of the Gospel. ‘This important 
crisis in the history of Christianity almost 
forcibly arrests the attention to contem- 
plate the change wrought in Christianity 
by its advancement into a dominant pow- 
er inthe state ; and the change in the con- 
dition of mankind up to this period, attrib- 
utable to the direct authority or indirect 
Effects of ifluence of the new religion. By 
thisonthe ceasing to exist as a separate 
religion. ¢ommunity, and by advancing its 
pretensions to influence the general gov- 
ernment of mankind, Christianity, to a cer- 
tain extent, forfeited its independence. It 
could not but submit to these laws, framed, 
as it might seem, with its own concurrent 
voice. It was no longer a republic, gov- 
erned exclusively—as far, at least, as its re- 
ligious concerns—by its own internal pol- 
ity. The interference of the civil power 
in some of its most private affairs, the pro- 
mulgation of its canons, and even, in some 
cases, the election of its bishops by the 
state, was the price which it must inevita- 
bly pay for its association with the ruling 
power. The natural satisfaction, the more 
than pardonable triumph, in seeing the em- 
peror of the world a suppliant with them- 
selves at the foot of the cross, would blind 
the Christian world in general to these 
consequences of their more exalted posi- 
tion. The more ardent and unworldly 
would fondly suppose that a Christian em- 

* The prohibition to the δήωοι and στρατιωτικοὶ 


(see quotation above from Eusebius) refer, I con- 
ceive, to these. 


ΕἾ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Though Constantine advanced! peror would always be actuated by Chris- 


tian motives; and the imperial authority, 
instead of making aggressions on Christian 
independence, would rather bow in humble 
submission to its acknowledged dominion. 
His main object would be to develop the 
energies of the new religion in the amplest 
freedom, and allow them free scope in the 
subjugation of the world. 

The emperor as little anticipated that 
he was introducing as an antag- On the civil 
onist power an indistinguishable power 
principle of liberty into the administration 
of human affairs. This liberty was based 
on deeper foundations than the hereditary 
freedom of the ancient republics. It ap- 
pealed to a tribunal higher than any which 
could exist upon earth. ‘This antagonist 
principle of independence, however, at 
times apparently crushed, and submitting 
to voluntary slavery, or even lending it- 
self to be the instrument of arbitrary des- 
potism, was inherent in the new religion, 
and would not cease till it had asserted, 
and, for a considerable period, exercised 
an authority superior to that of the civil 
government. Already in Athanasius might 
be seen the one subject of Constantine 
who dared to resist his will. From Atha- 
nasius, who submitted, but with inflexible 
adherence to his own opinions, to Am- 


brose, who rebuked the great Theodosius, — 


and from Ambrose up to the pope who 
set his foot on the neck of the prostrate 
emperor, the progress was slow, but natu- 
ral and certain. In this profound pros- 
tration of the human mind, and the total 
extinction of the old sentiments of Ro- 
man liberty; in the adumbration of the 
world, by what assumed the pomp and 
the language of an Asiatic despotism, it 
is impossible to calculate the latent as 
well as open effect of this moral resist- 
ance. In Constantinople, indeed, and in 
the East, the clergy never obtained suffi- 
cient power to be formidable to the civil 
authority ; their feuds too often brought 
them in a sort of moral servitude to the 
foot of the throne ; still the Christian, and 
the Christian alone, throughout this long 
period of human degradation, breathed a 
kind of atmosphere of moral freedom, 
which raised him above the general level 
of servile debasement. 

During the reign of Constantine Chris- 
tianity had made a rapid ad~" }row far the 
vance, no doubt, in the number religion or 
of its proselytes as well as inits "°°" 
external position. It was not yet the es- 
tablished religion of the empire. It did not. 
as yet stand forward as the new religion 
adapted to the new order of things, as a 
part of the great simultaneous change 


- 
- 


ae, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


which gave to the Roman world a new 
capital, a new system of government, 
and, in some important instances, a new 
jurisprudence. Yet, having sprung up at 
once, under the royal favour, to a perfect 
equality with the prevailing heathenism, 
the mere manifestation of that favour, 
where the antagonist religion hung so 
loose upon the minds of men, gave it 
much of the power and authority of a 
dominant faith. The religion of the em- 
peror would soon become that of the 
court, and, by somewhat slower degrees, 
that of the empire. At present, however, 
as we have seen, little open aggression 
took place upon paganism. ‘The few tem- 
ples which were closed were insulated 
cases, and condemned as offensive to pub- 
lic morality. In general the temples 
stood, in all their former majesty, for as 
yet the ordinary process of decay from 
neglect or supineness could have produced 
little effect. The difference was, that the 
Christian churches began to assume a 
more stately and imposing form. In the 
new capital they surpassed in grandeur, 
and probably in decoration, the pagan 
temples, which belonged to old Byzan- 
tium. The immunities granted to the 
Christian clergy only placed them on the 
‘same level with the pagan priesthood. 
The pontifical offices were still held by 
the distinguished men of the state: the 
emperor himself was long the chief pontiff; 
but tle religious office had become a kind 
of appendage to the temporal dignity. 
The Christian prelates were constantly 
admitted, in virtue of their office, to the 
imperial presence. 

On the state of society at large, on its 
Effect of the different forms and gradations, 
legal estab- little impression had as yet been 
ishment of one gate τῷ 
Christianity Made by Christianity. The 
on society. Christians were still a separate 
people ; their literature was exclusively 
religious, and addressed, excepting in its 
apologies, or its published exhortations 
against paganism, to the initiate alone. 
Its language would be unintelligible to 
those uninstructed in Christian theology. 
Yet the general legislation of Constan- 
tine, independent of those edicts which 
concerned the Christian community, bears 
some evidence of the silent underworking 
Laws relating Of Christian opinion. The re- 
toSundays. script, indeed, for the religious 
observance of the Sunday, which enjoined 
the suspension of all public business and 
private labour, except that of agriculture, 
was enacted, according to the apparent 
terms of the decree, for the whole Roman 
empire. Yet, unless we had direct proof 
that the decree set forth the Christian 


325 


reason for the sanctity of the day, it may 
be doubted whether the act would not be 
received by the greater part of the empire 
as merely adding one more festival to the 
fasti of the empire ; as proceeding entire- 
ly from the will of the emperor, or even 
grounded on his authority as supreme 
pontiff, by which he had the plenary pow- 
er of appointing holydays.* In fact, as 
we have before observed, the day of the 
Sun. would be willingly hallowed by al- 
most all the pagan world, especially that 
part which had admitted any tendency 
towards the Oriental theology. 

Where the legislation of Constantine 
was of a-humaner Cast, it would ἢ ας tena- 
be unjust not to admit the influ- ing to hu 
ence of Christiamopinions, spread- ™#"ty- 
ing even beyond the immediate circle of 
the Christian community, as at least a con- 
current cause of the improvement. Inone 
remarkable instance there is direct au- 
thority that a certain measure was adopt- 
ed by the advice of an influential Chris- 
tian. During the period of anarchy and 
confusion which preceded the universal 
empire of Constantine, the misery had 
been so great, particularly in Africa and 
Italy, that the sale of infants for slaves, 
their exposure, and even infanticide, had 
become fearfully common. Constantine is- 
sued an edict, in which he declared that the 
emperor should be considered the father 
of all such children. It was a cruelty ir- 
reconcilable with the spirit of the times 
to permit any subjects of the empire to 
perish of starvation, or to be reduced to 
any unworthy action by actual hunger. 
Funds were assigned for the food and 
clothing of such children as the parents 
should declare themselves unable to sup-. 
port, partly on the imperial revenues, part 
ly on the revenues of the neighbouring 
cities. As this measure did not prevent 
the sale of children, parents were declared 
incapable of reclaiming children thus sold, 
unless they paid a reasonable price for 
their enfranchisement.t Children which 
had been exposed could not be reclaimed 
from those who had received them into- 
their families, whether by adoption or as 
Slaves. Whatever may have been the 
wisdom, the humanity of these ordinances 
is unguestionable. ‘hey are said to have 
been issued by the advice of Lactantius, to 
whom had been intrusted the education 
of Crispus, the son of Constantine. 


* Cod. Theod., 1. 2, tit. 8; 1. 8, tit. 8; 1. 5, tit. 3. 


Cod. Just., iii, 12. Euseb., Vit. Const., 18, 19, 20. 
Sozom 1,8. 2 : 

+ Codex Theodos., v., vii., 1. On the exposure 
of children at this time, compare Lactantius.—D. 
[., 11.) 20: ᾿ . 


Ι 
Ὁ 


326 


Child-stealing, for the purpose of selling 
Concerning them for slaves, was visited with 
slavery. ἃ penalty which, both in its na- 
ture and barbarity, retained the stamp of 
the old Roman manners. The criminal was 
condemned to’ the amphitheatre, either 
to be devoured by wild beasts or exhibited 
as a gladiator. Christianity had not as 
yet allayed the passion for these savage 
amusements of the Roman people; yet, 
in conjunction with the somewhat milder 
manners of the East, it excluded gladia- 
torial exhibitions from the new capital. 
The Grecian amusements of the theatre 
and of the chariot-race satisfied the popu- 
lace of Constantinople. Whatever might 
be the improved condition of the slaves 
within the Christian community, the tone 
of legislation preserves the same broad 
and distinct line of demarcation between 
the two classes of society. The master, 
indeed, was deprived of the arbitrary pow- 
er of life and death. The death of a slave 
under torture, or any excessive severity 
of punishment, was punishable as homi- 
cide; butifhe died under a moderate chas- 
tisement, the master was not responsible. 
In the distribution of the royal domains, 
care was to be taken not to divide the fam- 
ilies of the predial slaves. It isa cruelty, 
says the law, to separate parents and chil- 
dren, brothers and sisters, husbands and 
wives.* But marriages of free women 
with slaves were punishable with death; 
the children of such unions were indeed 
free, but could not inherit their mothers’ 
property. The person of dignity and sta- 
tion who had children by a marriage con- 
tract with a woman of base condition, 
could not make a testament in their fa- 
vour; even purchases made in their names 
or for their benefit might be claimed by 
the legitimate heirs. The base condition 
comprehended not only slaves, but freed 
women, actresses, tavern-keepers and 
their daughters, as well as those of courte- 
Sans or gladiators. Slaves who were con- 
cerned in the seduction of their masters’ 
children were to be burned alive without 
distinction of sex. The barbarity of this 
punishment rather proves the savage man- 
ners of the time than the inferior condi- 
tion of the slave ; for the receivers of the 
royal domains who were convicted of dep- 
redation or fraud were condemned to the 
same penalty. 

LA τ εν “Ὁ πος 


- Cod. Theod. 

+ Manumission, which was performed under the 
sanction of a religious ceremonial in the heathen 
temples, might now be performed in the church; 
the clergy might manumit their slaves in the pres. 
ence of the Church.—Cod. Theod., iv., 7, 1. 

This law must have connected Christianity in the 


| 


“4 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


It can scarcely be doubted that the strict- 
er moral tone of Constantine’s pay against 
legislation more or less remote- rape and ab- 
ly emanated from Christianity. ¢¥ction. 
The laws against rape and seduction were 
framed with so much rigour as probably 
to make their general execution difficult, 
if not impracticable.* The ravisher had 
before escaped with impunity: if the in- 
jured party did not prosecute him for his 
crime, she had the right of demanding 
reparation by marriage. By the law of 
Constantine, the consent of the female 
made her an accomplice in the crime ; she 
was amenable to the same penalty. What 
that penalty was is not quite clear, but it 
seems that the ravisher was exposed to 
the wild beasts in the amphitheatre. Even 
where the female had suffered forcible ab- 
duction, she had to acquit herself of all 
suspicion of consent, either from levity of 
manner or want of proper vigilance. Those 
pests of society, the panders, who abused 
the confidence of parents, and made a traf- 
fic of the virtue of their daughters, were 
in the same spirit condemned to a punish- 
ment so horrible as no doubt more fre- 
quently to ensure their impunity: melted 
lead was to be poured down their throats. 
Parents who did not prosecute such of- 
fences were banished, and their property 
confiscated. It is not, however, so much 
the severity of the punishments, indica- 
ting a stronger abhorrence of the crime, as 
the social and moral evils of which it took 
cognizance, which shows the remoter 
workings of a sterner moral principle. . A 
religion which requires of its followers a 
strict, as regards the Christianity of this 
period, it may be said, an ascetic rigour, 
desires to enforce on the mass of mankind 
by the power of the law that which it can- 
not effect by the more legitimate and per- 
manent means of moral influence. In a 
small community, where the law is the 
echo of the public sentiment, or where it 
rests on an acknowledged Divine authori- 
ty, it may advance farther into the province 
of morality, and extend its provisions into 
every relation of society. The Mosaic 
law, which, simultaneously with Law against 
the Christian spirit, began to en- @dultery. 
ter into the legislation of the Christian em- 
perors, in its fearful penalties imposed 
upon the illicit commerce of the sexes, 
concurred with the rigorous jealousy of 
the Asiatic tribes of that region concern- 
ing the honour of their women. But when 


general sentiment with the emancipation of slaves, 


—Compare Sozomen, i., 9, who says that Constan- 

tine issued three laws on the subject. The manu- 

mission took place publicly at Easter —Greg. Nyss. 
* Cod. Theod. 


sue, in the public morals. 


the laws of Constantine suddenly classed 
the crime of adultery with those of poison 
and assassination, and declared it a capi- 
tal offence, it may be doubted whether any 
improvement ensued, or was likely to en- 
Unless Chris- 
tianity had already greatly corrected the 
general licentiousness of the Roman world, 
not merely within but without its pale, it 
may safely be affrmed that the general and 
impartial execution of such a statute was 
impossible.* The severity of the law 
Concerning against the breach of conjugal 
divorce. — fidelity was accompanied with 
strong restrictions upon the facility of di- 
vorce. Three crimes alone, in the husband, 
justified the wife in demanding a legal 
separation: homicide, poisoning, or the 
violation of sepulchres. This latter crime 
was apparently very frequent, and looked 
upon with great abhorrence.t In these 
cases the wife recovered her dowry; if 
she separated for any other cause, she for- 
feited all to a single needle, and was lia- 
ble to perpetual banishment.{ The hus- 
band, in order to obtain a divorce, must 
convict his wife of poisoning, adultery, or 
keeping notoriously infamous company. 
In all other cases he restored the whole 
of the dowry. If he married again, the 
former wife, thus illegally cut off, might 
claim his whole property, and even the 
dowry of the second wife. These im- 
pediments to the dissolution of the mar- 


_ riage tie, the facility of which experience 


and reason concur in denouncing as de- 
structive of social virtue and domestic 
happiness, with its penalties affecting the 
property rather than the person, were 
more likely to have a favourable and ex- 
tensive operation than the sanguinary pro- 
scription of adultery. Marriage being a 
civil contract in the Roman world, the 
state had full right to regulate the stabil- 
ity and the terms of the compact. In oth- 
er respects, in which the jurisprudence as- 
sumed a higher tone, Christianity, I should 
conceive, was far more influential through 
its religious persuasiveness than by the 
rigour which it thus impressed upon the 


* It may be admitted, as some evidence of the in- 
efficiency of this law, that in the next reign the 
penalties were actually aggravated. The criminals 
were condemned either to be burned alive or sew- 
ed up in asack and cast into the sea. 

+ Codex Theodos., iii. 16, 1. 

1 The law of Constantine and Constans, which 
made intermarriage with a niece a capital crime, is 
supposed by Godefroy to have been a local act, di- 
rected against the laxity of Syrian morals in this 
respect.—Cod. Theod, ili., 12, 1. The law issued 
at Rome, prohibiting intermarriage with the sister 
of a deceased wife, annulled the marriage and bas- 


_ tardized the children.—iii., 12, 2. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


327 


laws ofthe empire.. That nameless crime, 


the universal disgrace of Greek Against pa- 


and Roman society, was far derasty, 
more effectively repressed by the abhor- 
rence infused into the public sentiment by 
the pure religion of the Gospel, than by 
the penalty of death enacted by statute 
against the offence. Another law of un- 
questionable humanity, and prob- Making of 
ably of more extensive opera- eunuchs. 
tion, prohibited the making of eunuchs. 
The slave who had suffered this mutilation 
might at once claim his freedom.* 

Perhaps the greatest evidence of the 
secret aggression of Christian- Laws favour- 
ity, or rather, in our opinion, able to celi- 
the foreign Asiatic principle *9- 
which was now completely interwoven 
with Christianity, was the gradual relax- 
ation of the laws unfavourable to celibacy. 
he Roman law had always proceeded on 
the principle of encouraging the multipli- 
cation of citizens, particularly in the higher 
orders, which, from various causes, es- 
pecially the general licentiousness under 
the later republic and the early empire, 
were in danger of becoming extinct. The 
parent of many children was a public bene- 
factor; the unmarried man a useless bur- 
den, if not a traitor, to the well-being of 
the state. The small establishment of the 
vestal virgins was evidently the remains 
of an older religion, inconsistent with the 
general sentiment and manners of Rome. 

On this point the encroachment of Chris- 
tianity was slow and difficult. The only 
public indication of its influence was the 
relaxation of the Papiapoppzan law. This 
statute enforced certain disabilities on those 
who were unmarried, or without children 
by their marriage, at the age of twenty- 
five. The former could only inherit from 
their nearest relations ; the latter obtained 
only the tenth of any inheritance which 
might devolve on their wives, the moiety 
of property devised to them by will. The 
forfeiture went to the public treasury, and 
was a considerable source of profit.. Con- 
stantine attempted to harmonize the two 
conflicting principles. He removed the 
disqualifications on celibacy, but he left 
the statute in force against married per- 
sons who were without children. In more 
manifest deference to Christianity, he ex- 
tended the privilege hitherto confined to 
the vestal virgins, of making their will, 
and that before the usual age appointed 
by the law, to all who had made a reli- 
gious vow of celibacy. 

Even after his death, both religions vied, 


* All these laws will be found in the Theodosian 
Code, under the name of Constantine, at the com. 
mencement of each book. 


328 RR 
Burialof 2S it were, for Constantine. He 
Constantine. received with impartial favour 
the honours of both. ‘The first Christian 
emperor was deified by the pagans; in a 
later period he was worshipped as a saint 
by part of the Christian Church. On the 
same medal appears his title of “ God,” 
with the monogram, the sacred smybol of 
Christianity ; in another he is seated in 
the chariot of the Sun, in a car drawn by 
four horses, with a hand stretched forth 
from the clouds to raise him to heaven.* 
But to show respect at once to the em- 
peror and to the Christian apostle, con- 
trary to the rigid usage, which forbade 
any burial to take place within the city, 
Constantine was interred in the porch of 
the church dedicated to the apostles. Con- 
stantius did great honour (in Chrysos- 
tom’s opinion) to his imperial father by 
burying him in the Fisherman’s Porch.t 
During the reign of Constantine Chris- 
Conversion tianity continued to advance be- 
of Hthiopia. yond the borders of the “Roman 
empire, and in some degree to indemnify 
herself for the losses which she sustained 
in the kingdom of Persia. The Ethiopi- 
ans appear to have attained some degree 
of civilization; a considerable part of the 
Arabian commerce was kept up with the 
other side of the Red Sea through the 
port of Adulis; and Greek letters appear, 
from inscriptions recently discovered,{ to 
have made considerable progress among 
this barbarous people. ‘The Romans c¢all- 
ed this country, with that of the Homer- 
ites on the other side of the Arabian gulf, 
by the vague name of the nearer India. 
Travellers were by no means uncommon 
in these times, whether for purposes of 
trade, or, following the traditional history 
of the ancient sages, from the more dis- 
interested desire of knowledge. Metro- 
dorus, a philosopher, had extended his 
travels throughout this region,§ and, on 


* Inter Divos meruit referri.—Eutrop., x.,8. Eek- 
hel., doct. numm. viii., 92, 93. Bolland, 21st Maij. 
Compare Le Beau, Hist. du Bas Empire, i., p, 388. 
Beugnot, i., 109. 

There exists a calendar in which the festivals of 
the new god are indicated.— Acad. des Inscrip., xv., 
106. 

+ Chrysost., Hom 60, in 2 Cor. 

1 That published by Mr. Salt, from the ruins of 
Axum, had already appeared in the work of Cos- 
mas Indicopleustes, edited by Montfaucon; Nie- 
buhr published another, discovered by Gau in Nu- 
bia, relating to Silco, king of that country. 

§ The same Metrodorus afterward made a jour- 
ney into farther India; his object was to visit the 
Brahmins, to examine their religious tenets and 
practices. Metrodorus instructed the Indians in 
the construction of water-mills and baths In their 
gratitude, they opened to him the inmost sanctuary 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


” 


his return, the account of his adventures 
induced another person of the same class, 
Meropius of Tyre, to visit the same re- 
gions. Meropius was accompanied by tw 

youths, Edesius and Frumentius. Mero- 


pius, with most of his followers, fell ina 
massacre arising out of some sudden in-~ 


terruption of the peace between the Ethi- 
opians and the Romans. Edesius and 
Fraumentius were spared on account of 
their youth. They were taken into the 
service of the king, and gradually rose 
till one became the royal cup-bearer, the 
other the administrator of the royal finan- 
ces. The king died soon after they had 
been elevated to these high distinctions, 
and bequeathed their liberty to the stran- 
gers. ‘The queen entreated them to con- 
tinue their valuable services till her son 
should attain to full age. The Romans 
complied with her request, and the su- 
preme government of the kingdom of 
Ethiopia was administered by these two 
Romans, but the chief post was occupied 
by Frumentius. Of the causes which dis- 
posed the mind of Frumentius towards 
Christianity we know nothing; he is rep- 
resented as seized with an eager desire of 
becoming acquainted with its tenets, and 
anxiously inquiring whether any Chris- 
lians existed in the country, or could be 
found among the Roman travellers who 
visited it.* It is more probable, since 
there were so many Jews both on the 
Arabian and African side of the gulf, that 
some earlier knowledge of Christianity 
had spread into these regions. But it 
was embraced with ardour by Frumentius ; 


treasures which dazzled his eyes; he stole a great 
quantity of pearls and other jewels; others he 
said that he had received as a present to Constan- 
tive from the King of India. He appeared in Con- 
stantinople. . The emperor received, with the high- 
est satisfaction, those magnificent gifts which Me- 
trodorus presented in his own name, But Metro- 
dorus complained that his offerings would have 
been far more sumptuous if he had not been at- 
tacked on his way through Persia, contrary to the 
spirit of the existing peace between the empires, 
and plundered of great part of his treasures. Con- 
stantine, it is said, wrote an indignant remon- 
strance to the King of Persia. This story is cu- 
rious, as it shows the connexion kept up by tra- 
ders and travellers with the farther East, which 
accounts for the allusions to Indian tenets and usa- 
ges in the Christian as well as the pagan writers 
of the time. It rests on the late authority of Ce- 
drenus (t. i, p. 295), but is confirmed by a passage 
of Ammianus Marcellinus, who, however, places 
it in the reign of Constantius. Sed Constantium 
ardores Parthicos succendisse, cum Metrodori men- 
daciis avidias acquiescit, 1. xxv.,c,4. Compare St, 
Martin’s additions to Le Beau, ἱ., 343. 

* Sozomen,.in his ignorance, has recourse to vis- 
ions or direct Divine inspiration. Θείαις ἔσως προ- 


of their temples. But the virtue of the philosopher τραπεὶς ἐπιφανείαις, ἢ καὶ αὐτομάτως τοῦ Θεοὺ 
Metrodorus was not proof against the gorgeous | κινοῦντος. 


a 


he built a church, and converted many of 
' the people. When the young king came 
of age, notwithstanding the remonstrances 
of the prince and his mother, Frumentius 
sed through Alexandrea, and, having 
_ communicated to Athanasius the happy 
beginnings of the Gospel in that wild re- 
ta on, the influence of that commanding 
prelate induced him to accept the mission 
of the Apostle of India. He was conse- 
“erated Bishop of Axum by the Alexan- 
drean prelate, and that see was always 
considered to owe allegiance to the patri- 
archate of Alexandrea. ‘The preaching of 
_Frumentius was said to have been emi- 
nently successful, not merely among the 
Ethiopians, but the neighbouring tribes of 
Nubians and Blemmyes. His name is 
still reverenced as the first of the Ethio- 
pian pontiffs.. But probably in no conn- 
try did Christianity so soon degenerate 
into a mere form of doctrine ; the wild in- 
habitants of these regions sank downward 
rather than ascended in the scale of civili- 
zation; and the fruits of Christianity, hu- 
manity and knowledge, were stifled amid 
the conflicts of savage tribes by ferocious 
manners and less frequent intercourse with 
_more cultivated nations. 

The conversion of the Iberians* was the 
ofthe work of a holy virgin. Nino was 
Iberians. among the Armenian maidens who 
fled from the persecutions of the Persians, 
and found refuge among the warlike na- 
tion of Iberia, the modern Georgia. Her 
seclusion, her fasting and constant pray- 
ers, excited the wonder of these fierce 
warriors. ‘Two cures which she is said 
to have wrought, one on the wife of the 
king, still farther directed the attention of 
the people to the marvellous stranger. 


Π 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 399 


ah . 

The grateful queen became a convert to 

hristianity. Mihran, the king, still wa- 
vered between the awe of his ancient dei- 
ties, the fear of his subjects, and his ineli- 
nation to the new and wonder-working 
faith. One day, when he was hunting in 
a thick and intricate wood, he was en- 
veloped in a sudden and impenetrable 
mist. Alone, separated from his com- 
panions, his awe-8truck mind thought of 


embrace the Christian faith. On a sud- 
den the mist cleared off, the light shone 
gloriously down, and in this natural im- 
age the king beheld the confirmation of 
the light of truth spread abroad within his 
"Sake After much opposition, the temple 
of the great god Aramazd (the Ormuzd of 
the Persian system) was levelled with the 
earth. A cross was erected upon its ru- 
ins by tbe triumphant Nino, which was 
long worshipped. as the palladium _of the 
kingdom.* Wonders attended on the con- 
struction of the first Christian church. 
An obstinate pillar refused to rise, and 
defied the utmost mechanical skill of the 
people to force it from its oblique and 
pendant position. The holy virgin pass- 
-ed the night in prayer. On the morning 
the pillar rose majestically of its own ac- 
cord, and stood upright upon its pedestal. 
The wondering people burst into accla- 
mations of praise to the Christians’ God, 
and generally embraced the faith. The 
King of Iberia entered into an alliance 
with Constantine, who sent him valuable 
presents and a Christian bishop. Eusta- 
thius, it is said, the deposed patriarch of 
Antioch, undertook this mission by the 
command of the emperor, and Iberia was 
thus secured to the Christian faith. 


CHAPTER V. 


3 r 
CHRISTIANITY UNDER THE SONS OF CONSTANTINE. 


Ir Christianity was making such rapid, 


Accession of Progress in the conquest of the 
~thesonsof world, the world was making 
Constantine. fearful reprisals on Christianity. 
By enlisting new ‘passions and interests in 
its cause, religion surrendered itself to an 
inseparable fellowship with those passions 
and interests. The more it mingles with 
the tide of human affairs, the more turbid 
becomes the stream of Christian history. 


* Socrates, i, 20. Sozomen, ii., c. 7. Rufin., 
x., 10. Theodoret, i., 24. Moses Choren, lib. 11.» 
Si Klaproth, Travels in Georgia. 

TT 


In the intoxication of power, the Christian, 
like ordinary men, forgot his original char- 
acter: and the religion of Jesus, instead 
of diffusing peace and happiness through 
society, might, to the superficial observer 
of human affairs, seem introduced only as 
a new element of discord and misery into 
the society of man. 

The Christian emperor dies ; he is suc- 


* In 1801 this cross, or that which perpetual tra- 
dition accounted as the identical cross, was remo- 
ved to Petersburg by Prince Bagration. It was re- 
stored, to the great joy of the nation, by order of 
the Emperor Alexander. 


the Christians’ God; he determined to 


330 


% 
+ 


° 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. a, a 


f 


ceeded by his sons, educated in the faith ;manizing influence in the more remote 


of the Gospel. The first act of the new 
reign is the murder of one of the brothers, 
and of the nephews of the deceased sov- 
ereign, who were guilty of being name 

in the will of Constantine as joint heirs to 
the empire. This act, indeed, was that of 
a ferocious soldiery, though the memory 
of Constantius is not free from the sus- 
picion, at least, of connivance in these 
bloody deeds. Christianity appears only 
in a favourable light as interposing  be- 
tween the assassins and their victim. 
Marcus, bishop of Arethusa, saved Julian 
from his enemies: the future apostate was 
concealed under the altar of the church. 
Yet, on the accession of the sons of Con- 


stantine, to the causes of fraternal ani-- 


mosity usual on the division of a kingdom 
between several brothers was added that 
a of religious hostility. The two 
eligious 
differences of Emperors (for they were speed- 
the two sur- ΠΥ reduced to two) placed them- 
viving sons. selves at the head of the two 
contending parties in Christianity. The 
weak and voluptuous Constans adhered 
with inflexible firmness to the cause of 
Athanasius; the no less weak and tyran- 


nical Constantius to that of Arianism. 
-The East was arrayed against the West. 


At Rome, at Alexandrea, at Sardica, and 
afterward at Arles and Milan, Athanasius 
was triumphantly acquitted; at Antioch, 
at Philippopolis, and finally at Rimini, he 
was condemned with almost equal una- 
nimity. Even within the Church itself, 
the distribution of the superior dignities 
became an object of fatal ambition and 
strife. The streets of Alexandrea and 
Constantinople were deluged with blood 
by the partisans of rival bishops. In the 
latter, an officer of high distinction, sent 
by the emperor to quell the tumult, wa 
slain, and his body treated with the utmost 
indignity by the infuriated populace. 

To dissemble or to disguise these mel- 
ancholy facts is alike inconsistent with 
Christian truth and wisdom. In some de- 
gree they are accounted for by the pro- 
verbial reproach against history, that it is 
the record of human folly and crime; and 
history, when the world became impreg- 
nated with Christianity, did not at once 
assume a higher office. In fact, it extends 
its view only over the surface of society, 
below which, in general, lie human virtue 
and happiness. ‘This would be especially 
the case with regard to Christianity, 
whether it withdrew from the sight of 
man, according to the monastic interpreta- 
tion of its precepts, into solitary commu- 


ὃ A ᾿ ἜΤΟΣ 3 Pa 
nion with the Deity, or, in its more genuine | «μὰ 


and obscure quarters of the general social 


system. ‘ 


Even the annals of the Church take little 
notice of those cities where the Christian 
episcopate passed calmly down through a 
succession of pious and beneficent prel- 
ates, who lived and died in the undisturb- 
ed attachment and veneration of their 
Christian disciples, and respected by the 
hostile pagans; men whose noiseless 
course of beneficence was constantly di- 
minishing the mass of human misery, and 
improving the social, the moral, as well 
as the religious condition of mankind. 
But an election contested with violence, 
or a feud which divided a city into hostile 
parties, arrested the general attention, and 
was perpetuated in the records, at first of 
the Church, afterward of the empire. 

But, in fact, the theological opinions of 


Christianity naturally made more e 
Moral more 


rapid progress than its moral in- gjow than 
fluence. The former had only to religious 
revolution. 


overpower the resistance of a re- 
ligion which had already lost its hold upon 
the mind, or a philosophy too speculative 
for ordinary understandings and too un- 
satisfactory for the more curious and in- 
quiring; it had only to enter, as it were, 
into a vacant place in the mind of man. 
But the moral influence had to contest, not 
only with the natural dispositions of man, 
but with the barbarism and depraved man- 
ners of ages. While, then, the religion of 
the world underwent a total change, the 
Church rose on the ruins of the temple, 
and the pontifical establishment of pagan- 
ism became gradually extinct or suffered 
violent suppression; the moral revolution 
was far more slow and far less complete. 
With a large portion of mankind, it must 
be admitted that the religion itself was 
paganism under another form and with 
different appellations; with another part 
it was the religion passively received, 
without any change in the moral senti- 
ments or habits ; with a third, and perhaps 
the more considerable part, there was a 
transfer of the passions and the intellect- 
ual activity to a new cause.* They were 
completely identified with Christianity, 
and to a certain degree actuated by its 
principles, but they did not apprehend the 
beautiful harmony which subsists between 
its doctrines andits moral perfection. Its 


* “Tf said the dying Bishop of Constantinople, 
“you would have for my successor a man who 
would edify you by the example of his life and 
improve you by the purity cf his precepts, choose 
ul; if a man versed in the affairs of the world, 
able to maintain the interests of religion, your 


spirit, was content with exercising its hu- | suffrages must be given to Macedonius.”—Socr. 


» 
dogmatic purity was the sole engrossing 
subject ; the unity of doctrine superseded 
and obscured all other considerations, even 
of τον ψμῳ unity of principles and 
effects 
nature, with the purest conceptions of hu- 
man virtue. Faith not only overpowered, 
but discarded from her fellowship Love 
and Peace. Everywhere there was exag- 
geration of one of the constituent elements 
of Christianity ; that exaggeration which 
is the inevitable consequence of a strong 
impulse upon the human mind. Wherev- 
er men feel strongly, they act violently. 
The more speculative Christians, there- 
fore, who were more inclined, in the deep 
and somewhat selfish solicitude for their 
own salvation, to isolate themselves from 

the infected mass of mankind, pressed into 
the extreme of asceticism ; the more prac- 
tical, who were earnest in the desire of 
disseminating the blessings of religion 
throughout society, scrupled little to press 
into their service whatever might advance 
theircause. With both extremes the dog- 
matical part of the religion predominated. 
The monkish believer imposed the same 
severity upon the aberrations of the mind 
as upon the appetites of the body ; and, in 
general, those who are severe to them- 
selves are both disposed and think them- 
selves entitled to enforce the same sever- 
ity on others. The other, as his sphere 
became more extensive, was satisfied with 
an adhesion to the Christian creed instead 
of that total change of life demanded of the 
early Christian, and watched over with 
such jealous vigilance by the mutual su- 
perintendence of a small society. The 
creed, thus become the sole test, was en- 
forced with all the passion of intense zeal, 
and guarded with the most subtle and seru- 
pulous jealousy. In proportion to the ad- 
mitted importance of the creed, men be- 
came more sternly and exclusively wed- 
ded to their opinions. Thus an antago- 
nist principle of exclusiveness coexisted 
with the most comprehensive ambition. 
While they swept in converts indiscrim- 
inately from the palace and the public 
street, while the emperor and the lowest 
of the populace were alike admitted on 
little more than the open profession of 
allegiance, they were satisfied if their al- 
legiance in this respect was blind and 
complete. Hence a far larger admixture 
of human passions, and the common vul- 
gar incentives of action, were infused into 
the expanding Christian body. Men be- 
came Christians, orthodox Christians, with 
little sacrifice of that which Christianity 
aimed chiefly to extirpate. Yet, after all, 
this imperfect view of Christianity had 


a 


s, of the loftiest views of the Divine | ties. 


; ‘HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 331 


probably some effect in concentrating the 
Christian community, and holding it to- 
gether by a new and more indissoluble 
bond. The world divided into two par- 
Though the shades of Arianism, 
perhaps, if strictly decomposed, of 'Trini- 
tarianism, were countless as the varying 
powers of conception or expression in 
man, yet they were soon consolidated into 
two compact masses. The semi-Arians, 
who approximated so closely to the Ni- 
cene Creed, were forced back into the 
main body. Their fine distinctions were 
not seized by their adversaries or by the 
general body of the Christians. The bold 
and decisive definitiveness of the Athan- 
asian doctrine admitted less discretion ; 
and, no doubt, though political vicissitudes 
had some influence on the final establish- 
ment of their doctrines, the more illiterate 
and less imaginative West was predis- 
posed to the Athanasian opinions by its 
natural repugnance to the more vague and 
dubious theory. All, however, were en- 
rolled under one or the other standard, 
and the party which triumphed eventually 
would rule the whole Christian world. 

Even the feuds of Christianity at this 
period, though with the few more dispas- 
sionate and reasoning of the pagans they 
might retard its progress, in some respects 
contributed to its advancement; they as- 
sisted in breaking up that torpid stagna- 
tion which brooded over the general mind. 
It gave a new object of excitement to the 
popular feeling. The ferocious and igno- 
rant populace of the large cities, which 
found a new aliment in Christian faction 
for their mutinous and sanguinary out- 
bursts of turbulence, had almost been bet- 
ter left to sleep on in the passive and un- 
destructive quiet of pagan indifference. 
They were dangerous allies, more than 
dangerous, fatal to the purity of the Gos- 
pel. 

Athanasius stands out as the prominent 
character of the period in the 
history, not merely of Christian- 
ity, but of the world. ‘That history is one 
long controversy, the life of Athanasius 
one unwearied and incessant strife.* It 
is neither the serene course of a being el- 
evated by his religion above the cares and 
tumults of ordinary life, nor the restless 
activity of one perpetually employed in a 
conflict with the ignorance, vice, and mis- 
ery of an unconverted people. Yet even 
now (so completely has this polemic spirit 
become incorporated. with Christianity) 
the memory of Athanasius is regarded by 


πα δον ὁ τωρ τ τον ει: 0. ποταμῷ 


* Life of Athanasius prefixed to his works.— 
Tillemont, Vie d’Athanase. 


Athanasius. 


— 


332 


many wise and good men with reverence, 
which in Catholic countries is actual ad- 
oration, in Protestant approaches towards 
it.* It is impossible, indeed, not to ad- 
mire the force of intellect which he cen- 
tred on this minute point of theology, 
his intrepidity, his constancy ; but had he 
not the power to allay the feud which his 
inexorable spirit tended to keep alive? 
Was the term consubstantialism absolute- 
ly essential to Christianity? If a some- 
what wider creed had been accepted, 
would not the truth at least as soon and 
as generally have prevailed? Could not 
the commanding or persuasive voice of 
Christianity have awed or charmed the 
troubled waters to peace? 

But Athanasius, in exile, would consent 
to no peace which did not prostrate his 
antagonists before his feet. He had ob- 
tained complete command over the minds 
of the Western emperors. The demand 
for his restoration to his see was not an 
appeal to the justice or the fraternal af- 
fection of Constantius, it was a question 
of peace or war. Constantius submitted ; 
he received the prelate on his return with 
courtesy, or, rather, with favour and dis- 


tinction. Athanasius entered Alexandrea 
A.D. 338, at the head of a triumphal pro- 
Restoration cession; the bishops of his par- 
οἱ Αἰδβδπᾶ ty resumed their sees ; all Egypt 
andrea, returned to its obedience; but 
A.D. 340. 


the more inflexible Syria still 
waged the war with unallayed activity. 
A council was held at Tyre, in which new 
charges were framed against the Alexan- 
_drean prelate: the usurpation of his see 
in defiance of his condemnation by a coun- 
cil (the imperial power seems to have 
been treated with no great respect); fora 
prelate, it was asserted, deposed by a 
council, could only be restored by the 
sae authority ; violence and bloodshed 
during his reoccupation of the see; and 
malversation of sums of money intended 
for the poor, but appropriated to his own 
use. A rival council at Alexandrea at 
once acquitted Athanasius on all these 
points ; asserted his right to the see; ap- 
pealed to and avouched the universal rejoi- 
cings at his restoration; his rigid adminis- 
tration of the funds intrusted to his care.t 


* Compare Mohler, Athanasius der Grosse und 
seine zeit (Maintz, 1827), and Newman’s Arians. 
The former is the work of a very powerful Roman 
Catholic writer, labouring to show that all the vital 
principles of Christianity were involved in this con- 
troversy, and stating one side of the question with 
consummate ability. It is the panegvric of a dutiful 
son on him whom he calls the father of Church 
theology.—P. 304. 

{ Compare throughout the ecclesiastical histo- 
rians Theodoret, Socrates, and Sozomen. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ᾿ 


a 


A more august assembly of Christian 
prelates met in the presence of 4p, 341, 
the emperor at Antioch. Ninety Council at 
bishops celebrated the consecra- “!Uo}- 
tion of a splendid edifice, called the Church 
of Gold. ‘The council then entered on 
the affairs of the Church; a creed was 
framed satisfactory to all, except that it 
seemed carefully to exclude the term con- 
substantial or Homoousion. The council 
ratified the decrees of that of Tyre with 
regard to Athanasius. It is asserted, on 
his part, that the majority had withdrawn 
to their dioceses before the introduction 
of this question, and that a factious mi- 
nority of forty prelates assumed and abu- 
sed the authority of the council. They 
proceeded to nominate a new bishop of 
Alexandrea. Pistus, who had before been 
appointed to the see, was passed over in 
silence, probably as too inactive or unam- 
bitious for their purpose. Gregory, a na- 
tive of the wilder region of Cappadocia, 
but educated under Athanasius himself in 
the more polished schools of Alexandrea, 
was invested with this more important 
dignity. Alexandrea, peaceably reposing, 
it is said, under the paternal episcopate of 
Athanasius, was suddenly startled by the 
appearance of an edict, signed by the im- 
perial prefect, announcing the degradation 
of Athanasius and the appointment of 
Gregory. Scenes of savage conflict en- 
sued; the churches were taken, as it were, 
by storm; the priests of the Athanasian 
party were treated with the utmost indig- 
nity; virgins scourged; every atrocity 
perpetrated by unbridled multitudes, im- 
bittered by every shade of religious fac- 
tion. The Alexandrean populace were 
always ripe for tumult and bloodshed. 
The pagans and the Jews mingled in the 
fray, and seized the opportunity, no doubt, 
of showing their impartial animosity to 
both parties, though the Arians (and, as 
the original causes of the tumult, not with- 
out justice) were loaded with the unpopu- 
larity of this odious alliance. They ar- 
rayed themselves on the side of the sol- 
diery appointed to execute the decree of 
the prefect; and the Arian bishop is 
charged, not with much probability, with 
abandoning the churches to their pillage. 
Athanasius fled; a second time arhanasius 
an exile, he took refuge in the fies to 
West. He appeared again at *o™ 
Rome, in the dominions and under the 
protection of an orthodox emperor; for 
Constans, who, after the death of Con- 
stantine, the first protector of Athanasius, 
had obtained the larger part of the empire 
belonging to his murdered brother, was 
no less decided in his support of the Ni- 


% 


a 


2 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ‘ 


333 


cene opinions. The two great Western | of Hermogenes was dragged through the 
prelates, Hosius of Cordova, eminent from | streets, and at length cast into the sea, 


his age and character, and Julius, bishop 
of Rome, from the dignity of his see, 
openly espoused his cause. Wherever 
Athanasius resided—at Alexandrea, in 
Gaul, in Rome—in general the devoted 
clergy, and even the people, adhered with 
unshaken fidelity to his tenets. Such was 
the commanding dignity of his character, 
such his power of profoundly stamping 
his opinions on the public mind. 
The Arian party, independent of their 
speculative opinions, cannot be absolved 
from the unchristian heresy of cruelty and 
revenge. However darkly coloured, we 
cannot reject the general testimony to 
their acts of violence, wherever they at- 
tempted to regain their authority. Greg- 
Usurpation Ory is said to have attempted to 
of Gregory. compel bishops, priests, monks, 
and holy virgins to Christian communion 
with a prelate thus forced upon them, by 
every kind of insult and outrage; by 
scourging and beating with clubs : those 
were fortunate who escaped with exile.* 
But, if Alexandrea was disturbed by the 
hostile excesses of the Arians, in Con- 
stantinople itself the conflicting religious 
parties gave rise to the first of those popu- 
Jar tumults which so frequently, in later 
times, distracted and disgraced the city. 
Kusebius, formerly Bishop of Nicomedia, 
the main support of the Arian party, had 
risen to the episcopacy of the imperial 
city. His enemies reproached the world- 
ly ambition which deserted an humbler 
for a more eminent see; but they were 
not less inclined to contest this important 
post with the utmost activity. At his 
death the Athanasian party revived the 
claims of Paul, whom they asserted to 
have been canonically elected, and un- 
justly deposed from the see; the Arians 
Bloody Supported Macedonius. The dis- 
quarrel at pute spread from the church into 
Constant’ the streets, from the Clergy to 
ple. 

the populace; blood was shed; 
the whole city was in arms on one part or 
the other. 

‘he emperor was at Antioch ; he com- 
manded Hermogenes, who was appointed 
to the command of the cavalry in ‘Thrace, 
to pass through Constantinople and expel 
the intruder Paul. Hermogenes, at the 
head of his soldiery, advanced to force 
Paul from the church. The populace 
rose ; the soldiers were repelled; the 
general took refuge in a house, which was 
instantly set on fire; the mangled body 


* Athanas., Oper., p. 112, 149, 350, 352, and the 
ecclesiastical historians in loc. 


Constantius heard this extraordinary in- 
telligence at Antioch. The contempt of 
the imperial mandate, the murder of an 
imperial officer in the contested nomina- 
tion of a bishop, were as yet so new in 
the annals of the world as to fill him with 
equal astonishment and indignation. He 
mounted his horse, though it was winter, 
and the mountain passes were dangerous 
and difficult with snow; he hastened with 
the utmost speed to Constantinople. But 
the deep humiliation of the senate and 
the heads of the people, who prostrated 
themselves at his feet, averted his resent- 
ment: the people were punished by a 
diminution of the usual largess of corn. 
Paul was expelled; but, as though some 
blame adhered to both the conflicting par- 
ties, the election of Maccdonius was not 
confirmed, although he was allowed to 
exercise the episcopal functions. Paul 
retired, first to ‘Thessalonica, subsequent- 
ly to the court of Constans. 

The remoter consequences of the Ath- 
anasian controversy began tO fgets οἱ the 
develop themselves at this ear- Tmnitarian 
ly period. ‘The Christianity of conlroversy 
the East and the West gradual- ἡ ον 
ly assumed a divergent and independent 
character. Though. during a short time, — 


the Arianism of the Ostrogothic conquer- — 


ors gave a temporary predominance in It- 
aly to that creed, the West in general sub- 
mitted in uninquiring acquiescence to the 
Trinitarianism of Athanasius. In the 
Kast, on the other hand, though the doc- 
trines of Athanasius eventually obtained 
the superiority, the controversy gave birth 
to a long and unexhausted line of subordi- 
nate disputes. ‘The East retained its min- 
gled character of Oriental speculativeness 
and Greek subtlety. It could not abstain 
from investigating and analyzing the [i- 
vine nature, and the relations of Christ 
and the Holy Ghost to the Supreme Being. 
Macedonianism, Nestorianism, Eutychian- 
ism, with the fatal disputes relating to the 
procession of the Holy Ghost during al- 
most the Jast hours of the Byzantine em- 
pire, may be considered the lineal descend- 
ants of this prolific controversy. The op- 
position of the East and West of itself 
tended to increase the authority of that 
prelate, who assumed his acknowledged 
station as the head and representative of 
the Western churches. The commanding 
and popular part taken by the Bishop of 
Rome in favour of Athanasius and his doc 

trines, enabled him to stand forth ΠῚ vn- 
disputed authority as at once the chief of 
the Western episcopate and the champion 


334 


of orthodoxy. The age of Hosius, and 
his residence in a remote province, with- 
drew the only competitor for this superi- 
Athanasius Ority. Athanasius took up his 
at Rome. residence at Rome, and, under 
the protection of the Roman prelate, de- 
fied his adversaries to anew contest. Ju- 
Julius, bish- ius summoned the accusers of 
op of Rome. Athanasius to plead the cause 
before a council in Rome.* The Eastern 
prelates altogether disclaimed his jurisdic- 
tion, and rejected his pretensions to re- 
judge the cause of a bishop already con- 
demned by the council of Tyre. The an- 
swer of Julius is directed rather to the 
justification of Athanasius than to the as- 
sertion of his own authority. The synod 
Synodat of Rome solemnly acquitted Ath- 
Rome. anasius, Paul, and all their adhe- 
rents. The Western emperor joined in 
the sentiments of his clergy. A second 
A.D. 343. council at Milan, in the presence 
At Milan. of Constans, confirmed the decree 
of Rome. Constans proposed to his broth- 
er to convoke a general council of both 
empires. A neutral or border ground was 
chosen for this decisive conflict. At Sar- 
Council of Gica met one hundred prelates 
Sardica. from the West, from the East 
A.D. 345-6. only seventy-five. | Notwith- 
standing his age and infirmities, Hosius 
travelled from the extremity of the empire ; 
and it is remarkable that the Bishop of 
Rome, so zealous in the cause of Athana- 
sius, alleged an excuse for his absence, 
which may warrant the suspicion that he 
was unwilling to be obscured in this im- 
portant scene by the superior authority of 
Hosius. Five of the Western prelates, 
among whom were Ursacius of Singidu- 
num and Valens of Mursa, embraced the 
Arian cause: the Arians complained of 
the defection of two bishops from their 
body, who betrayed their secret counsels 
to their adversaries.{ In all these coun- 
cils it appears not to have occurred that, 
religion being a matter of faith, the suf- 
frages of the majority could not possibly 


# Julius is far from asserting any individual au- 
thority or pontifical supremacy. ‘*‘ Why do you 
alone write Τ᾽ 
of the bishops of Italy.”—Epist. Julian, Athanas., 
Op., i, 146. 

The ecclesiastical historians, however, in the next 
century, assert that Rome claimed the right of ad- 
judication. Τνωρίζουσιν οὖν τῷ ἐπισκόπῳ Ρώμης 
Ἰουλίῳ τὰ καθ᾽ ἑαυτούς" ὁ δὲ ἄτε προνόμεα τῆς ἐν 
Ῥώμῃ ἐκκλησίας ἐχούσης.---ϑοοτ., E. H., ii, 15. 
Οἷα δὲ τῶν πάντων κηδεμονίας ἀυτῷ προσηκούσης 
διὰ τὴν ἀξίαν τοῦ ϑρόνου.---8.ο4, E. H., 1|., 8. 

+ By some accounts there were 100 Western 
bishops, 72 Eastern. 

+ Concilia Labbe, vol. iii., Athanas. contr. Arian, 
&e. 


“‘ Because I represent the opinions | 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


impose a creed upon a conscientious mi- 
nority. The question had been too often 
agitated to expect that it could be placed 
in a new light. 

On matters of fact, the suffrages of the 
more numerous party might have weight, 
in the personal condemnation, for instance, 
or the acquittal of Athanasius; but as 
these suffrages could not convince the un- 
derstanding of those who voted on the 
other side, the theological decisions must 
of necessity be rejected, unless the minor- 
ity would submit likewise to the humilia- 
ting confession of insincerity, ignorance, 
or precipitancy in judgment.* The Arian 
minority did not await this issue ; having 
vainly attempted to impede the progress 
of the council by refusing to sanction the 
presence of persons excommunicated, they 
seceded to Philippopolis in Thrace. In 
these two cities sat the rival rival conn- 
councils, each asserting itself cil at Phil- 
the genuine representative of ‘PPP's. 
Christendom, issuing decrees and anathe- 
matizing their adversaries. The Arians 
are accused of maintaining their influence, 
even in the East, by acts of great cruelty. 
In Adrianople, in Alexandrea, they enfor- 
ced submission to their tenets by the 
scourge and by heavy penalties.t 

The Western council at Milan accepted 
and ratified the decrees of the council of 
Sardica, absolving Athanasius of all crim- 
inality, and receiving his doctrines as the 
genuine and exclusive truths of the Gos- 
pel. Ona sudden affairs took Reconcitia- 
anew turn; Constantius threw tion of 4 
himself, as it were, at the feet dihanneue 
of Athanasius, and in three suc- A.D. 349. 
cessive letters entreated him to resume his 
episcopal throne. The emperor and the 
prelate (who had delayed at first to obey, 
either from fear or from pride, the flatter- 
ing invitation) met at Antioch with mutu- 
al expressions of respect and cordiality.f 
Constantius commanded all the accusa- 
tions against Athanasius to be erased from 
the registers of the city. He commended 
the prelate to the people of Alexandrea in 
terms of courtly flattery, which harshly 


contrast with his former, as well as with 


* The Oriental bishops protested against the as- 
sumption of supremacy by the Western. Novam 
legem introducere putaveruntyut Orientales Epis- 
copi-ab Occidentalibus judicarentur.—Apud Hilar., 
Fragm., iil. 

+ The cause of Marcellus of Ancyra, whom the 
Eusebian party accused of Sabellianism, was 
throughout connected with that of Athanasius. 

1 The emperor proposed to Athanasius to leave 
one church to the Arians at Alexandrea; Athana- 
sius dexterously eluded the request by very fairly 
demanding that one church in Antioch, where the 
Arians predominated, should be set apart for those 


| of his communion. 


es 


“ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


The Arian bishop, Gregory, was dead, and 


- Athanasius, amid the universal joy, re-en- 


tered the city. The bishops crowded from 
all parts to salute and congratulate the 
prelate who had thus triumphed over the 
malice even of imperial enemies. Incense 
curled up in all the streets; the city was 
brilliantly illuminated. It was an ovation 
by the admirers of Athanasius ; it is said 
to have been a Christian ovation; alms 
were lavished on the poor; every house 
resounded with prayer and thanksgiving 
as if it were a church; the triumph of 
Athanasius was completed by the recan- 
tation of Ursacius and Valens, two of his 
most powerful antagonists.* 

This sudden change in the policy of 
cute Constantius is scarcely explicable 

“upon the alleged motives. It is 
ascribed to the detection of an infamous 
conspiracy against one of the Western 
bishops, deputed on a mission to Constan- 
tius. The aged prelate was charged with 
incontinence, but the accusation recoiled 
on its inventors. A man of infamous char- 
acter, Onager the wild ass, the chief con- 
ductor of the plot, on being detected, avow- 
ed himself the agent of Stephen, the Arian 
bishop of Antioch. Stephen was igno- 
miniously deposed from his see. ‘Yet this 
single fact would scarcely have at once 
estranged the mind of Constantius from 
the interests of the Arian party ; his sub- 
sequent conduct when, as emperorof the 
whole world, he could again dare to dis- 
play his deep-rooted hostility to Athana- 
sius, induces the suspicion of political rea- 
sons. Constantius was about to be em- 
barrassed with the Persian war ; 
at this dangerous crisis, the ad- 
monitions of his brother, not unmingled 
with warlike menace, might enforce the 
expediency at least of a temporary recon- 
ciliation with Athanasius. The political 
troubles of three years suspended the re- 
ligious strife. The war of Persia brought 


Persian war. 


“i some fame to the arms of Constantius ; 


. 


4 


r4 z and in the more honourable character, not 


of the antagonist, but the avenger of his 
Death of murdered brother, the surviving 
- Constans. son of Constantine again united the 
East and West under his sole dominion. 


The battle of Mursa, if we are to credit a | 


writer somewhat more recent, was no less 
fatal to the interests of Athanasius than 
War with tothe armsof Magnentius.t Ur- 
Magnentius. Sacius and Valens, after their re- 
A.D. 351. — cantation, had relapsed to Arian- 
ism. Valens was the Bishop of Mursa, 


and in the immediate neighbourhood of | 


* Greg. Nazian., Enc. Athanas. Athanas., Hist. 
Arian. + Sulpicius Severus, 11.) c. 54. 


335 


‘his subsequent, conduct to Athanasius. | that town was fought the decisive Battle of 


battle. Constantius retired with Mursa. 
Valens into the principal church, to assist 
with his prayers, rather than with his di- 
rections or personal prowess, the success 
of his army. The agony of his mind may 
be conceived during the long suspense of 
a conflict on which the sovereignty of the 
world depended, and in which the con- 
querors lost more men than the vanquish- 
ed.* Valens stood or knelt by his side; on 
a sudden, when the emperor was wrought 
to the highest state of agitation, Valens 
proclaimed the tidings of his complete vic- 
tory; intelligence communicated to the 
prelate by an angel from heaven. Whether 
Valens had anticipated the event by a bold 
fiction, or arranged some plan for obtain- 
ing rapid information, he appeared from 
that time to the emperor as a man espe- 
cially favoured by Heaven, a prophet, and 
one of gocd omen. 

But either the fears of the emperor or 


the caution of the Arian party de- a.p. 351 
layed yet for three or four years ‘ 355. 
to execute their revenge on Athanasius. 
They began with a less illustrious victim. 
Philip, the prefect of the East, received 
instructions to expel Paul, and to replace ~ 
Macedonius on the episcopal throne of 
Constantinople. Philip remembered the 
fate of Hermogenes; he secured himself 
in the therme of Zeuxippus, and summon- 
ed the prelate to his presence. He then 
communicated his instructions, and fright- _ 
ened or persuaded the aged Paul to con- 
sent to be secretly transported in a boat 
over the Bosphorus. In the 
morning Philip appeared in his 
car, with Macedonius by his 
side in the pontifical attire ; he 
drove directly to the church, 
but the soldiers were obliged to hew their 
way through the dense and resisting crowd 
to the altar. Macedonius passed over the 
murdered bodies (three thousand are said 
to have fallen) to the throne of the Chris- 
tian prelate. Paul was carried in chains 
first to Emesa, afterward to a wild town 
in the deserts about Mount Taurus. He 
had disappeared from the sight of his fol- 
lowers, and it is certain that he died in 
these remote regions. The Arians gave 
out that he died a natural death. It was 
the general belief of the Athanasians that 
his death was hastened, and even that he 
had been strangled by the hands of the 
prefect Philip. 


Paul deposed 
from the bish- 
oprie of Con- 
stantinople. 
Macedonius 
reinstated. 


* Magnentius is said by Zonaras to.bave sacri- 
ficed a girl to propitiate the gods on this moment- 
ous occasion.— Lib. xili., t. ii, p. 16, 17. ‘ 

+ Athanas., Oper., i., 322, 348. Socrat., E) Hz; 
| 26. 


35,9. Mite 
But, before the decisive blow was struck 
against Athanasius, Constantius endeav- 
oured to subdue the West to the Arian 
opinions. ‘The emperor, released from 
the dangers of war, occupied his triumph- 
ες ant leisure in Christian controversy. He 
seemed determined to establish his sole 
‘dominion over the religion as well as the 
civil obedience of his subjects. The West- 
ern bishops firmly opposed the conqueror 
Councils of Of Magnentius. At the councils, 
Arles and first of Arles and afterward of 
+s ise Milan, they refused to subscribe 
the condemnation of Athanasius, or to 
communicate with the Arians. Liberius, 
Persecution the new bishop of Rome, refused 
ersecution . - pe 
of Liberius, the timid and disingenuous com- 
bishop of — promise to which his representa- 
eine tive at Arles, Vincent, deacon of 
Rome, had agreed; to assent to the con- 
demnation of Athanasius, if, at the same 
time, a decisive anathema should be issued 
against the tenets of Arius. At Milan, the 
bishops boldly asserted the independence 
of the Church upon the empire. The 
Athanasian party forgot, or chose not to 
remember, that they had unanimously ap- 
plauded the interference of Constantine, 
when, after the Nicene Council, he drove 
the Arian bishops into exile. Thus it has 
always been: the sect or party which has 
the civil power in its favour is embarrass- 
ed with no doubts as to the legality of its 
interference ; when hostile, it resists as 
an unwarrantable aggression on its own 
‘freedom that which it has not scrupled to 
employ against its adversaries. 

The new charges against Athanasius 
New char. Were of very different degrees 
ges against of magnitude and probability. 
Athanasius. He was accused of exciting the 
hostility of Constans against his brother. 
The fact that Constans had threatened to 
reinstate the exiled prelate by force of 
arms might give weight to this charge ; 
but the subsequent reconciliation, the gra- 
cious reception of Athanasius by the em- 
peror, the public edicts in his favour, had 
in all justice cancelled the guilt, if there 
were really guilt, in this undue influence 
over the mind of Constans. He was ac- 
cused of treasonable correspondence with 
the usurper Magnentius. Athanasius re- 
pelled this charge with natural indigna- 
tion. He must be a monster of ingrati- 
tule, worthy a thousand deaths, if he had 
leagued with the murderer of his bene- 
factor, Constans. He defied his enemies 
to the production of any letters; he de- 
manded the severest investigation, the 
strictest examination, of his own sccre- 
taries or those of Magnentius. The de- 
scent is rapid from these serious charges 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


oh 


en 
to that of having officiated in a new and 
splendid church, the Cesarean, without 


4 


the permission of the emperor; and the +) 


exercising a paramount and almost mio- 
narchical authority over the churches 
along the whole course of the Nile, even 
beyond his legitimate jurisdiction. ‘The 
first was strangely construed into an in- 
tentional disrespect to the emperor, the 
latter might fairly be attributed to the zeal 
of Athanasius for the extension of Chris- 
tianity. Some of these points might ap- 
pear beyond the jurisdiction of an ecele- 
siastical tribunal; and in the Council of 
Milan there seems to have been an incli- 
nation to separate the cause of Athana- 
sius from that of his doctrine. As at 
Arles, some proposed to abandon the per- 
son of Athanasius to the will of the em- 
peror, if a general condemnation should 
be passed against the tenets of Arius. 
Three hundred ecclesiastics formed the 
Council of Milan. Few of these Council of 
were from the East. The Bishop Milan. — 
of Rome did not appear in person to lead 
the orthodox party. His chief representa- 
tive was Lucifer of Cagliari, a man of- 
ability, but of violent temper and un- 
guarded language. The Arian faction 
was headed by Ursacius and Valens, the 
old adversaries of Athanasius, and by the 
emperor himself. Constantius, that the 
proceedings might take place more imme- 
diately under his own superintendence, 
adjourned the assembly from the church 
to the palace. This unseemly intrusion 
of a layman in the deliberations of the, 
clergy, unfortunately, was not without 
precedent. ‘Those who had proudly hail- 
ed the entrance of Constantine into the 


νὰ 


‘ 


Synod of Nice could not consistently cP 


recate the presence of his son at Milan. 
‘The controversy became a personal 
question between the emperor and ‘a tae 
his refractory subject. The emper- τ 
or descended into the arena, and mingled 
in all the fury of the conflict. Constan- 
tius was not content with assuming the 
supreme place as emperor, or interfering 
in the especial province of the bishops, the 
theological question; he laid claim to di- 
rect inspiration. He was commissioned 
by a vision from Heaven to restore peace 
to the afflicted Church. The scheme of 
doctrine which he proposed was asserted 
by the Western bishops to be strong] 
tainted with Arianism. The prudence o 
the Athanasian party was not equal to 
their firmness and courage. 
quious and almost adoring court of the 
emperor must have stood aghast at the 
audacity of the ecclesiastical synod. 
Their language was that of vehement in- 


The obse- © 


” 


ν᾿ 
Υ, 


» like thee think 


Pond 


\ 
. ie 


vective rather than dignified dissent or 
calm remonstrance. Constantius, ccn- 
cealed behind a curtain, listened to the 
debate; he heard his own name coupled 
with that of heretic, of Antichrist. His 
indignation now knew no bounds. He 
proclaimed himself the champion of the 
Arian doctrines, and the accuser of Atha- 
nasius. Yet flatteries, persuasions, bribes, 
menaces, penalties, exiles, were necessa- 
ry to extort the assent of the resolute as- 
sembly. Then they became conscious of 
the impropriety of a lay emperor’s intru- 
sion into the debates of an ecclesiastical 
synod. They demanded a free council, 
in which the emperor should neither pre- 
side in person nor by his commissary. 
They lifted up their hands, and entreated 
the angry Constantius not to mingle up 
the affairs of the state and the church.* 
Three prelates, Lucifer of Cagliari, Euse- 
bius of Vercelle, Dionysius of Milan, were 
sent into banishment, to places remote 
from each other, and the most. inhospita- 
ble regions of the empire. Liberius, the 
Roman pontiff, rejected with disdain the 
presents of the emperor ; he resisted with 
equal firmness his persuasions and his 
acts of violence. 
Though his palace was carefully closed 
Fall of Li. and garrisoned by some of his 
berius. faithful flock, Liberius was seiz- 
ed at length and carried to Milan. He 
withstood, somewhat contemptuously, the 
personal entreaties and arguments of the 
emperor.t He rejected with disdain the 
imperial offers of money for his journey, 
and told him to keep it to pay his army. 
The same offer was made by Eusebius 
the eunuch: “ Does a sacrilegious robber 
to give alms to me, as toa 
mendicant 1 He was exiled to Berbea, 
a city of Thrace. An Arian prelate, Fe- 
lix, was forced upon the unwilling city. 
But two years of exile broke the spirit of 
Liberius. He began to listen to the ad- 
vice of the Arian bishops of Berbea; the 
solitude, the cold climate, and the dis- 
comforts of this uncongenial region, had 
more effect than the presents or the men- 
aces of the emperor. He signed the 
Arian formulary of Sirmium ; he assented 
to the condemnation of Athanasius. The 
Fall or fall of the aged Hosius increased 
Hosius. the triumph of the Arians. Some 
of the Catholic writers reproach with un- 
due bitterness the weakness of an old 
man, whose nearer approach to the grave, 
they assert, ought to have confirmed him 


hi * Μηδὲ ἀναμίσγειν τὴν Ῥωμᾶίκην τῇ τὴς ἐκ-᾿ 


κλεσίας διατάγῃ .---ΑἸμαπα8. ad Mon., c. 34, 36. 
Compare c 52. + Theodoret, iv., 16. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ΕΣ 337 


in his inalienable fidelity to Christ. But 
even Christianity has no power over that 
mental imbecility which accompanies the 
decay of physical strength, and this act 
of feebleness ought not for an instant to 
be set against the unblemished virtue of a 
whole life. 

Constantius, on his visit to Rome, was 
astonished by an address, pre- Reception of 
sented by some of the principal Constantius 
females of the city in their most 8. Rome. 
splendid attire, to entreat the restoration 
of Liberius. ‘The emperor offered to re- 
admit Liberius to a co-ordinate authority 
with the Arian bishop Felix. ‘The fe- 
males rejected with indignant disdain this 
dishonourable compromise; and when 
Constantius commanded a similar proposi- 
tion to be publicly read in the circus at the 
time of the games, he was answered by a 
general shout, “ One God, one Christ, one 
bishop.” 

Had then the Christians, if this story be 
true, already overcome their aversion to 
the public games? or are we to suppose 
that the whole populace of Rome took an 
interest in the appointment of a Christian 
pontiff? 

Athanasius awaited in tranquil dignity 
the bursting storm. He had oygerstore ἢ 
eluded the imperial summons to move Athan- 
appear at Milan, upon the plea 5. 
that it was ambiguous and obscure. Con- 
stantius, either from some lingering re- 
morse, from reluctance to have his new 
condemnatory ordinances confronted with 
his favourable and almost adulatory testi- 
monies to the innocence of Athanasius, or 
from fear lest a religious insurrection in 
Alexandrea and Egypt should embarrass 
the government, and cut off the supplies 
of corn from the Eastern capital, refused 
to issue any written order for the deposal 
and expulsion of Athanasius. He chose, 
apparently, to retain the power, if con- 
venient, of disowning his emissaries. Two 
secretaries were despatched with a ver- 
bal message commanding his abdication. 
Athanasius treated the imperial officers 
with the utmost courtesy, but respectfully 
demanded their written instructions. A 
kind of suspension of hostilities seems to 
have been agreed upon till farther instruc- 
tions could be obtained from the emperor. 
But, in the mean time, Syrianus, the duke 
of the province, was drawing the troops 
from all parts of Libya and Egypt to in- 
vest and occupy the city. A force of 5000 
men was thought necessary to depose 2 
peaceable Christian prelate. The great 
events in the life of Athanasius, as we 
have already seen on two occasions, seem, 
either designedly or of themselves, to take 


" 


baa HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


338 “ 


8 highly dramatic form. 
and the archbishop, surrounded by the 
more devout of his flock, was performing 
the solemn ceremony previous to the sac- 
ramental service of the next day, in the 
Church of St. Theonas. Suddenly the 
ee cel sound of trumpets, the trampling 
the Chur, of steeds, the clash of arms, the 
of Alexan- bursting the bolts of the doors, in- 
naire terrupted the silent devotions of 
the assembly. The bishop on his throne, 
in the depth of the choir, on which fell the 
dim light of the lamps, beheld the gleam- 
ing arms of the soldiery as they burst into 
the nave of the church. The archbishop, 
as the ominous sounds grew louder, com- 
manded the chanting of the 135th (136th) 
Psalm. The choristers’ voices swelled 
into the solemn strain, “ Oh, give thanks 
unto the Lord, for he is gracious;” the 
people took up the burden, “ For his mer- 
cy endureth forever!” The clear, full 
voices of the congregation rose over the 
wild tumult, now without, and now within 
the church. 

A discharge of arrows commenced the 
conflict; and Athanasius calmly exhorted 
his people to continue their only defensive 
measures, their prayers to their Almighty 
Protector. Syrianus at the same time 
ordered the soldiers to advance. The 
cries of the wounded, the groans of those 
who were trampled down in attempting to 
force their way out through the soldiery, 
the shouts of the assailants, mingled in 
wild and melancholy uproar. But, before 
the soldiers had reached the end of the 
sanctuary, the pious disobedience of his 
clergy and of a body of monks hurried the 
archbishop by some secret passage out of 
the tumult. His escape appeared little 
less than miraculous to his faithful follow- 
ers. The riches of the altar, the sacred 
ornaments of the church, and even the 
‘consecrated virgins, were abandoned to 
the license of an exasperated soldiery. 
The Catholics in vain drew up an address 
to the emperor, appealing to his justice 
against this sacrilegious outrage; they 
suspended the arms of the soldiery which 
had been left on the floor of the church 
as a reproachful memorial of the violence. 
Constantius confirmed the acts of his 
officers.* 

The Arians were prepared to replace the 
George of | deposed prelate; their choice fell 
Cappadocia, on another Cappadocian, more 
savage and unprincipled than the former 
one. Constantius commended George of 


* Athanas., Apol. de Fug&, vol. i. p. 334; ad 
Monachos, 373, 378, 393, 395; ad Const., 307, 310. 
‘Tillemont, Vie d’Athanase. 


It was midnight; ; 


Cappadocia to the people of Alexandrea 


as a prelate above praise, the wisest of _ 


teachers, the fittest guide to the kingdom 
of heaven. His adversaries paint him in 


the blackest colours; the son of a fuller, — 


he had been in turn a parasite, a receiver 
of taxes, a bankrupt. Ignorant of letters, 
savage in manners, he was taken up, while 
leading a vagabond life, by the Arian prel- 
ate of Antioch, and made a priest before 
he was a Christian. He employed the 
collections made for the poor in bribing 
the eunuchs of the palace. But he pos- 
sessed, no doubt, great worldly ability ; he 
was without fear and without remorse. 
He entered Alexandrea environed by the 
troops of Syrianus. His presence let loose 
the rabid violence of party; the Arians 
exacted ample vengeance for their long 
period of depression ; houses were plun- 


dered; monasteries burned ; tombs broken 
open to search for concealed Athanasians, 
or for the prelate himself, who still eluded 4 


their pursuit ; bishops were insulted ; vir- 
gins scourged; the soldiery encouraged 
to break up every meeting of the Catho- 
lies by violence, and even by inhuman tor- 
tures. The Duke Sebastian, at the head 
of 3000 troops, charged a meeting of the 
Athanasian Christians: no barbarity was 
too revolting; they are said to have em- 
ployed instruments of torture to compel 
them to Christian unity with the Arians ; 
females were scourged with the prickly 
branches of the palm-tree. The pagans 
readily transferred their allegiance, so far 
as allegiance was demanded; while the 
savage and ignorant among them rejoiced 
in the occasion for plunder and cruelty. 
Others hailed these feuds, and almost an- 
ticipated the triumphant restoration of 
their own religion. Men, they thought, 
must grow weary and disgusted with a re- 
ligion productive of so much crime, blood- 
shed, and misery. Echoing back the lan- 
guage of the Athanasians, they shouted 
out, “ Long life to the Emperor Constan- 
tius; and the Arians who have abjured 
Christianity.” And Christianity they seem 
to have abjured, though not in the sense 
intended by their adversaries. They had 
abjured all Christian humanity, holiness, 
and peace. 

The avarice of George was equal to 
his cruelty. Exactions were necessary to 
maintain his interest with the eunuchs, to 
whom he owed his promotion. 
ate of Alexandrea forced himself into the 
secular affairs of the city. He endeavour- 
ed to secure a monopoly of the nitron pro- 
duced in the Lake Mareotis, of the salt- 
works, and of the papyrus. He became 
a manufacturer of those painted coffins 


The prel- 


a 


᾿ 


; 


- driven into banishment. 
- constantly sounding with the hymns of 


. ¥ 
' " 


Ὶ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


339 


which were still in use among the Egyp- jonly to plunge deeper into the inaccessi- 


tians. Once he was expelled by a sud- 
den insurrection of the people, who sur- 
rounded the church in which he was offi- 
ciating, and threatened to tear him in pie- 
ces. He took refuge in the court, which 
was then at Sirmium, and a few months 
beheld him reinstated by the command of 
his faithful patron the emperor.* A rein- 
stated tyrant is in general the most cruel 
oppressor; and, unless party violence has 
blackened the character of George of Cap- 
padocia beyond even its ordinary injustice, 
the addition of revenge, and the haughty 
sense of impunity derived from the impe- 
rial protection, to the evil passions already 
developed in his soul, rendered him a still 
more intolerable scourge to the devoted 
city. 

eit yschere the Athanasian bishops 
were expelled from their sees; they were 
The desert was 


these pious and venerable exiles, as they 
passed along, loaded with chains, to the 
remote and savage place of their destina- 
tion; many of them bearing the scars, 
and wounds, and mutilations which had 
been inflicted upon them by their barba- 
rous persecutors, to enforce their compli- 
ance with the Arian doctrines. 
Athanasius, after many strange adven- 
Escape ana tures, having been concealed in 
retreatof a dry cistern and in the cham- 
Athanasius. ber of a beautiful woman, who 
attended him with the most officious de- 
votion (his awful character was not even 
tinged with the breath of suspicion), found 
refuge at length among the monks of the 
AD. 356, desert. Egypt is bordered on all 
“sides by wastes of sand, or by 
barren rocks broken into caves and intri- 
cate passes; and all these solitudes were 
now peopled by the fanatic followers of 
the hermit Antony. They were all de- 
voted to the opinions, and attached to the 
person of Athanasius. 'The austerities of 
the prelate extorted their admiration: as 
he had been the great example of a digni- 
fied, active, and zealous bishop, so was he 
now of an ascetic and mortified solitary. 
The most inured to self-inflicted tortures 
of mind and body found themselves equal- 
led, if not outdone, in their fasts and aus- 
terities by the lofty Patriarch of Alexan- 
drea. Among these devoted adherents 
his security was complete: their passion- 
ate reverence admitted not the fear of 
treachery. The more active and inquisi- 
tive the search of his enemies, he had 


* He was at Sirmium, May, 359; restored in Oc- 
tober. 


ble and inscrutable desert. From this 
solitude Athanasius himself is supposed 
sometimes to have issued forth, and, pass- 
ing the seas, to have traversed even parts 
of the West, animating his followers, and 
confirming the faith of his whole widely- 
disseminated party. Hisown language im- 
plies his personal, though secret, presence 
at the councils of Seleucia and Rimini.* 
From the desert, unquestionably, came 
forth many of those writings which must 
have astonished the heathen world by 
their unprecedented boldness. For the 
first time since the foundation of the em- 
pire, the government was more or less 
publicly assailed in addresses, which ar- 
raigned its measures as unjust, and as 
transgressing its legitimate authority, and 
which did not spare the person of the 
reigning emperor. In the West as well 
as in the East, Constantius was assailed 
with equal freedom of invective. The 
book of Hilary of Poictiers against Con- 
stantius is said not to have been Hilary of 
made public till after the death of Poictiers. 
the emperor; but it was most likely cir- 


culated among the Catholics of the West; | 


and the author exposed himself to the 
activity of hostile informers, and the in- 
discretion of fanatical friends. The em- 
peror is declared to be Antichrist, a ty- 
rant, ποῦ ἴῃ secular, but likewise in re- 
ligious affairs; the sole object of his reign 
was to make a free gift to the devil of the 
whole world, for which Christ had suf- 
fered.t Lucifer of Cagliari, whose violent 


* Athanas., Oper., vol. i., p. 869. Compare Tille- 
mont, Vie d’Athanase. 

t Nihil prorsus aliud egit, quam ut orbem ter- 
rarum, pro quo Christus passus est, diabolo con- 
donaret.—Adv. Constant.,c. 15. Hilary's highest 
indignation is excited by the gentle and insidious 
manner with which he confesses that Constantius 
endeavoured to compass his unholy end. He would 
not honour them with the dignity of martyrs, but he 
used the prevailing persuasion of bribes, flatteries, 
and honours: Non dorsa cedit, sed ventrem palpat ; 
non trudit carcere ad libertatem, sed intra palatium 
honorat ad servitutem; non latera vexat, sed cor 
occupat * * non contendit ne vincatur, sed adulatur 
ut dominetur. There are several other remarkable 
passages in this tract. Constantius wished to con- 
fine the creed to the Jangvage of Scripture. This 
was rejected, as infringing on the authority of the 
bishops, and the forms of apostolic preaching. Nolo, 
inquit, verba quz non scripta sunt dici, Hoc tan- 
den rogo, quis episcopis jubeat et quis apostoli- 
ce predicationis vetet formam? c.16. Among the 
sentences ascribed to the Arians, which so much 
shocked the Western bishops, there is one which is 
evidently the argument of a strong anti-materialist 
asserting the sole existence of the Father, and that 
the terms of son and generation, &c., are not to be 
received in a literal sense. Erat Deus quod est. 
Pater non erat, quia neque ei filius; nam sl filius, 
necesse est ut et femina sit, &c. 


One phrase hag _. 


Ψ- 


. to acknowledge the beautiful and Christian senti- 


ΠῚ 


940 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Luciferor temper afterward distracted the 
Cagliari. Western Church with a schism, 
is now, therefore, repudiated by the com- 
mon consent of all parties. But Athana- 
sius speaks in ardent admiration of the 
intemperate writings of this passionate 
man, and once describes him as inflamed 
by the spirit of God. Lucifer, in his ban- 
ishment, sent five books full of the most 
virulent invective to the emperor. Con- 
stantius—it was the brighter side of his 
religious character—received these ad- 
dresses with almost contemptuous equa- 
nimity. He sent a message to Lucifer to 
demand if he was the author of these 
works. Lucifer replied, not merely by an 
intrepid acknowledgment of his former 
writings, but by a sixth, in still more 
unrestrained and exaggerated language. 
Constantius was satisfied with banishing 


him tothe Thebaid. Athanasius himself, 
who, in his public vindication addressed to 
Constantius, maintained the highest re- 
spect for the imperial dignity, in his Epis- 
tle to the Solitaries gives free vent and 
expression to his vehement and contemp- 
tuous sentiments. His recluse friends are 
cautioned, indeed, not to disclose the dan- 
gerous document, in which the tyrants of 
the Old Testament, Pharaoh, Ahab, Bel- 
shazzar, are contrasted to his disadvan- 
tage with the base, the cruel, the hypo- 
critical Constantius. It is curious to ob- 
serve this new element of freedom, how- 
ever at present working in a concealed, 
irregular, and, perhaps, still-guarded man- 


ner, mingling itsélf up with, and partially 
upheaving, the general prostration of the 
human mind. The Christian, or, in some 
respects, it might be more justly said, the 
hierarchical principle, was entering into 
the constitution of human society as an 
antagonist power to that of the civil sov- 
ereign. The Christian community was 
a singularly Oriental, I would say, Indian cast. 
How much soever the Son expands himself to- 
wards the knowledge of the Father, so much the 
Father super-expands himself, lest he should be 
known by the Son. Quantum enim Filius se ex- 
tendit cognoscere Patrem, tantum Pater superex- 
tendit se, ne cognitus Filio sit, c. 13. The parties, 
at least in the West, were speaking two totally dis- 
tinct languages. It would be unjust to Hilary not 


ments scattered through his two former addresses 
to Constantius, which are firm but respectful, and 
if rigidly, yet sincerely dogmatic. His plea for 
toleration, if not very consistently maintained, is 
expressed with great force and simplicity. Deus 
cognitionem sui docuit potius quam exegit. * * 
Deus universitatis est Dominus; non requirit coac- | 
tam .confessionem. Nostra potius non sua causa | 
venerandus est * * simplicitate querendus est, 
confessione discendus est, charitate amandus est, 
timore venerandus est, voluntatis probitate retinen- 
dus est, lib.i., ς, 6. 


no longer a separate republic, governed 
within by its own laws, yet submitting, 
in all but its religious observances, to the 
general ordinances. By the establishment 
of Christianity under Constantine, and the 
gradual reunion of two sections of man- 
kind into one civil society, those two pow- 
ers, that of the church and the state, be- 
came co-ordinate authorities, which, if any 
difference should arise between the heads 
of the respective supremacies, if the em- 
peror and the dominant party in Christen- 
dom should take opposite sides, led to in- 
evitable collision. This crisis had alrea- 
dy arrived. An Arian emperor was virtu- 


ally excluded from a community in which © 


the Athanasian doctrines prevailed. The 
son of Constantine belonged to an excom- 
municated class, to whom the dominant 
party refused the name of Christians. 
Thus these two despotisms, both founded 
on opinion (for obedience to the imperial 
authority was rooted in the universal sen- 
timent), instead of gently counteracting 
and mitigating each other, came at once 
into direct and angry conflict. The em- 
peror might with justice begin to suspect 
that, instead of securing a peaceful and 
submissive ally, he had raised up a rival 
or a master; for the son of Constantine 
was thus in his turn disdainfully ejected 
from the society which his father had in- 
corporated with the empire. It may be 
doubted how far the violences and barbar- 
ities ascribed by the Catholics to their 
Arian foes may be attributed to the indig- 
nation of the civil power at this new and 
determined resistance. Though Constan- 
tius might himself feel or affect a com- 
passionate disdain at these unusual at- 
tacks on his person and dignity, the gener- 
al feeling of the heathen population, and 
many of the local governors, might resist 
this contumacious contempt of the su- 
preme authority. It is difficult otherwise 
to account for the general tumult excited 
by these disputes in Alexandrea, in Con- 
stantinople, and in Rome, where at least 
a very considerable part of the population 
had no concern in the religious quarrel. 
The old animosity against Christianity 
would array itself under the banners of 
one of the conflicting parties, or take up 
the cause of the insulted sovereignty of 
the emperor. The Athanasian party con- 
stantly assert that the Arians courted, or, 
at least, did not decline, the imvidious alli- 
ance of the pagans. 

But, in truth, in the horrible cruelties 
perpetrated during these unhap- mutual ac- 
py divisions, it was the same sav- cusations 
age ferocity of manners which, % ‘Tel'- 


| half a century before, had raged against 


" ᾿ 
J ᾿ 
« an”, - 
. . 


᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 341 


the Christian 


tenets of the 
the ill-understood, perhaps unintelligible, 
watchwords of violent and disorderly men. 
The rabble of Alexandrea and other cities 
availed themselves of the commotion to 
give loose to their suppressed passion for 
the excitement of plunder and bloodshed. 
How far the doctrines of Christianity had 
worked down into the populace of the 
great cities cannot be ascertained, or even 
conjectured ; its spirit had not in the least 
mitigated their ferocity and inhumanity. 
If Christianity is accused as the imme- 
τ diate exciting cause of these disastrous 
‘scenes, the predisposing principle was in 
that uncivilized nature of man, which not 
merely was unallayed by the gentle and 
humanizing tenets of the Gospel, but, as 
it has perpetually done, pressed the Gos- 
pel itself, as it were, into its own unhal- 
lowed service. 

The severe exclusiveness of dogmatic 
theology attained its height in this contro- 
-versy. Hitherto the Catholic and hereti- 
cal doctrines had receded from each other 
at the first outset, as it were, and drawn 
off to opposite and irreconcilable ex- 
tremes. The heretics had wandered 
away into the boundless regions of spec- 
ulation ; they had differed on some of the 
most important elementary principles of 


* See the depositions of the bishops assembled 
at Sardica, of the violence which they had them- 
selves endured at the hands of the Arians. Ali 
autem gladiorum signa, plagas et cicatrices osten- 
debant. Alii se fame ab ipsis excruciatos quere- 
bantur. Et hee non ignobiles testificabantur virl, 
sed de ecclesiis omnibus electi propter quas huc 
convenerunt, res gestas edocebant, milites arma- 
tos, populos cum fustibus, judicum minas, falsa- 
rum literarum suppositiones. * * Ad hec virginum 
nudationes, incendia ecclesiarum, carceres adver- 
sos ministros Dei.—Hilar., Fragm., Op. Hist., ii, 
c. 4. 

The Arians retort the same accusations of vio- 
lence, cruelty, and persecution against Athanasius. 
They say, Per vim, per cedem, per bellum, Alex- 
andrinorum ecclesias depredatus; and this, Per 
pugnas et cedes gentilium. Decretum Synodi Ori- 
entalium Episcoporum apud Sardicam, apud S. 
Hilarium. 

Immensa autein confluxerat ad Sardicam multi- 
tudo sceleratorum omnium et perditorum, adven- 
tantium de Constantinopoli, de Alexandrea, qui rei 
homicidiorum, rei sanguinis, rei cedis, rei latrocini- 
orum, rei predarum, rei spoliorum, nefandorumque 
omnium sacrilegiorum et criminum rei; qui altaria 
confregerunt, ecclesias incenderunt, domosque pri- 
vatorum compilaverunt ; profanatores mysterio- 
rum, proditoresque sacramentorum Christi; qui 
impiam sceleratamque hereticorum doctrinam con- 
tra ecclesia fidem asserentes, sapientissimos pres- 
byteros Dei, diacones, sacerdotes, atrociter demac- 
taverunt.—Ibid., 19. And this protest, full of these 
tremendous charges, was signed by the eighty se- 
ceding Eastern bishops. 


ἢ Ὶ ureh, which now ‘appa- belief; they had rarely admitted any com- 
rently raged in its cause.* The abstruse} mon basis for argument. 
Christian theology became | tending parties set out from nearly the 


Here the con- 


same principlés, admitted the same au- 
thority, and seemed, whatever their se- 
cret bias or inclination, to differ only on 
the import of one word. Their opinions, 
like parallel lines in mathematics, seemed 
to be constantly approximating, yet found 
it impossible to unite. The Athanasians 
taunted the Arians with the infinite varia- 
tions in their belief: Athanasius recounts 
no less than eleven creeds. But the 
Arians might have pleaded their anxiety 
to reconcile themselves to the Church, 
their earnest solicitude to make every ad- 
vance towards a reunion, provided they 
might be excused the adoption of the one 
obnoxious word, the Homoousion, or Con- 
substantialism. But the inflexible ortho- 
doxy of Athanasius will admit no compro- 
mise ; nothing less than complete unity, 
not merely of expression, but of mental 
conception, will satisfy the rigour of the 
ecclesiastical dictator, who will permit no 
single letter, and, as far as he can detect 
it, no shadow of thought, to depart from 
his peremptory creed. He denounces his 
adversaries, for the least deviation, as en- 
emies of Christ; he presses them with 
consequences drawn from their opinions ; 


and, instead of spreading wide the gates. 


of Christianity, he seems to unbar them 
with jealous reluctance, and to admit no 
one without the most cool and inquisito- 
rial scrutiny into the most secret arcana 
of his belief. 

In the writings of Athanasius is imbod- 
ied the perfection of polemic di- Athanasius 
vinity. His style,indeed, has no 88 8 writer. 
splendour, no softness, nothing to kindle 
the imagination or melt the heart. Acute 
even to subtlety, he is too earnest to de- 
generate into scholastic trifling. It is 
stern logic, addressed to the reason of 
those who admitted the authority of 
Christianity. There is no dispassionate 
examination, no candid philosophic. in- 
quiry, no calm statement of his adversa- 
ries’ case, no liberal acknowledgment of 
the infinite difficulties of the subject, 
scarcely any consciousness of the total 
insufficiency of human language to trace 
the question to its depths ; all is peremp- 
tory, dictatorial, imperious; the severe 
conviction of the truth of his own opin- 
ions, and the inference that none but cul- 
pable motives, either of pride, or strife, 
or ignorance, can blind his adversaries to 
their cogent and irrefragable certainty. 
Athanasius walks on the narrow and per- 
ilous edge of orthodoxy with a firmness 


and confidence which it is impossible not. 


ἧς 


342 


to admire. It cannot be doubted that he 
was deeply, intimately persuaded that the 
vital power and energy, the truth, the con- 
solatory force of Christianity, entirely de- 
pended on the unquestionable elevation of 
the Saviour to the most absolute equality 
with the Parent Godhead. ‘The ingenuity 
with which he follows out his own views 
of the consequences of their errors is 
wonderfully acute ; but the thought con- 
stantly occurs, whether a milder and more 
conciliating tone would not have healed 
the wounds of afflicted Christianity ; wheth- 
er his lofty spirit is not conscious that his 
native element is that of strife rather than 
of peace.* 

Though nothing can contrast more 
strongly with the expansive and liberal 
spirit of primitive Christianity than the 
repulsive tone of this exclusive theology, 
yet this remarkable phasis of Christianity 
seems to have been necessary, and not 
without advantage to the permanence of 
the religion. With the civilization of 
mankind, Christianity was about to pass 
through the ordeal of those dark ages 
which followed the irruption of the barba- 
rians. During this period Christianity 
was to subsist as the conservative princi- 
ple of social order and the sacred charities 
of life; the sole, if not always faithful, 
guardian of ancient knowledge, of letters, 
and of arts. But, in order to preserve its 
own existence, it assumed, of necessity, 
another form. It must have a splendid 
and imposing ritual to command the bar- 
barous minds of its new proselytes, and 
one which might be performed by an illit- 
erate priesthood; for the mass of the 
priesthood could not but be involved in 
the general darkness of the times, It 
must likewise have brief and definite for- 
mularies of doctrine. As the original lan- 
guages, and even the Latin, fell into disuse, 
and before the modern languages of Eu- 
rope were sufficiently formed to admit of 
translations, the sacred writings receded 
from general use; they became the depos- 
itaries of Christian doctrine, totally inac- 
cessible to the laity, and almost as much 
so to the lower clergy. Creeds therefore 
Necessity of became of essential importance 
igi to compress the leading points 
ceeding cen- Of Christian doctrine into a small 
turies. compass. Andas the barbarous 
and ignorant mind cannot endure the vague 
and the indefinite, so it was essential that 
the main points of doctrine should be fixed 
and cast into plain and emphatic proposi- 


* At a later period Athanasius seems to have 
been less rigidly exclusive against the semi-Arians. 
—Compare Mohler, ii., p. 230. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tions. The theological language was firm- 
ly established before the violent breaking 
up of society, and no more was required 
of the barbarian convert than to accept, 


| with uninquiring submission, the establish- 


ed formulary of the faith, and gaze in awe- 
struck veneration at the solemn ceremo- 
nial. 

The Athanasian controversy powerfully 
contributed to establish the su- |, F 
premacy of the Roman pontiff. τε σάν 
It became almost a contest be- sian contro- 
tween Eastern and Western jrovinot 
Christendom ; atleast the West the papal 
was neither divided like the Powe 
East, nor submitted with the same com- 
paratively willing obedience to the dom- 
ination of Arianism under the imperial au- 
thority. It was necessary that some one 
great prelate should take the lead in this 
internecine strife. The only Western 
bishop whom his character would desig- 
nate as this leader was Hosius, the bishop 
of Cordova. But age had now disqualified 
this good man, whose moderation, abili- 
ties, and probably important services to 
Christianity in the conversion of Constan- 
tine had recommended him to the com- 
mon acceptance of the Christian world as 
president of the Council of Nice. Where 
this acknowledged superiority of character 
and talent was wanting, the dignity of the 
see would command the general respect ; 
and what see could compete, at least in 
the West, with Rome? Antioch, Alexan- 
drea, or Constantinople could alone rival, 
in pretensions to Christian supremacy, the 
old metropolis of the empire ; and those 
sees were either fiercely contested or oc- 
cupied by Arian prelates. Athanasius him- 
self, by his residence at two separate pe- 
riods at Rome, submitted, as it were, his 
cause to the Roman pontiff. Rome be- 
came the centre of the ecclesiastical af- 
fairs of the West; and, since the Trinita- 
rian opinions eventually triumphed through 
the whole of Christendom, the firmness and 
resolution with which the Roman pontiffs, 
notwithstanding the temporary fall of Li- 
berius, adhered to the orthodox faith; their 
uncompromising attachment to Athana- 
sius, who by degrees was sanctified and 
canonized in the memory of Christendom, 
might be one groundwork for that belief 
in their infallibility, which, however it 
would have been repudiated by Cyprian, 
and never completely prevailed in the East, 
became throughout the West the inalien- 
able spiritual heirloom of the Roman pon- 
tiffs. Christian history will hereafter show 
how powerfully this monarchical principle, 
if not established, yet greatly strengthen- 
ed by these consequences of the Athan- 


~ 


᾿ 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


asian controversy, tended to consolidate, 
and so to maintain, in still expanding in- 
fluence, the Christianity of Europe.* 
This conflict continued with unabated 
Superiority of Vigour till the close of the reign 
Ananism. οἱ Constantius. Arianism grad- 
ually assumed the ascendant through the 
violence and the arts of the emperor; all 
the more distinguished of the orthodox 
bishops were in exile, or at least in dis- 
grace. Though the personal influence of 
Athanasius was still felt throughout Chris- 
tendom, his obscure place of concealment 
was probably unknown to the greater part 
of his own adherents. The aged Hosius 
had died in his apostacy. Hilary of Poic- 
tiers, the bishop of Milan, and the violent 
Lucifer of Cagliari, were in exile, and 
though Constantius had consented to the 
return of Liberius to his see, he had re- 
turned with the disgrace of having con- 
sented to sign the new formulary framed 
at Sirmium, where the term Consubstan- 
tial, if not rejected, was at least suppress- 
ed. Yet the popularity of Liberius was 
undiminished, and the whole city indig- 
nantly rejected the insidious proposition 
of Constantius, that Liberius and his rival 
Felix should rule the see with conjoint au- 
thority. ‘The parties had already come to 
blows, and even to bloodshed, when Felix, 
who, it was admitted, had never swerved 
from the creed of Nice, and whose sole 
offence was entering into communion with 
the Arians, either from moderation, or 
conscious of the inferiority of his party, 


. withdrew to a neighbouring city, where 


ba 


he soon closed his days, and relieved the 
Christians of Rome from the apprehension 
of a rival pontiff. The unbending resist- 
ance of the Athanasians was no doubt con- 
firmed, not merely by the variations of the 
Arian creed, but by the new opinions which 
they considered its legitimate offspring, 
and which appeared to justify their worst 
apprehensions of its inevitable consequen- 


* The orthodox Synod of Sardica admits the su- 
perior dignity of the successor of St. Peter. Hoc 
enim optimum et valde congruentissimum esse vi- 
debitur, si ad caput, id est, ad Petri Apostoli sedem, 


de singulis quibusque provinciis Domini referant 


sacerdotes.—Epist. Syn. Sard. apud Hilarium, 
Fragm., Oper. Hist., 11., c. 9. It was disclaimed 
with equal distinctness by the seceding Arians. 
Novam legem introducere putaverunt, ut Orientales 
Episcopi ab Occidentalibus judicarentur.—Fragm., 
jii., c. 19. In a subsequent clause they condemn 
Julius, bishop of Rome, by name, It is difficult to 
calculate the effect which would commonly be pro- 
duced on men’s minds by their involving in one 
common cause the two tenets, which, in fact, bore 
no relation to each other—the orthodox belief in the 
Trinity, and the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome. 
—Sozomen, iv., 11,13. Theodoret, ii., 17, Phi- 
lostorgius, iv., 3, 


343 


ees. Aetius formed a new sect, which 
not merely denied the consub- feresy of 
stantiality, but the similitude of Aetius, 
the Son to the Father, He yvas not only 
not of the same, but of a totally different 
nature. Aetius, according to the acccunt 
of his adversaries, was a bold and unprin- 
cipled adventurer,* and the career of a 
person of this class is exemplified in his 
life. The son of a soldier, at one time 
condemned to death and to the confiscation 
of his property, Aetius became an hum- 
ble artisan, first as a worker in copper, af- 
terward in gold. His dishonest practices 
obliged him to give up the trade, but not 
before he had acquired some property. 
He attached himself to Paulinus, bishop 
of Antioch; was expelled from the city 
by his successor; studied grammar at 
Anazarba; was encouraged by the Arian 
bishop of that see, named Athanasius ; re- 
turned to Antioch ; was ordained deacon, 
and again expelled the city. Discomfited 
in a public disputation with a Gnostic, he 
retired to Alexandrea, where, being exer- 
cised in the art of rhetoric, he revenged 
himself ona Manichean, who died of shame. 
He then became a public itinerant teacher, 
practising at the same time his lucrative 
art of a goldsmith. The Arians rejected 
Aetius with no less earnest indignation 
than the orthodox, but they could not es- 
cape being implicated, as it were, in his 
unpopularity ; and the odious Anomeans, 
those who denied the szmilitude of the Son 
to the Father, brought new discredit even 
on the more temperate partisans of the 
Arian creed. Another heresiarch, of a 
higher rank, still farther brought disrepute 
on the Arian party. Macedonius, the bish- 
op of Constantinople, to the Arian ofMacedo- 
tenet of the inequality ofthe Son nius. 
to the Father, added the total denial of the 
Divinity of the Holy Ghost. 
Council still followed council. Though 
we may not concur with the Arian bish- 
ops in ascribing to their adversaries the 
whole blame of this perpetual tumult and 
confusion in the Christian world, caused 
by these incessant assemblages of the 
clergy, there must have been much mel- 
ancholy truth in their statement, ‘ The 


* Socrates, il., 35, Sozomen, πῆρ Vig wtih 2: 
Philostorg., iii., 15, 17. Suidas, voc. Agrios. Epi- 


phan, Heres.,76. Gregor. Nyss. contra Eunom. 


The most curious part in the history of Aetius is 
his attachment to the Aristotelian philosophy. With 
him appears te have begun the long strife between 
Aristotelianism and Platonismin the Church. Ae- 
tias, to prove his unimaginative doctrines, employ- 
ed the severe and prosaic categories of Aristotle, 
repudiating the prevailing Platonic mode of argu- 
ment used by Origen and Clement of Alexandrea, 
—Socrates, ii.,c, 35, 


344 tg 


East and the West are in a perpetual state 
of restlessness and disturbance. Desert- 
ing our spiritual charges, abandoning the 
people of God, neglecting the preaching 
of the Gospel, we are hurried about from 
place to place, sometimes to great dis- 
tances, some of us infirm with age, with 


» feeble constitutions or ill health, and are 


+ 


sometimes obliged to leave our sick breth- 
ren on the road. The whole administra- 
tion of the empire, of the emperor him- 
self, the tribune’, and the commanders, 
at this fearful crisis of the state, are sole- 
ly occupied with the lives and the condi- 
tion of the bishops. The people are by 
no means unconcerned. The whole broth- 
erhood watches in anxious suspense the 
event of these troubles; the establish- 
ment of post-horses is worn out by our 
journeyings ; and all on account of a few 
wretches, who, if they had the least re- 
maining sense of religion, would say with 
the Prophet Jonah, ‘ ‘Take us up and cast 


us into the sea; so shall the sea be calm 


unto you; for we know that it is on our 
account that this great tempest is upon 
us.’ De 

The synod at Sirmium had no effect in 
reconciling the differences or affirming the 
superiority of either party. A double 
council was appointed, of the Eastern prel- 
ates at Seleucia, of the Western at Rimini. 
The Arianism of the emperor himself had 
by this time degenerated still farther from 
the creed of Nice. Eudoxus, who had 
espoused the Anomean doctrines of Ae- 
tius, ruled his untractable but passive 
Council of Mind. The Council of Rimini 
Rimini. consisted of at least 400 bishops, 
of whom not above eighty were Arians. 
Their resolutions were firm and peremp- 
tory. They repudiated the Arian doc- 
trines ; they expressed their rigid adhe- 
rence to the formulary of Nice. Ten 
bishops, however, of each party were de- 
puted to communicate their decrees to 
Constantius. The ten Arians were re- 
ceived with the utmost respect, their ri- 
vals with every kind of slight and neg- 
lect. Insensibly they were admitted to 


‘more intimate intercourse ; the flatteries, | 


perhaps the bribes, of the emperor pre- 
vailed; they returned, having signed a 
formulary directly opposed to their in- 
structions, Their reception at first was 
unpromising ; but by degrees the council, 
from which its firmest and most resolute 
members had gradually departed, and in 
which many poor and aged bishops still 
retained their seat, wearied, perplexed, 
worn out by the expense and discomfort 


* Hilar., Oper. Hist., Fragm., xi., 6 95: 


͵ ΓῪΨ" 
h 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANE. 


of a long residence in a foreign city, con- 
sented to sign a creed in which the con- 
tested word, the Homoousion, was care- 
fully suppressed.* Arianism was thus de- 
liberately adopted by a council of which 
the authority was undisputed. ‘The world, 
says Jerome, groaned to find itself Arian. 
But, on their return to their dioceses, the 
indignant prelates everywhere protested 
against the fraud and violence which had 
been practised against them. New per- 
secutions followed: Gaudentius, bishop of 
Rimini, lost his life. P 


The triumph of Arianism was far easier. 


among the hundred and sixty bishops as- 
sembled at Seleucia. 
fatal to their cause: the Arians, and semi- 
Arians, and Anomeans, mingled in tumult- 
uous strife, and hurled mutual anathemas 
against each other. The new council met 
at Constantinople. By some strange po- 
litical or religious vicissitude, the party of 
the Anomeans triumphed, while Aetius, 
its “author, was sent into banishment.f 
Macedonius was deposed; Eudoxus of 
Antioch was translated to the imperial 
see; and the solemn dedication of the 
Church of St. Sophia was celebrated by a 
prelate who denied the similitude of na- 
ture between the Father and the Son. 
The whole Christian world was in confu- 
sion; these fatal feuds penetrated almost 
as far as the Gospel itself had reached. 
The emperor, whose alternately partial 
vehemence and subtlety had inflamed 
rather than allayed the tumult, found his 
authority set at naught; a deep, stern, and 
ineradicable resistance opposed the impe- 
rial decrees. A large portion of the em- 
pire proclaimed aloud that there were 
limits to the imperial despotism; that 
there was-a higher allegiance, which su- 
perseded that due to the civil authority ; 
that in affairs of religion they would not 
submit to the appointment of superiors 


who did not profess their views of Chris- 


* It is curious enough that the Latin language 
did not furnish terms to express this fine distinc- 
tion. Some Western prelates, many of whom 
probably did not understand a word of Greek, pro- 
posed, ‘‘jam usie et Homoousii nomina recedant 
que in divinis Scripturis de Deo, et Dei Filio, non 
inveniuntur scripta.”—Apud Hilarium, Oper. Hist., 
Fragm., ix. 

+ Aetius and Eunomius seem to have been the 
heroes of the historian Philostorgius, fragments of 
whose history have been preserved by the pious 
hostility of Photius. This diminishes our regret 
for the loss of the original work, which would be 
less curious than.a genuine Arian history. _Philos- 
torgius seems to object to the anti-materialist view 
of the Deity maintained by the semi-Arian Euse- 
bius, and, according to him, by Arius himself. He 
reproaches Eusebius with asserting the Deity to be 
incomprehensible and inconceivable: ἄγνωστος καὶ 
axataAnnro¢.—Lib. i., 2, 3. ᾿ 


But it was more 


_ of a tyrannical relative. 


~~ 


tian orthodoxy.* The emperor himself, 
by mingling with almost fanatical passion 
and zeal in these controversies, at once 
lowered himself to the level of his sub- 
jects, and justified the importance which 
they attached to these questions. If Con- 
stantius had firmly, calmly, and consist- 
ently enforced mutual toleration—if he 
had set the example of Christian modera- 
tion and temper; if he had set his face 
solely against the stern refusal of Athan- 
asius and his party to admit the Arians 
into communion—he might, perhaps, have 


a . 
ty HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | 


345 


retained some influence over the contend- 
ing parties. But he was not content with- 
out enforcing the dominance of the Arian 
party ; he dignified Athanasius with the 
hatred of a personal enemy, almost of a 
rival; and his subjects, by his own appa- 
rent admission that these were questions 
of spiritual life and death, were compelled 
to pustpone his decrees to those of God; 
to obey their bishops, who held the keys 
of heaven and hell, rather than Cesar, who 
could only afflict them with civil disabili- 
ties, or penalties in this life. 


CHAPTER VI. ite 


JULIAN. 


Amin all this intestine strife within the 
pale of Christianity, and this conflict be- 
tween the civil and religious authorities 
concerning their respective limits, pagan- 
ism made a desperate effort to regain its 


- lostsupremacy. Julian has, perhaps, been 


somewhat unfairly branded with the ill- 
sounding name of Apostate. His Chris- 
tianity was but the compulsory obedience 
of youth to the distasteful lessons of edu- 
cation, enforced by the hateful authority 
As early as the 
maturity of his reason—at least as soon 
as he dared to reveal his secret sentiments 
—he avowed his preference for the ancient 
paganism. j 

The most astonishing part of Julian’s 
history is the development and partial ful- 
filment of all his vast designs during a 
reign of less than two years. His own 
age wondered at the rapidity with which 
the young emperor accomplished his mili- 
tary, civil, and religious schemes.t During 
his separate and subordinate command as 
Cesar, his time was fully occupied with 
his splendid campaigns upon the Rhine.f 
Julian was the vindicator of the old majes- 
ty of the empire; he threw back with a 
bold and successful effort the inroad of 
barbarism, which already threatened to 
overwhelm the Roman civilization of Gaul. 


“ta Hilary quotes the sentence of St. Paul. Ubi 


fides est, ibi et libertas est; in allusion to the em- 
peror’s assuming the cognizance over religious 
questions.—Oper. Hist. Fragm., i., c. 5. 

+ Dicet aliquis: quomodo tam multa tam brevi 
tempore. Et recté. Sed Imperator noster addit ad 
tempus quod otio suo detrahit. * * * Itaque grand- 
gevum jam imperium videbitur his, qui non ratione 
dierum et mensium, sed operum multitudine et ef- 
fectarum rerum modo Juliani tempora metientur. 
—Mamertini Grat. Actio, c. xiv. 

} Six years, from 355 to 361. 

Hu 


During the two unfinished years οι ποτ rien 
of his sole government, Julian of julian, 
had reunited the whole Roman A.D. 361- 
empire under his single sceptre ; 

he had reformed the army, the court, the 
tribunals of justice; he had promulgated 
many useful laws, which maintained their 
place in the jurisprudence of the empire ; 
he had established peace on all the fron- 
tiers; he had organized a large and well- 
disciplined force to chastise the Persians 
for their aggressions on the eastern border, 
and by a formidable diversion within their 
own territories, to secure the Euphratic 
provinces against the most dangerous rival 
of the Roman power. During all these 
engrossing cares of empire, he devoted 
himself with the zeal and activity of a 
mere philosopher and man of letters to 
those more tranquil pursuits. The con- 
queror of the Franks and the antagonist 
of Sapor delivered lectures in the schools, 
and published works which, whatever 
may be thought of their depth and truth, 
display no mean powers of composition : 
as a writer, Julian will compete with most 
of his age. Besides all this, his vast and 
restless spirit contemplated, and had 8]- 


ready commenced, nothing less than a total 
change in the religion of the empire; not 


merely the restoration of paganism to the 
legal supremacy which it possessed before 
the reign of Constantine, and the degrada- 
tion of Christianity into a private sect, 
but the actual extirpation of the new reli- 
gion from the minds of men by the revi- 
ving energies of a philosophic, and, at the 
same time, profoundly religious paganism. 


The genius of ancient Rome and of an- 


cient Greece might appear to re- Character 
vive in amicable union in the soul of Julian. 
of Julian. The unmeasured military am- 


ν 


ail 


346 


bition, which turned the defensive into a 
war of aggression on all the imperilled 
frontiers; the broad and vigorous legisla- 
tion; the unity of administration; the 
severer tone of manners, which belonged 
to the better days of Rome ; the fine cul- 
tivation; the perspicuous philosophy ; the 
lofty conceptions of moral greatness and 
purity, which distinguished the old Athe- 
nian. If the former (the Roman military 
enterprise) met eventually with the fate 
οἵ Crassus or of Varus rather than the 
glorious successes of Germanicus or Tra- 
jan, the times were more in fault than the 
general ; if the latter (the Grecian eleva- 
tion and elegance of mind) more resem- 
bled at times the affectation of the sophist 
and the coarseness of the Cynic than the 
lofiy views and exquisite harmony of 
Plato or the practical wisdom of Socrates, 
the effete and exhausted state of Grecian 
letters and philosophy must likewise be 
taken into the account.* 

In the uncompleted two years of his 
sole empire,t Julian had advanced so far 
in the restoration of the internal vigour 
and unity of adminstration, that it is doubt- 
ful how much farther, but for. the fatal 
Persian campaign, he might have fulfilled 
the visions of his noble ambition. He 
might have averted, at least for a time, the 
terrible calamities which burst upon the 
Roman world during the reign of Valen- 
tinian and Valens. But, difficult and des- 
perate as the enterprise might appear, the 
reorganization of a decaying empire was 
less impracticable than the restoration of 
an extinguishing religion. A religion may 
awaken from indifference, and resume its 
dominion over the minds of men; but not, 
if supplanted by a new form of faith, which 
has identified itself with the opinions and 
sentiments of the general mind. It can 
never dethrone a successful invader, who 
has been recognised as a lawful sovereign. 
And Christianity (could the clear and saga- 
cious mind of Julian be blind to this essen- 
tial difference?) had occupied the whole 
soul of man with a fulness and confidence 
which belonged, and could belong, to no 
former religion. It had intimately blended 
together the highest truths of philosophy 
with the purest morality; the loftiest 
speculation with the most practical spirit. 
The vague theory of another life, timidly 
and dimly announced by the later pagan- 

* {Mosheim (Instit. of Εἰ. H., vol. i., p. 219, ὅτε.) 
will not allow Julian to have possessed true great- 
ness. “Τ he was in some respects superior to the 
sons of Constantine, he was in many respects in- 
ferior to Constantine himself, whom he censures so 
immoderately.’’] 

+ One year, eight months, and twenty-three days. 
—La Bleterie, Vie de Julien, p. 494. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


jism, could ill compete with the deep and 
intense conviction now rooted in the hearts 
of a large part of mankind by Christianity ; 
the source in some of harrowing fears, in 
others of the noblest hopes. 

Julian united in his own mind, and at- 
tempted to work into his new re- Religion of 
ligion, the two incongruous char- Julian. 
acters of a zealot for the older supersti- 
tions and for the more modern philosophy 
of Greece. He had fused together, in that 
which appeared to him a harmonious sys- 
tem, Homer and Plato. He thought that 
the whole ritual of sacrifice would com- 
bine with that allegoric interpretation of 
the ancient mythology which undeified the 
greater part of the heathen Pantheon. 
All that paganism had borrowed from 
Christianity, it had rendered cold and pow-. 
erless. The one Supreme Deity was a 
name and an abstract conception, a meta- 
physical being. ‘The visible representa- 
tive of the Deity, the Sun, which was in 
general an essential part of the new sys- 
tem, was, after all, foreign and Oriental ; 
it belonged to the genuine mythology 
neither of Greece nor Rome. The The- 
urgy, or awful and sublime communion of 
the mind with the spiritual world, was ei- 
ther too fine and fanciful for the vulgar be- 
lief, or associated, in the dim confusion of 
the popular conception, with that magic 
against which the laws of Rome had pro- 
tested with such stern solemnity, and 
which, therefore, however eagerly pursu- 
ed, and reverenced with involuntary awe, 
was always associated with impressions 
of its unlawfulness and guilt. Christiani- 
ty, on the other hand, had completely in- 
corporated with itself all that it had admit- 
ted from paganism, or which, if we may 
so speak, constituted the pagan part of 
Christianity. The heathen Theurgy, even 
in its purest form, its dreamy intercourse 
with the intermediate race of deemons, was 
poor and ineffective compared with the 
diabolic and angelic agency which became 
more and more mingled up with Christi- 
anity. Where these subordinate demons 
were considered by the more philosophic 
pagan to have been the older deities of the 
popular faith, it was rather a degradation 
of the ancient worship; where this was 
not the case, this fine perception of the 
spiritual world was the secret of the initi- 
ate few rather than the all-pervading su- 
perstition of the. many. The Christian 
demonology, on the other hand, which be- 
gan to be heightened and multiplied by the 
fantastic imagination of the monks brood- 
ing in their solitudes, seemed at least to 
grow naturally out of the religious system. 
The gradual darkening into superstition 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


was altogether imperceptible, and harmo- 
nized entirely with the general feelings of, 
the time. Christianity was a living plant, 
which imparted its vitality to the foreign 
suckers grafted uponit ; the dead and sap- 
less trunk of paganism withered even the 
living boughs which were blended with it 
by its own inevitable decay. 

On the other hand, Christianity at no 
period could appear in a less 
amiable and attractive light toa 
mind preindisposed to its recep- 
tion. It was in a state of universal fierce 
and implacable discord: the chief cities of 
the empire had run with blood shed in re- 
ligious quarrels. The sole object of the 
conflicting parties seemed to be to confine 
to themselves the temporal and spiritual 
blessings of the faith ; toexclude as many 
as they might from that eternal life, and 
to anathematize to that eternal death, 
which were revealed by the Gospel, and 
placed, according to the general belief, un- 
der the special authority of the clergy. 
Society seemed to be split up into irrec- 
oncilable parties; to the animosities of 
pagan and Christian were now added those 
of Christian and Christian. Christianity 
had passed through its earlier period of 
noble moral enthusiasm; of the energy 
with which it addressed its first proclama- 
tion of its doctrines to man; of the digni- 
ty with which it stood aloof from the in- 
trigues and vices of the world; and of its 
admirable constancy under persecution. 
It had not fully attained its second state 
as a religion generally established in the 
minds of men, by a dominant hierarchy of 
unquestioned authority. Its great truths 
had no longer the striking charm of nov- 
elty; nor were they yet universally and 
profoundly implanted in the general mind 
by hereditary transmission or early edu- 
cation, and ratified by the unquestioning 
sanction of ages. 

The early education of Julian had been, 
it might almost appear, studiously and 
skilfully conducted, so as to show the 
brighter side of paganism, the darker of 
Christianity. His infant years had been 
clouded by the murder of his father. How 
far his mind might retain any impression 
of this awful event, or remembrance of 
the place of his refuge, the Christian 
Church, or the saviour of his life, the vir- 
tuous Bishop of ‘Arethusa, it is of course 
impossible to conjecture. But his first in- 
structer was a man who, born a Scythian 
and educated in Greece,* united the severe 
morality of his ruder ancestors with the 

* His name was Mardonius.—Julian., ad Athen. 


et Misopogon. Socrat., E. H., iii., 1. Amm, Marc., 
XXii., 12. 


Unfavoura- 
dle state of 
Christianity. 


347 


elegance of Grecian accomplishments. 
He enforced upon his young pupil the 
strictest modesty, contempt for the licen- 
tious or frivolous pleasures of youth, the 
theatre and the bath. At the same time, 
while he delighted his mind with the poe- 
try of Homer, his graver studies were the 
Greek and Latin languages, the elements 
of the philosophy of Greece, and music, 
that original and attractive element of 
Grecian education.* At the age of about 
fourteen or fifteen Julian was shut up, with 
his. brother Gallus, in Macelle, a fortress 
in Asia Minor, and committed, in this sort 
of honourable prison, to the rigid superin- 
tendence of ecclesiastics. By his Education 
Christian instructers the young °% Julian, 
and ardent Julian was bound down to a 
course of the strictest observances; the 
midnight vigil, the fast, the long and wea- 
ry prayer, and visits to the tombs of mar- 
tyrs, rather than a wise and rational initi- 
ation in the genuine principles of the Gos- 
pel, or a judicious familiarity with the 
originality, the beauty, and the depth of 
the Christian morals and Christian reli- 
gion. He was taught the virtue of im- 
plicit submission to his ecclesiastical su- 
periors; the munificence of conferring 
gifts upon the churches ; with his brother 
Gallus he was permitted, or, rather, inci- 
ted to build a chapel over the tomb of St. 
Mammas.t For six years he bitterly as- 
serts that he was deprived of every kind 
of useful instruction.{ Julian and his 
brother, it is even said, were ordained 
readers, and officiated in public in that 
character. But the passages of the sacred 
writings with which he might thus have 
become acquainted were imposed as les- 
sons; and in the mind of Julian, Christi- 
anity, thus taught and enforced, was in- 
separably connected with the irksome and 
distasteful feelings of confinement and 
degradation. Noyouths of his own rank 
or of ingenuous birth were permitted to 
visit his prison; he was reduced, as he in- 
dignantly declares, to the debasing socie- 
ty of slaves. 

At the age of twenty Julian was per- 


* See the high character of this man in the Mis- 
opogon, p. 351. 

+ Julian is said even thus early to have betrayed 
his secret inclinations ; in his declamations he took 
delight in defending the cause of paganism against 
Christianity. A prophetic miracle foreboded his fu- 
ture course. While this church rose expeditiously 
under the labour of Gallus, the obstinate stones 
would not obey that of Julian; an invisible hand 
disturbed the foundations, and threw down all his 
work. Gregory Nazianzen declares that he had 
heard this from eyewitnesses ; Sozomen, from those 
who had heard it from eyewitnesses.—Greg., Or. 
lii., p. 59-61. Sozomen, v., 2. 

1 Idvrog μαθήματος σπουδαίου. 


348 


mitted to reside in Constantinople, after- 
ward at Nicomedia. The jealousy of Con- 
stantius was excited by the popular de- 
meanour, sober manners, and the reputa- 
tion for talents, which directed all eyes 
‘towards his youthful nephew. He dis- 
missed him to the more dangerous and 
fatal residence in Nicomedia, in the neigh- 
bourhood of the most celebrated and most 
attractive of the pagan party. The most 
faithful adherents of paganism were that 
class with which the tastes and inclina- 
tions of Julian brought him into close in- 
timacy ; the sophists, the men of letters, 
the rhetoricians, the poets, the philoso- 
phers. He was forbidden, indeed, perhaps 
by the jealousy of his appointed instruct- 
er Ecebolus, who at this time conformed 
to the religion of the court, to hear the 
dangerous lectures of Libanius, equally 
celebrated for his eloquence and his. ar- 
dent attachment to the old religion. But 
Τα] αι obtained his writings, which he de- 
Intercourse VOured with all the delight of a 
with the stolen enjoyment.* He formed 
philosophers. gn intimate acquaintance with 
the heads of the philosophic school, with 
/idesius, his pupils Eusebius and Chry- 
santhius, and at last with the famous Max- 
imus. These men are accused of practi- 
sing the most subtle and insidious arts upon 
the character of their ardent and youthful 
votary. His grave and meditative mind 
imbibed with eager delight the solemn 
mysticism of their tenets, which were im- 
pressed more deeply by significant and 
awful ceremonies. A magician at Nico- 
media first excited his curiosity and tempt- 
ed him to enter on these exciting courses. 
At Pergamus he visited the aged Aidesius ; 
and the manner in which these philoso- 
phers passed Julian onward from one to 
another, as if through successive stages 
of initiation in their mysterious doc- 
trines, bears the appearance of a deliber- 
ate scheme to work him up to their pur- 
poses. The aged Aidesius addressed him 
as the favoured child of wisdom; declined 
the important charge of his instruction, 
but commended him to his pupils Euse- 
bius and Chrysanthius, who could unlock 
the inexhaustible source of light and wis- 
dom. ‘If you should attain the supreme 
felicity of being initiated in their myste- 
ries, you will blush to have been born a 
man; you will no longer endure the name.” 
‘The pupils of Aidesius fed the greedy 
mind of the proselyte with all their stores 
of wisdom, and then skilfully unfolded the 
greater fame of Maximus. Eusebius pro- 
fessed to despise the vulgar arts of won- 


* Liban., Orat. Par., t. i., p. 526. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 


der-working, at least in comparison with 
the purification of the soul; but he de- 
scribed the power of Maximus in terms 
to which Julian could not listen without 
awe and wonder. Maximus had led them 
into the temple of Hecate; he had burned 
a few grains of incense, he had murmured 
a hymn, and the statue of the goddess was 
seen to smile. They were awe-struck ; 
but Maximus declared that this was no- 
thing. The lamps throughout the temple 
shall immediately burst into light: as he 
spoke, they kindled and blazed up. “ But 
of these mystical wonder-workers we 
think lightly,” proceeded the skilful speak- 
er; ‘do thou, like us, think only of the in- 
ternal purification of the reason.” ‘ Keep 
to your book,” broke out the impatient 
youth; “this is the man 1 seek.”* He 
hastened to Ephesus. The person and 
demeanour of Maximus were well suited 
to keep up the illusion. He was avener- 
able man, with a long white beard, with 
keen eyes, great activity, soft and persua- 
sive voice, rapid and fluent eloquence. 
By Maximus, who summoned Chrysan- 
thius to him, Julian was brought into direct 
communion with the invisible world. The 
faithful and officious genii from this time 
watched over Julian in peace and war ; 
they conversed with him in his slumbers, 
they warned him of dangers, they conduct- 
ed his military operations. Thus far we 
proceed on the authority of pagan writers ; 
the scene of his solemn initiation rests on 
the more doubtful testimony of Christian 
historians,t which, as they were little 
likely to be admitted into the secrets of 
these dark and hidden rites, is to be re- 
ceived with grave suspicion, more espe- 
cially as they do not scruple to embellish 
them with Christian miracle. Julian was 
led first into a temple, then into a subter- 


ranean crypt, in almost total darkness. “es 


The evocations were made; wild and ter- 
rible sounds were heard; spectres of fire 
jibbered around. Julian, in his sudden ter- 
ror, made the sign of the cross. All dis- 
appeared, all was silent. Twice this took 
place, and Julian could not but express to 
Maximus his astonishment at the power 
of this sign. “The gods,” returned the 
dexterous philosopher, “ will have no com- 
munion with so profane a worshipper.” 
From this time it is said, on better au- 


thority,t that Julian burst, like a lion in — 


his wrath, the slender ties which bound 
him to Christianity. But he was still con- 
strained to dissemble his secret apostacy. 
His enemies declared that he redoubled 


* Eunapins, in Vit. Aidesii et Maximi. Ὁ 
+ Greg. Naz., Orat. ili, 71. Theodoret, tii., 3. 
f{ Libanius. . 


Ἵ 


4 


“ 


” 


distinction. 


Ὁ 
7 


_ * Ad Senatum Populumque Atheniensem.—Ju- | 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


349 


his outward zeal for Christianity, and even| ruled the mind of Constantius. But he 
shaved his head in conformity with the | had been exposed to the ignominy of ar- 


monastic practice. His brother Gallus 
had some suspicion of his secret views, 


aad sent the Arian bishop Aétius to con- 
irm him in the faith. 


-_ How far Julian, in this time of danger, 
Conduct of Stooped to disguise his real sen- 
Constantins timents, it were rash to decide. 
to Julian. But it would by no means com- 
mend Christianity to the respect and at- 
tachment of Julian, that it was the religion 
of his imperial relative. Popular rumour 
did not acquit Constantius of the murder 
of Julian’s father; and Julian himself af- 
terward publicly avowed his belief in this 
crime.* He had probably owed his own 
escape to his infant age and the activity 
of his friends. Up to this time his life 
had been the precarious and permissive 
boon of a jealous tyrant, who had inflicted 
on him every kind of degrading restraint. 
His place of education had been a prison, 
and his subsequent liberty watched with 
suspicious vigilance. The personal reli- 
gion of Constantius; his embarking with 
alternate violence and subtlety in theo- 
logical disputations; his vacillation be- 
tween timid submission to priestly au- 
thority and angry persecution, were not 
likely to make a favourable impression on 
a wavering mind. The pagans them- 
selves, if we may take the best historian 
of the time as the representative of their 
opinions,t considered that Constantius 
dishonoured the Christian religion by min- 
gling up its perspicuous simplicity with 
anile superstition. If there was little 
genuine Christianity in the theological 
discussions of Constantius, there had been 
less of its beautiful practical spirit in his 
conductto Julian. It had allayed no jeal- 
ousy, mitigated no hatred ; it had not re- 
strained his temper from overbearing tyr- 
anny, nor kept his hands clean from blood. 
And now the death of his brother Gallus, 
to whom he seems to have cherished 
warm attachment, was a new evidence of 
the capricious and unhumanized tyranny 
of Constantius, a fearful omen of the un- 
certainty of his own life under such a 
despotism. He had beheld the advance- 
ment and the fate of his brother; and his 
future destiny presented the alternative 
either of ignominious obscurity or fatal 
His life was spared only 
through the casual interference of the hu- 


» mane and enlightened empress; and her 


influence gained but a slow and difficult 
triumph over the malignant eunuchs who 


᾿ 


.. 
. Ὁ 


lian., Oper., p. 270. + Ammianus Marcellinus. 


rest and imprisonment, and a fearful sus- 
pense of seven weary months.* His mo- 
tions, his words, were watched; his very 
heart scrutinized ; he was obliged to sup- 
press the natural emotions of grief for the 
death of his brother ; to impose silence on 
his fluent eloquence, and act the hypo- 
crite to nature as well as to religion. His 
retreat was Athens, of all cities julian at 
in the empire that, probably, in Athens. 
which paganism still maintained the high- 
est ascendancy, and appeared in the most 
attractive form. The political religion of 
Rome had its stronghold in the capital ; 
that of Greece in the centre of intellect- 
ual culture and of the fine arts. Athens 
might still be considered the university of 
the empire ; from all quarters, particularly 
of the East, young men of talent and 
promise crowded to complete their stud- 
ies in those arts of grammar, rhetoric, 
philosophy, which, however, by no means 
disdained by the Christians, might still be 
considered as more strictly attached to 
the pagan interest. a 
Among the Christian students who at 
this time paid the homage of their resi- 
dence to this great centre of intellectual 
culture, were Basil and Gregory of Nazi- 
anzum. ,The latter, in the orations with 


which, in later times, he condemned the— 


memory of Julian, has drawn, with a 
coarse and unfriendly hand, the picture of 
his person and manners. His manners 
did injustice to the natural beauties of his 
person, and betrayed his restless, inquisi-, 
tive, and somewhat incoherent character. 


The Christian (we must remember, in- | 


deed, that these predictions were publish- 
ed subsequent to their fulfilment, and that, 
by their own account, Julian had already 
betrayed, in Asia Minor, his secret pro- 
pensities) already discerned in the unquiet 
and unsubmissive spirit the future apos- 
tate. But the general impression which 
Julian made was far more favourable. 
His quickness, his accomplishments, the 
variety and extent of his information, his 
gentleness, his eloquence, and even his 
modesty. gained universal admiration, and 
strengthened the interest excited by his 
forlorn and perilous position. 

Of all existing pagan rites, those which 
still maintained the greatest re- jyjian initi- 
spect, and would impress a mind ated at Ele- 
like Julian’s with the profound- °°: 
est veneration, were the Eleusinian Mys- 
teries. They united the sanctity of al- 


ἃ Ἐμὲ δὲ ἀφῆκε μόγις, ἑπτὰ μηνῶν ὅλων ἐλ- 
κύσας τῇδε Kakeice.—Ad. 8. P. Ath., p. 272. 


-““--ς 


350 


most immemorial age with some simili- 
tude to the Platonic paganism of the day, 
at least sufficient for the ardent votaries 
of the latter to claim their alliance. The 
Hierophant of Eleusis was admitted to be 
the most potent theurgist in the world.* 
Julian honoured him, or was honoured by 
his intimacy; and the initiation in the 
mystery of those emphatically called the 
goddesses, with all its appalling dramatic 
machinery, and its high speculative and 
imaginative doctrines ; the impenetrable, 
the ineffable tenets of the sanctuary, con- 
summated the work of Julian’s conver- 
sion. 

The elevation of Julian to the rank of 

ake Cesar was at length extorted 
wahoo tthe from the necessities, rather than 
rank of C#- freely bestowed by the love, of 

; the emperor. Nor did the jeal- 
ous hostility of Constantius cease with 
this apparent reconciliation. Constan- 
tius, with cold suspicion, thwarted all his 
measures, crippled his resources, and ap- 
propriated to himself, with unblushing in- 
justice, the fame of his victories.¢ Ju- 
lian’s assumption of the purple, whether 
forced upon him by the ungovernable at- 
tachment of his soldiery, or prepared by 
his own subtle ambition, was justified, and 
perhaps compelled, by the base ingrati- 
tude of Constantius; and by his mani- 
fest, if not avowed, resolution of prepa- 
ring the ruin of Julian, by removing his 
best troops to the East.f 

The timely death of Constantius alone 
Death of | prevented thé deadly warfare in 
Constantius. which the last of the race of 
Constantine were about to contest the 
empire. The dying bequest of that em- 
pire to Julian, said to have been made by 
the penitent Constantius, could not efface 
the recollection of those long years of 
degradation, of jealousy, of avowed or se- 
cret hostility ; still less could it allay the 
dislike or contempt of Julian for his weak 
and insolent predecessor, who, governed 


ΚῚ 


* Compare (in Eunap., Vit. ΖΞ: 4685., p. 52, edit. 
Boissonade) the prophecy of the dissolution of pa- 
ganism ascribed to this pontiff; a prediction which 
may do credit to the sagacity, or evince the appre- 
hensions of the seer, but will by no means claim 
the honour of divine foreknowledge. 

+ Ammianus, 1]. xv., 8, et seqq. Socrates, iii., 1. 
Sozomen, v.,n. La Bleterie, Vie de Julien, 89, et 
seqq. The campaigns of Julian, in La Bleterie, 
lib. 1i, Gibbon, 1., p. 404-408. 

The well-known passage in Ammianus shows 
the real sentiments of the court towards Julian. 
In odium venit cum victoriis suis capella non ho- 
mo; ut hirsutum Julianum carpentes, appellan- 
tesque loquacem talpam, et purpuratam simiam, et 
litterionem Grecum.—Amm. Marc., xvii., 1). 

Τ Amm. Marc, xx., &c. Zosimus, iii. Liban., 
Or. x. Jul. ad 5. P. Q. A. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ce: 

by eunuchs, wasted the precious time 
which ought to have been devoted to the 
cares of the empire in idle theological 
discussions, or quarrels with contending 
ecclesiastics. The part in the character 
of the deceased emperor least likely to 
find favour in the sight of his successor 
Julian was his religion. The unchristian 
Christianity of Constantius must bear 
some part of the guilt of Julian’s apos- 
tacy. ; 

Up to the time of his revolt against 
Constantius, Julian had respected Conduct 
the dominant Christianity. The ofJulian. 
religious acts of his early youth, perform- 
ed in obedience, or under the influence of 
his instructers; or his submissive con- 
formity, when his watchful enemies were 
eager for his life, ought hardly to convict 
him of deliberate hypocrisy. In Gaul, 
still under the strictest suspicion, and en- 
gaged in almost incessant warfare, he 
would have few opportunities to betray 
his secret sentiments. But Jupiter was 
consulted in his private chamber, and 
sanctioned his assumption of the imperial 
purple.* And no sooner had he marched 
into Illyria, an independent emperor, at 
the head of his own army, than he threw 
aside all concealment, and proclaimed him- 
self a worshipper of the ancient gods of 
paganism. ‘The auspices were taken, and 
the act of divination was not the less held 
in honour because the fortunate sooth- 
sayer announced the death of Constan- 
tius. The army followed the example of 
their victorious general. At his command 
the neglected temples resumed their cere- 
monies; he adorned them with offerings ; 
he set the example of costly sacrifices. 
The Athenians in particular obeyed with 
alacrity the commands of the new emper- 
or; the honours of the priesthood became 


again a worthy object of contest; two dis-. 
tinguished females claimed the honour of © 


representing the genuine Eumolpide, and 
of officiating in the Parthenon. Julian, 
already anxious to infuse as much of the 
real Christian spirit as he could into re- 
viving paganism, exhorted the contending 
parties to peace and unity, as the most ac- 
ceptable sacrifice to the gods. 

The death of Constantius left the whole 
Roman world open to the civil and re- 
ligious schemes which lay, floating and un- 
formed, before the imagination of Julian. 
The civil reforms were executed with ne- 


* Amm. Mare., xxi. I. ἰ ἐ 
+ The Western army was more easily practised 


upon than the Eastern soldiers at a subsequent pe- . 


riod. Θρησκεύομεν τοὺς Θεοὺς ἀναφανδὸν kal τὸ 
πλήθος τοῦ συγκατέλθοντος μοι στοατοπέδου ϑεο- 
σεθὲς ἐστιν.--- Epist. XXXvill. 


* 


* 


cessary severity, but, in some instances, 
with more than necessary cruelty. The 


‘elevation of paganism into a rational and 


effective faith, and the depression, and 
even the eventual extinction, of Christian- 


_ity were the manifest objects of Julian’s 
religious policy. Julian’s religion was the 


eclectic paganism of the new Platonic phi- 
losophy. ‘The chief speculative tenet was 
Oriental rather than Greek or Roman. 
The one immaterial inconceivable Father 
dwelt alone ; though his majesty was held 
in reverence, the direct and material ob- 
ject of worship was the great Sun,* the 
living and animated, and propitious and 
beneficent, image of the immaterial Fa- 
ther.t Below this primal Deity and his 
glorious image there was room for the 
whole Pantheon of subordinate deities, of 
whom, in like manner, the stars were the 
material representatives, but who pos- 
sessed invisible powers, and manifested 
themselves in various ways, in dreams 
and visions, through prodigies and ora- 
cles, the flights of birds, and the signs in 
the sacrificial victims.{ This vague and 


comprehensive paganism might include, 


under its dominion all classes and nations 
which adhered to the heathen worship; 
the Oriental, the Greek, the Roman, even 
perhaps the Northern barbarian, would 
not refuse to admit the simplicity of the 
primal article of the creed, spreading out 
as it did below into the boundless latitude 
of Polytheism. The immortality of the 
soul appears to follow as an inference 
from some of Julian’s Platonic doctrines ;§ 
but it is remarkable how rarely it is put 
forward as an important point of differ- 
ence in his religious writings, while in his 
private correspondence he falls back to 
the dubious and hesitating language of the 
ancient heathens: “1 am not one of those 
who disbelieve the immortality of the soul; 


but the gods alone can know; man can 


only conjecture that secret ;”’|] but his best 


* Tov μέγαν Ἥλιον, τὸ ζῶν ἄγαλμα καὶ ἔμψυχον, 
καὶ εὐνουν καὶ ἀγαθοεργὸν, τοῦ νοήτου πάτρος. 
ἢ Compare Julian. apud Cyril., lib. ii, p. 65. 
ΠΤ Julian asserts the various offices of the subor- 
dinate deities, apud Cyril., lib. vii., p. 235. 
One of the most remarkable illustrations of this 


_ wide-spread worship of the sun is to be found in the 


address of Julius Firmicus Maternus to the Emper- 
ors Constantins and Constans. He introduces the 
sun as remonstrating against the dishonourable hon- 
ours thus heaped upon him, and protests against be- 
ing responsible for the acts, or involved in the fate, 
of Liber, Attys, or Osiris. Nolo ut errori vestro 
nomen meum fomenta suppeditet. * * Quicquid 
sui simpliciter Deo pareo, nec aliud volo de me 
intelligatis, nisi quod videtis, c. 8. 

§ Lib. ii., 58. 

|| Od yap δὴ καὶ ἡμεὶς ἐσμεν τῶν πεπεισμένων 
τὰς ψυχὰς ἤτοι προαπόλλυσθαι τῶν σωμάτων ἣ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
εὐ ἐδ ἘΟ, 


951 


consolation on the loss of friends was the 
saying of the Grecian philosopher to Da- 
rius, that if he would find three persons 
who had not suffered the like calamities, 
he would restore his beautiful wife to life.* 
His dying language, however, though still 
vague, and allied to the old Pantheistic 
system, sounds more like serene confi- 
dence in some future state of being. 

The first care of Julian was to restore 
the outward form of paganism Restoration 
to its former splendour, and to of paganism. 
infuse the vigour of reviving youth into 
the antiquated system. The temples were 
everywhere to be restored to their ancient 
magnificence ; the municipalities were 
charged with the expense of these costly 
renovations. Where they had been de- 
stroyed by the zeal of the Christians, large 
fines were levied on the communities, and 
became, as will hereafter appear, a pretext 
for grinding exaction, and sometimes cruel 
persecution. It assessed on the whole 
community the penalty, merited, perhaps, 
only by the rashness of a few zealots; it 
revived outrages almost forgotten, and in- 
juries perpetrated, perhaps with the sanc- 
tion, unquestionably with the connivance, 
of the former government. In many in- 
stances it may have revenged on the in- 
nocent and peaceful the crimes of the ava- 
ricious and irreligious, who eitheir plun- 
dered under the mask of Christian zeal, or 
seized the opportunity when the zeal of 
others might secure their impunity. That 
which takes place in all religious revolu- 
tions had occurred to a considerable ex- 
tent: the powerful had seized the oppor- 
tunity of plundering the weaker party for 
their own advantage. The eunuchs and 
favourites of the court had fattened on the 
spoil of the temples.t If these men had 
been forced to regorge their ill-gotten 
gains, justice might have approved the 
measure ; but their crimes were unfairly 
visited on the whole Christian body. The 
extent to which the ruin and spoliation of 
the temples had been carried in the East 
may be estimated from the tragic lamenta- 
tions of Libanius. The soul of Julian, ac- 
cording to the orator, burned for empire, 
in order to restore the ancient order of 
things. 


συναπόλλυσθαι. * * ‘Qe τοῖς μὲν ανθρώποις ἀρ- 
μόζει περὶ τοιούτων εἰκάζειν, ἐπίστασθαι δὲ αὐτὰ 
τοὺς ϑεοὺς ἀνάγκη .--- Epist. Ixiii, p. 452. 

* Epistle to Amerius on the loss of his wife.— 
Ep. xxxvii., p. 412. 
"+ Pasti templorum spoliis is the strong expres- 
sion of Ammianus. Libanius says that some per- 
sons had built themselves houses from the materi- 
als of the temples. Χρήματα dé ἐτέλουν οἱ τοῖς 
τῶν ἱερῶν λίθοις σφίσιν αὐτοῖς οἰκίας ἐγείροντες. 
—Orat. Parent., p. 504, 


352) ᾿ 


temples. 


“- 
ἃ uf 
ε 


In some respects the success of Julian 
answered the high-wrought expectations 
of his partisans. His panegyrist indulges 
in this lofty language: “ ‘hou, then, I 
say, O mightiest emperor, hast restored to 
the republic the expelled and banished vir- 
tues; thou hast rekindled the study of let- 
ters; thou hast not only delivered from 
her trial Philosophy, suspected heretofore 
and deprived of her honours, and even ar- 
raigned as a criminal, but hast clothed her 
in purple, crowned her with jewels, and 
seated her on the imperial throne. We 
may now look on the heavens, and con- 


‘template the stars with fearless gaze, who, 


a short time ago, like the beasts of the 
field, fixed our downward and grovelling 
vision on the earth.”* “First ofall,” says 
Libanius, “ he re-established the exiled re- 
ligion, building, restoring, embellishing the 
Everywhere were altars and 
fires, and the blood and fat of sacrifice, 
and smoke, and sacred rites, and diviners 
fearlessly performing theirfunctions. And 
on the tops of mountains were pipings and 
processions, and the sacrificial ox, which 
was at once an offering to the gods and a 
banquet to men.”t ‘The private temple in 
the palace of Julian, in which he worship- 
ped daily, was sacred to the Sun; but he 
founded altars to all the gods. He looked 
with especial favour on those cities which 
had retained their temples, with abhor- 
rence on those which had suffered them 
to be destroyed or to fall to ruin.t 

Julian so entirely misapprehended Chris- 
tianity as to attribute its success and in- 
fluence to its internal organization rather 
than to its internal authority over the soul 
ofman. He thought that the religion grew 
out of the sacerdotal power, not that the 
sacerdotal power was but the vigorous de- 
velopment ofthe religion. He fondly sup- 
posed that the imperial edict and the au- 
thority of the government could supply 
the place of profound religious sentiment, 
and transform the whole pagan priesthood, 
whether attached to the dissolute worship 
of the East, the elegant ceremonial of 
Greece, or the graver ritual of Rome, into 
a serious, highly moral, and blameless 
hierarchy. The emperor was to be at 
once the supreme head and the model of 
this new sacerdotal order. The sagacious 
mind of Julian might have perceived the 
dangerous power, growing up in the Chris- 
tian episcopate, which had already en- 
croached upon the imperial authority, and 


* Mam. Grat. Act, ο. xxiii. This clause refers, 
no doubt, to astrology and divination. 

+t See v. 1, p. 529, one among many passages ; 
likewise the Oratio pro Templis, and the Monodia. 

t Orat. Parent., p. 564. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. - 


began to divide the allegiance of the world. 
His political apprehensions may have con- 
curred with his religious animosities, in 
not merely endeavouring to check the in-. 
crease of this power, but in desiring to 
concentrate again in the imperial person 
both branches of authority. ‘The supreme 
pontificate of paganism had indeed passed 
quietly down with the rest of the imperial 
titles and functions. But the interference 
of the Christian emperors in ecclesiastical 
affairs had been met with resistance, obey- 
ed only with sullen reluctance, or but in 
deference to the strong arm of power. 
The doubtful issue of the conflict between 
the emperor and his religious antagonist 
might awaken reasonable alarm for the 
majesty of the empire. If, on the other 
hand, Julian should succeed in reorgan- 
izing the pagan priesthood in efficiency, 
respect, and that moral superiority which 
now belonged to the Christian ecclesias- 
tical system, the supreme pontificate, in- 
stead of being a mere appellation, or an 
appendage to the imperial title, would be 
an Office of unlimited influence and au- 
thority.* The emperor would be the un- 
disputed and unrivalled head Jutian’s new 
of the religion of the empire ; Priesthood. 
the whole sacerdotal order would be at his 
command ; paganism, instead of being, as 
heretofore, a confederacy of different re- 
ligions, an aggregate of local systems of 
worship, each under its own tutelar deity, 
would become a well-regulated monarchy, 
with its provincial, civic, and village priest- 
hoods, acknowledging the supremacy, and 
obeying the impulse, of the high imperial 
functionary. Julian admitted the distine- 
tion between the priest and the laity.| In 
every province a supreme pontiff was to 
be appointed, charged with the superin- 
tendence over the conduct of the inferior 
priesthood, and armed with authority to 
suspend or to depose those who should be 
guilty of any indecent irregularity. The 
whole priesthood were to be sober, chaste, 
temperate in allthings. They were to ab- 
stain, not merely from loose society, but, 
in a spirit diametrically opposite to the old 
religion, were rarely to be seen at public 
festivals, never where women mingled in 
them.{ In private houses they were only 


* See the curious fragment of the sixty-second 
epistle, p. 450, in which Julian asserts his suprem- 
acy, not merely as Pontifex Maximus, but as hold- 
ing a high rank among the worshippers of Cybele. 
᾿Εγὼ toivov ἐπειδὴ πὲρ εἰμι κατὰ μὲν τὰ πάτρια 
μεγὰς ᾿Αρχιερέυς, ἔλαχον δὲ νῦν καὶ τοῦ Διδυμαίου 
προφητεύειν. 

+ Ἐπὲε σοὶ ποῦ μέτεστιν ἐμπείριας (ὄλως) τῶν 
δικαίων, ὅς οὐκ οἶσθα τί μὲν ἱερευς, τί δὲ ἰδιώτης. 
—Fragm., Epist. ]xii. 

1 See Epist. xix. 


to be present at the moderate banquets of 
the virtuous ; they were never to be seen 
drinking in taverns, or exercising any base 
_. or sordid trade. The priesthood. were to 
® stand aloof from society, and only mingle 
with it to infuse their own grave decency 
and unimpeachable moral tone. The the- 
atre, that second temple, as it might be 
called, of the older religion, was sternly 
proscribed ; so entirely was it considered 
sunk from its high religious character, so 
incapable of being restored to its old moral 
influence. They were to avoid all books, 
poetry, or tales which might inflame their 
passions ; to abstain altogether from those 
philosophical writings which subverted the 
foundations of religious belief, those of the 
Pyrrhonists and Epicureans, which Julian 
asserts had happily fallen into complete 
neglect, and had almost become obsolete. 
They were to be diligent and liberal in 
almsgiving, and to exercise hospitality on 
the most generous scale. The Jews had 
no beggars, the Christians maintained in- 
discriminately all applicants to their char- 
ity ; it was a disgrace to the pagans to be 
inattentive to such duties ; and the author- 
ity of Homer is alleged to show the prod- 
τ΄ igal hospitality of the older Greeks. 'They 
His charitas Were to establish houses of γε 
ble institu- ception for strangers in every 
ὩΣ city, and thus to rival or sur 
the generosity of the Christians. Supplies 
of corn from the public granaries were 4s- 
signed for these purposes, and placedfat 
the disposal of the priests, partly for 
maintenance of their attendants, partly 
these pioususes. ‘They were to pay gre 
regard to the burial of the dead, a subjec 
on which Grecian feeling had always beef} 
peculiarly sensitive, particularly of stran 
» imitated from gers. The benevolent institu 
© Christianity. tions of Christianity were to 
be imitated and associated to paganism. 
A tax was to be levied in every province 
for the maintenance of the poor, and dis- 
tributed by the priesthood. Hospitals for 
the sick and for indigent strangers of eve- 
ry creed were to be formed in convenient 
places. The Christians, not without jus- 
tice, called the emperor “the ape of Chris- 
tianity.” Of all homage to the Gospel, 
this was the most impressive and sincere ; 
and we are astonished at the blindness of 
Julian in not perceiving that these changes, 
which thus enforced his admiration, were 
the genuine and permanent results of the 
religion ; but the disputes, and strifes, and 
persecutions, the accidental and temporary 
effects of human passions, awakened by 
this new and violent impulse on the hu- 

- Man mind. 
Something like a universal ritual formed 

pe δ 


7 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ε" 


Ν ‘ 


. 358 


part of the design of Julian. Three _. 

times a day prayer was to be pub- [118]. 
licly offered in the temples. The power- 
ful aid of music, So essential a part of the 


older and better Grecian instruction, and of ὦ 
which the influence is so elevating to the _ 


soul,* was called in to impress the minds 
of the worshippers. Each temple was to 
have its organized band of choristers. A 
regular system of alternate chanting was 
introduced. It would be curious, if it were 
possible, to ascertain whether the Grecian 
temnples received back their own music 
and their alternately responding chorus 
from the Christian churches. 

Julian would invest the pagan priest- 
hood in that respect, or, rather, Respect 
that commanding majesty, with ‘or temples 
which the profound reverence of the Chris 
tian world arrayed their hierarchy. Sol 
emn silence was to reign in the temples 
All persons in authority were to leave 
their guards at the door when they enter- 
ed the hallowed precincts. The emperor 
himself forbade the usual acclamations on 
his entrance into the presence of the gods. 
Directly as he touched the sacred thresh- 
old, he became a private man. 

It is said that he meditated a com- 
plete course of religious instruc- Religious 
tion. Schoolmasters, catechists, instruction. 
preachers, were to teach—are we to sup- 
pose the Platonic philosophy ‘—as a part: 
of the religion. A penitential form was 
to be drawn up for the readmission of 
transgressors into the fold. Instead of 
throwing open the temples to the free 
and promiscuous reception of apostatizing 
Christians, the value of the privilege was 
to be enhanced by the difficulty of attain- 
ing 1.1 They were to be slowly admitted 
to the distinction of rational believers in 
the gods. The dii averruncatores (atoning 
deities) were to be propitiated; they were 
to pass through different degrees of initi- 
ation. Prayers, expiations, lustrations, 
severe trials, could alone purify their 
bodies and their minds, and make them 
worthy participants in the pagan myster- 
ies, 

But Julian was not content with this 
moral regeneration of paganism; Animal 
he attempted to bring back the sacrifices. 
public mind to all the sanguinary ritual of 
sacrifice, to which the general sentiment 
had been gradually growing unfamiliar 
and repugnant. The time was passed 
when men could consider the favour of 
the gods propitiated according to the num- 
ber of slaughtered beasts. The philoso- 
phers must have smiled in secret over the 


* On Music.—See Epist. lvi. + See Epist. lii 


ἢ, 


354 


superstition of the philosophic emperor. 
Julian himself washed off his Christian 
baptism by the new Oriental rite of asper- 
sion by blood, the Taurobolia or Kriobolia 
of the Mithraic mysteries ;* he was regen- 
erated anew to paganism.t This indeed 
was a secret ceremony; but Julian was 
perpetually seen, himself wielding the 
sacrificial knife, and exploring with his 
own hands the reeking entrails of the vic- 
tims, to learn the secrets of futurity. The 
enormous expenditure lavished on the 
sacrifices, the hecatombs of cattle, the 
choice birds from all quarters, drained the 
revenue.{ The Western soldiers, espe- 
cially the intemperate Gauls, indulged in 
the feasts of the victims to such excess, 
and mingled them with such copious liba- 
tions of wine, as to be carried to their 
tents amid the groans and mockeries of 
the more sober.§ ‘The gifts to diviners, 
soothsayers, and impostors ofall classes 
offended equally the more wise and ration- 
al. In the public as well as private con- 
duct of Julian, there was a heathen Phari- 
saism, an attention to minute and trifling 
observances, which could not but excite 
contempt even in the more enlightened of 
his own party. Every morning and even- 
ing he offered sacrifice to the sun; he rose 
at night to offer the same homage to the 
moon and stars. Every day brought the 
rite of some other god ; he was constantly 
seen prostrate before the image of the 
deity, busying himself about the ceremony, 
performing the menial offices of cleansing 
the wood, and kindling the fire with his 
own breath, till the victim was ready for 
the imperial hands. || 

Instead of the Christian hierarchy, Ju- 
lian hastened to environ him- 
self with the most distinguished 
of the heathen philosophers. Most of 
these, indeed, pretended to be a kind of 
priesthood. Intercessors between the de- 
ities and the world of man, they wrought 
miracles, foresaw future events; they pos- 
sessed the art of purifying the soul, so that 


‘Philosophers. 


* Gregor. Naz., iii., p. 70. 

+ The person initiated descended into a pit or 
trench, and through a kind of sieve, or stone pierced 
with holes, the blood of the bull or the ram was 
poured over his whole person. 

1 Julian acknowledges the reluctance to sacri- 
fice in many parts. ‘“ Show me,” he says, to the 
philosopher Aristomenes, “ ἃ genuine Greek in Cap- 
padocia.” Τέως γὰρ τοὺς μὲν οὐ βουλομένους, 
ὀλίγους δὲ τινας ἐθέλοντας μὲν, οὐκ εἰδότας δὲ 
ϑύειν, 6p6.—Epist. iv., p. 375. 

ὁ Ido not believe the story of human sacrifices 
in Alexanudrea and Athens, Socrat., E. H., iii., 13. 

|| Innumeros sine parsimonia mactans; ut cred- 
eretur, si revertisset de Parthis, boves jam defec- 
duros.—Amm. Marc., xxv., 4. 


ἐ ὦ 


ἣν οἱ 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


it should be reunited to the Primal Spirit: 
the divinity dwelt within them. 


The obscurity of the names which Ju- 


lian thus set up to rival in popular estima- 
tion an Athanasius or a Gregory of Nazi- 
anzum, is not altogether to be ascribed to 
the’ final success of Christianity. The 
impartial verdict of posterity can scarcely 
award to these men a higher appellation 
than that of sophists and rhetoricians 
The subtlety and ingenuity of these more 
imaginative, perhaps, but far less profound, 
schoolmen of paganism, were wasted on 
idle reveries, on solemn trifling, and ques- 
tions which it was alike useless to agitate, 
and impossible to solve. The hand of 
death was alike upon the religion, the phi- 
losophy, the eloquence of Greece ; and the 
temporary movement which Julian exci- 
ted was but a feeble quivering, a last im- 
potent struggle, preparatory to total dis- 
solution. Maximus appears, in his own 
time, to have been the most eminent of 
his class. The writings of Libanius and 
of Jamblichus alone survive to any extent 
the general wreck of the later Grecian lit- 
erature. The genius and the language of 
Plato were alike wanting in his degener- 
ate disciples. Julian himself is, perhaps, 
the best, because the plainest and most 
perspicuous, writer of his time: and the 
ἐς Cesars” may rank as no unsuccessful 
attempt at satiric irony. 

Maximus was the most famous of the 
school. He had been among the 44, nus, 
early instructers of Julian. The 
emperor had scarcely assumed the throne 
when he wrote to Maximus in the most 
urgent and flattering terms: life was not 
life without him.* Maximus obeyed the 
summons. On his journey through Asia 
Minor, the cities vied with each other in 
doing honour to the champion of paganism. 
When the emperor heard of his arrival in 
Constantinople, though engaged in an im- 
portant public ceremonial, he broke it off 
at once, and hastened to welcome his phil- 
osophic guest. The roads to the metrop- 
olis were crowded with sophists, hurrying 
to bask in the sunshine of imperial favour.t 
The privilege of travelling at the public 
cost, by the posting establishment of the 
empire, so much abused by Constantius in 
favour of the bishops, was now conceded 
to some of the philosophers. Chrysan- 
thius, another sophist of great reputation, 


* Epist. xv. The nameless person to whom the 
first epistle is addressed is declared superior to Py- 
thagoras or Plato.—Epist. i., p. 372. 

+ The severe and grave Priscus despised the 
youths who embraced philosophy as a fashion. 
Κορυθαντιώντων ἐπὶ σοφίᾳ peipakiov.—Vit. Prise, 
apud Eunap., ed. Boisson., p. 67. 


τὸ 
* 


‘ 
* 


» 
= 


t ie 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


was more modest and more prudent; he 
declined the dazzling honour, and prefer- 
red the philosophic quiet of his native 
town. Julianappointed him, with his wife, 
to the high-priesthood of Lydia ; and Chry- 
santhius, with the prophetic discernment 
of worldly wisdom, kept on amicable 
terms with the Christians. Of Libanius, 
Julian writes in rapturous admiration. 
Iamblichus had united all that was excel- 
lent in the ancient philosophy and poetry ; 
Pindar, Democritus, and Orpheus were 
blended in his perfect and harmonious 
syncretism.* The wisdom of Iamblichus 
so much dazzled and overawed the emper- 
or that he dared not intrude too much of 
his correspondence on the awful sage. 
“ One of his letters surpassed in value all 
the gold in Lydia.” The influence of men 
over their own age may in general be es- 
timated by the language of contemporary 
writers. ‘The admiration they excite is a 
test of their power, at least with their own 
party. The idolatry of the philosophers 
is confined to: the few initiate; and even 
with their own party, the philosophers dis- 
appointed the high expectations which 
they had excited of their dignified superi- 
ority to the baser interests and weakness- 
es of mankind. They were by no means 
proof against the intoxication of court fa- 
vour; they betrayed their vanity, their 
love of pleasure. Maximus himself is ac- 
cused of assuming the pomp and insolence 
of a favourite ; the discarded eunuchs had 
been replaced, it was feared, by a new, not 
less intriguing or more disinterested, race 
of courtiers. 

To the Christians Julian assumed the 
Toleration language of the most liberal tol- 
of Julian. eration. His favourite orator 
thus describes his policy: “ He thought 
that neither fire nor sword could change 
the faith of mankind; the heart disowns 
the hand which is compelled by terror to 
sacrifice. Persecutions only make hypo- 
crites, who are unbelievers throughout 
life, or martyrs honoured after death.t He 
strictly prohibited the putting to death the 
Galileans (his favourite appellation of the 
Christians), as worthy rather of compas- 
sion than of hatred.f ‘“ Leave them to 
punish themselves, poor, blind, and mis- 
guided beings, who abandon the most glo- 
rious privilege of mankind, the adoration of 
the immortal gods, to worship the moulder- 


* Epist. xv. 

+ Liban., Orat. Parent., v. i, p. 562. 

1 He asserts, in his 7th epistle, that he is willing 
neither to put to death, nor to injure the Christians 
in any manner, but the worshippers of the gods 
were on all occasions to be preferred—rpottpacOat. 
—Compare Epist. 11]. 


sounded like mortified pride. 


355 


ing remains and bones of the dead.”* He 


did not perceive that it was now too late to 


reassume the old Roman contempt for the 
obscure and foreign religion. Christianity 
had sat on the throne, and disdain now 
And the 
language, even the edicts, of the emperor, 
under the smooth mask of gentleness and 
pity, betrayed the bitterness of hostility. 
His conduct was a perpetual sarcasm. It 
was the interest of paganism to inflame, 
rather than to allay, the internal feuds of 
Christianity. Julian revoked the sentence 
of banishment pronounced against Arians, 
Apollinarians, and Donatists. He deter- 
mined, it is said, to expose them to a sort 
of public exhibition of intellectual gladia- 
torship. He summoned the ad- His sarcas- 
vocates of the several sects to tic tone. 
dispute in his presence, and presided with 
mock solemnity over their debates. His 
own voice was drowned in the clamour, 
till at length, as though to contrast them; 
to their disadvantage, with the wild bar- 
barian warriors with whom he had been 
engaged, “ Hear me,” exclaimed the em- 
peror; “the Franks and the Alemanni 
have heard me.” ‘No wild beasts,” he 
said, ‘‘are so savage and intractable as 
Christian sectaries.” He even endured 
personal insult. The statue of the “ For- 
tune of Constantinople,” bearing a cross 
in its hand, had been set up by Constan- 
tine. Julian took away the cross, and re- 
moved the deity into a splendid temple. 
While he was employed in sacrifice, he 
was interrupted by the remonstrances of 
Maris, the Arian bishop of Chalcedon, to 
whom age and blindness had added cour- 
age. ‘ Peace,” said the emperor, “blind 
old man, thy Galilean God will not restore 
thine eyesight.” “I thank my God,” an- 
swered Maris, ‘for my blindness, which 
spares me the pain of beholding an apos- 
tate like thee.” Julian calmly proceeded 
in his sacrifice. 

The sagacity of Julian perceived the 
advantage to be obtained by con- aunts their 
trasting the wealth, the power, professions 
and the lofty tone of the exist- οἴ Poverty- 
ing priesthood with the humility of the 
primitive Christians. On the occasion of 
a dispute between the Arian and ortho- 
dox party in Edessa, he confiscated their 
wealth, in order, as he said, to reduce 
them to their becoming and boasted pov- 
erty. ‘¢ Wealth, according to their admi- 
rable law,” he ironically says, ‘‘ prevents 
them from attaining the kingdom of heay- 
en.” 

* His usual phrase was “ worshippers of the 


dead and of the bones of men.” Bea: 
+ Socrates, ili, 12, t Ibid., ii., 13. 


356 


But his hostility was not confined to 
Privileges these indirect and invidious mea- 
withdrawn. sures, or to quiet or insulting 
scorn. He began by abrogating all the 
exclusive privileges of the clergy ; their 
immunity from taxation, and exemptions 
from public duties. He would not allow 
Christians to be prefects, as their law 
prohibited their adjudging capital punish- 
ments. He resumed all the grants made 
on the revenues of the municipalities, 
and the supplies of corn for their mainte- 
nance. It was an act of more unwar- 
Exclusion Yantable yet politic tyranny to 
from public exclude them altogether from 
education. the public education. By a fa- 
miliarity with the great models of anti- 
quity, the Christian had risen at least to 
the level of the most correct and elegant 
of the heathen writers of theday. Though 
something of Oriental expression, from 
the continual adoption of language or of 
imagery from the Sacred Writings, adhe- 
red to their style, yet even that gives a 
kind of raciness and originality to their 
language, which, however foreign to the 
purity of Attic Greek, is more animating 
and attractive than the prolix and languid 
periods of Libanius, or the vague meta- 
physics of Iamblichus. Julian perceived 
the danger, and resented this usurpation, 
as it were, of the arms of paganism, and 
_.their employment against their legitimate 
parent. It is not, indeed, quite clear how 
far or in what manner the prohibition of 
Julian affected the Christians. A general 
Education of SYStem of education for the free 
the higher and superior classes had grad- 
ΕΙΒΕΗ ΕΣ ually spread through the em- 
pire.* Each city maintained a certain 
number of professors, according to its 
size and population, who taught grammar, 
rhetoric, and philosophy. . They were ap- 
pointed by the magistracy, and partly paid 
from the municipal funds. Vespasian first 
assigned stipends to professors in Rome, 
the Antonines extended the establishment 
to the other cities of the empire. They 
received two kinds of emoluments: the 
salary from the city, and a small fixed 
gratuity from their scholars. 'They en- 
joyed considerable immunities, exemption 
from military and civil service, and from 
all ordinary taxation. There can be no 
doubt that this education, as originally de- 
signed, was more or less intimately allied 
with the ancient religion. The gramma- 
' Tians, the poets,t the orators, the philos- 


* There is an essay on the professors and gen- 
eral system of education, by Monsieur Naudet, 
Mém. de l’Institut., vol. x., p. 399 

+ Homer, then considered, if not the parent, the 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ophers of Greece and Rome, were the wri- 
ters whose works were explained and in- 
stilled into the youthful mind. ‘ The vi- 
tal principle, Julian asserted, in the wri- 
tings of Homer, Hesiod, Demosthenes, 
Herodotus, Thucydides, Isocrates, Lysias, 
was the worship of the gods. Some of 
these writers had dedicated themselves to 
Mercury, some to the Muses. Mercury 
and the Muses were the tutelar deities 
of the pagan schools.” The Christians 
had glided imperceptibly into some of 
these offices, and perhaps some of the 
professors had embraced Christianity. But 
Julian declared that the Christians must 
be shameful hypocrites or the most sor- 
did of men, who for a few drachms would 
teach what they did not believe.* ‘The 
emperor might with some plausibility have 
insisted that the ministers of public in- 
struction, paid by the state or from public 
funds, should at least not be hostile to the 
religion of the state. If the prohibition 
extended no farther than their exclusion 
from the public professorships, the meas- 
ure might have worn some appearance of 
equity ; but it was the avowed policy of 
Julian to exclude them, if possible, from 
all advantages derived from the liberal 
study of Greek letters. The original edict 
disclaimed the intention of compelling the 
Christians to attend the pagan schools, 
but it contemptuously asserted the right 
of the government to control men so com- 
pletely out of their senses, and, at the 
same time, affected condescension to their 
weakness and obstinacy.t But, if the em- 
peror did not compel them to learn, he 
forbade them to teach. ‘The interdict, no 
doubt, extended to their own private and 
separate schools for Hellenic learning. 
They were not to instruct in Greek let- 
ters without the sanction of the municipal 
magistracy. He added insult to this nar- 
row prohibition: he taunted them with 
their former avowed contempt for human 
learning; he would not permit them to 
lay their profane hands on Homer and 
Plato. ‘Let them be content to explain 
Matthew and Luke in the churches of the 
Galileans.”{ Some of the Christian pro- 


great authority for the pagan mythology, was the 
elementary schoolbook. 

* When Christianity resumed the ascendancy, 
this act of intolerance was adduced in justification 
of the severities of Theodosius against paganism. 
Petunt etiam, ut illis privilegia deferas, qui loquen- 
di et docendi nostris communem usum Juliani lege 
proximé denegarunt.--Ambros., Epist. Resp, ad 
Symmach. Ἢ 

+ Julian. Epist. xlii., p. 420. Socrates, v., 18, 
Theodoret, iii., 8. Sozomen, v.,18. Greg. Naz. 
Or. iii., p. 51, 96, 97. 

1 Julian., Evist. xlv. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


fessors obeyed the imperial edict.* Pro- 
eresius, who tatght rhetoric with great 
success at Rome, calmly declined the 
overtures of the emperor, and retired into 
a private station. Musonius, a rival of the 
great Proeresius, was silenced. But they 
resorted to an expedient which shows that 
they had full freedom of Christian instruc- 
tion. A Christian Homer, a Christian Pin- 
dar, and other works were- composed, in 
which Christian sentiments and opinions 
were interwoven into the language of the 
original poets. The piety of the age great- 
ly admired these Christian parodies, which, 
however, do not seem to have maintain- 
ed their ground even in the Christian 
schools.} 

Julian is charged with employing un- 
Arts of Jue Worthy or insidious arts to ex- 
lian toun- tort an involuntary assent to 
Choedsatty. paganism. Heathen symbols 

everywhere replaced those of 
Christianity. ‘The medals display a great 
variety of deities, with their attributes. 
Jupiter is crowning the emperor, Mars and 
Mercury inspire him with military skill 
and eloquence. The monogram of Christ 
disappeared from the labarum, and on the 
standards were represented the gods of 
paganism. As the troops defiled before 
the emperor, each man was ordered to 
throw a few grains of frankincense upon 
an altar which stood before him. The 
Christians were horror-stricken when they 
found that, instead of an act of legitimate 
respect to the emperor, they had been be- 
trayed into paying homage toidols. Some 
bitterly lamented their involuntary sacri- 
lege, and indignantly threw down their 
arms ; some of them are said to have sur- 
rounded the palace, and, loudly avowing 
that they were Christians, reproached the 
emperor with his treachery, and cast down 
the largess that they had received. For 
this breach of discipline and insult to the 
emperor they were led out to military ex- 
ecution. ‘They vied with each other, it is 
said, for the honours of martyrdom.{ But 
the bloody scene was interrupted by a 
messenger from the emperor, who con- 


* The more liberal heathens were disgusted and 
ashamed at this measure of Julian. Illud autem 
erat inclemens, obrucndum perenni silentio, quod 
arcebat docere magistros, rhetoricos, et grammati- 
cos, ritus Christiani cultores.—Amm. Marcell., xx., 


ο. 10. 

+ After the death of Julian they were contempt- 
uously thrown aside by the Christians themselves. 
Τῶν δὲ of πόνοι ἐν τῷ ἴσῳ μὴ γραφῆναι, λογίζον- 
Tat.—Socrates, E. H., iii., 16. 

t Jovian, Valentinian, and Valens, the future 
emperors, are said to have been among those who 
refused to serve in the army. Julian, however, de- 
clined to accept the resignation of the former. 


357 


tented himself with expelling them from 
the army and sending them into banish- 
ment. 

Actual persecutions, though unauthor- 
ized by the imperial edicts, would persecu- 
take place in some parts from the tons. 
collision of the two parties. ‘The pagans, 
now invested in authority, would not be 
always disposed to use that authority with 
discretion, and the pagan populace would 
seize the opportunity of revenging the vio- 
lation of their temples or the interruption 
of their rites by the more zealous Chris- 
tians. No doubt the language of an ad- 
dress delivered to Constantius and Con- 
stans expressed the sentiments of a large 
party among the Christians. ‘ Destroy 
without fear, destroy ye, most religious 
emperors, the ornaments of the temples. 
Coin the idols into money, or melt them 
into useful metal. Confiscate all their 
endowments for the advantage of the em- 
peror and of the government. God has 
sanctioned, by your recent victories, your 
hostility to the temples.” The writer 
proceeds to thunder out the passages of 
the Mosaic law which enforce the duty of 
the extirpation of idolaters.* No doubt, 
in many places, the eager fanaticism of 
the Christians had outstripped the tardy 
movements of imperial zeal. 
cases it would now be thought an act of 
religion to reject, in others it would be 


In many , 


“ 


᾿ 


impossible to satisfy, the demands for res- » 


titution. The best authenticated acts of 
direct persecution relate to these disputes. 
Nor can Julian himself be exculpated from 
the guilt, if not of conniving at, of faintly 
rebuking these tumultuous acts of revenge 
or of wanton outrage. In some of the 
Syrian towns, Gaza, Hieropolis, and Ces- 
area, the pagans had perpetrated cruelties 
too horrible to detail. Not content with 
massacring the Christians with every 
kind of indignity, they had treated their 
lifeless remains with unprecedented out- 
rage. They sprinkled the entrails of their 
victims with barley, that the fowls might 
be tempted to devour them. At Heliopo- 
lis their cannibal fury did not shrink from 
tasting the blood and the inward parts of 
murdered priests and virgins. Julian calm- 
ly expresses his regret that the Restoration 
restorers of the temples of the of temples. 
gods have in some instances exceeded his 
expressed intentions; which, however, 
seem to have authorized the destruction 
of the Christian churches, or, at least, 
some of their sacred places. 


* Julius Firmicus Maternus, de Errore Profano- 
rum Religionum, c. 29. bh ee ᾿ 
t Greg. Nazianz. Socrates, iii., 14. Sozomen, 


sa 


358 

Julian made an inauspicious choice in 
the battle-field on which he at- 
tempted to decide his conflict 
with Christianity. Christianity 
predominated to a greater ex- 
tent in Constantinople and in Antioch than 
in any other cities of the empire. In 
Rome he might have appealed to the an- 
tiquity of heathenism, and its eternal as- 
sociation with the glories of the republic. 
In Athens he would have combined in 
more amicable confederacy the philoso- 
phy and the religion. In Athens his ac- 
cession had given a considerable impulse 
to paganism ; the temples, with the rest of 
the public buildings, had renewed their 
youth.* Eleusis, which had fallen into 
ruin, now reassumed its splendour, and 
night have been wisely made the centre 
of his new system. But in Constantino- 
ple all was modern and Christian. Piety 
to the imperial founder was closely con- 
nected with devotion to his religion. Ju- 
lian could only restore the fanes of the tu- 
telary gods of old Byzantium; he could 
strip the fortune of the city of her Chris- 
tian attributes, but he could not give a pa- 
gan character to a city which had grown 
up under Christian auspices. Constan- 
Constan- tinople remained contumaciously 
» tinople. and uniformly Christian. Antioch 
had been a chief seat of that mingled 
worship of the Sun which had grown up 

in all the Hellenized parts of Asia; 
’ the name of Daphne given to the 
sacred grove, implied that the fictions of 
Greece had been domiciliated in Syria. 
Antioch was now divided by two incon- 
gruous but equally dominant passions, de- 
votion to Christianity and attachment to 
the games, the theatre, and every kind of 
public amusement. The bitter sarcasms 
of Julian on the latter subject are justified 
and confirmed by the grave and serious 
admonitions of Chrysostom. ΒΥ ἃ singu- 
lar coincidence, Antioch came into collis- 


Julian con- 
tends on 
ill-chosen 
ground. 


Antioch 


v., 9. Compare Gibbon, vol. ii., p. 42, who has re- 
ferred the following passage in the Misopogon to 
these scenes. 

Οἱ τὰ μὲν τῶν ϑεῶν ἀνέστησαν αὐτίκα τεμένη" 
τοὺς τάφους δὲ τῶν ἀθέων ἀνέτρεψαν πάντας ὑπὸ 
τοῦ συνθήματος, ὃ δὴ δέδοται παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ πρώην, 
οὕτως ἐπάρθεντες τὸν νοῦν, καὶ μετέωροι γενόμενοι 
τὴν διανοίαν, ὡς καὶ πλέον ἐπεξελθεῖν τοῖς εἰς 
τοὺς ϑεοὺς πλημμελοῦσιν, ἢ βουλωμένῳ μοι ἦν.--- 
Misopogon, p. 36]. 

Did he mean by the τάφοι chapels like those built 
over the remains of St. Babylas, in the Daphne at 
Antioch, or the churches in general ? 

* Mamertinus, probably, highly paints the ruin, 
that he may exalt the restorer. Ips@ illa bonarum 
artium magistre et inventrices Athenee omnem cul- 
tum publicé privatimque perdiderant. In miseran- 
dum ruinam conciderat Eleusina.—Mamert., Grat. 
Actio., ix., p, 147 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


3 


ion with the strongest prejudices of Julian. 
His very virtues were fatal to his success 
in the re-establishment of paganism; its 
connexion with the amusements of the 
people Julian repudiated with philosophic 
disdain. Instead of attempting to purify 
the degenerated taste, he had all the aus- 
terity of a pagan monk. Public exhibi- 
tions were interdicted to his reformed 
priesthood ; once, at the beginning of the 
year, the emperor entered the theatre, 
remained in undisguised weariness, and 
withdrew in disgust. He was equally im- 
patient of wasting his time as a spectator 
of the chariot-race ; he attended occasion- 
ally out of respect to the presiding deity 
of the games; saw five or six courses, and 
retired.* Yet paganism might appear to 
welcome Julian to Antioch. It had still 
many followers, who clung with julian at 
fond attachment to its pomps and Antioch. 
gay processions. The whole city poured 
forth to receive him; by some he was 
hailed as a deity. It happened to be the 
festival of Adonis, and the loud shouts of 
weleome to the emperor were mingled 
with the wild and shrill cries of the wom- 
en, wailing that Syrian symbol of the uni- 
versal deity, the Sun. It might seem an 
awful omen that the rites which mourned 
the departure of the genial deity should 
welcome his ardent worshipper.t The 
outward appearance of religion must have 
affected Julian with alternate hope and 
disappointment. From all quarters, di- 
viners, augurs, magicians, enchanters, the 
priests of Cybele, and of the other East- 
ern religions, flocked to Antioch. His 
palace was crowded with men, whom 
Chrysostom describes as branded with 
every crime, as infamous for poisonings 
and witcherafts. ‘*Men who had grown 
old in prisons and in the mines, and who 
maintained their wretched existence by 
the most disgraceful trades, were sudden- 
ly advanced to places of dignity, and in- 
vested with the priesthood and sacrificial 
functions.”{. The severe Julian, as he 
passed through the city, was encircled by 
the profligate of every age, and by pros- 
titutes, with their wanton laughter and 
shameless language. Among the former, 
the ardent, youthful, and ascetic preach- 
er probably included all the theurgists 
of the philosophic school; the latter de- 
scribes the festal processions, which no 
doubt retained much of their old voluptu- 
ous character. Julian ascended the lofty 
top of Mount Casius to solemnize, under 


PA ines SU edi" AO TS | Se EE 
* Misopogon, p. 339, 340, Amm. Marc., xxii., 9. 
+ Evenerat iisdem diebus annuo cursu complete 

Adonica ritu veteri celebrari.—Amm. Marc., xxii., 9. 
+ Chrysostom contra Gent. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Teinple on the broad and all-embracing cope 
Mount Ca- Of heaven, the rites of Jupiter 
aoe. Philius.* But in the luxurious 
grove of Daphne he was doomed to a 
melancholy disappointment. The grove 
remained with all its beautiful 
scenery, its shady recesses, its 
cool and transparent streams, in which 
the heathen inhabitants of Antioch had 
mingled their religious rites with their 
private enjoyments. Buta serious gloom, 
a solemn quiet, pervaded the whole place. 
The temple of Apollo, the magnificent 
edifice in which the devotion of former 
ages had sacrificed hecatombs, where the 
clouds of incense had soared above the 
grove, and in which the pomp of Oriental 
worship had assembled half Syria, was 
silent and deserted. He expected (in his 
own wordst) a magnificent procession, 
victims, libations, dances, incense, boys 
with white and graceful vests, and with 
minds as pure and unspotted, dedicated to 
the service of the god. He entered the 
temple ; he found a solitary priest, with a 
single goose for sacrifice. The indignant 
emperor poured out his resentment in the 
bitterest language : he reproached the im- 
piety, the shameful parsimony of the in- 
habitants, who enjoyed the large estates 
attached to the temple, and thus neglected 
its services; who at the same time per- 
mitted their wives to lavish their treasures 
on the infamous Galileans, and on their 
scandalous banquets called the Maiuma. 
Julian determined to restore the majes- 
ty of the temple and worship of Apollo. 
But it was first necessary to dispossess 
the Christian usurper of the sacred place. 
Remains of The remains of Babylas, the mar- 
Babylas. — tyred bishop of Antioch, who had 
suffered probably in the Decian persecu- 
tion, had been removed eleven years be- 
fore to Daphne; and the Christians crowd- 
ed to pay their devotions near his tomb. 
The Christians assert that the baffled 
Apollo confessed himself abashed in the 
presence of the saint; his oracle dared 
not break silence.{ At all events, Julian 
determined to purify the grove from the 
contamination of this worship. The re- 
mains of Babylas were ordered to be 
transported back to Antioch. They were 
met by a solemn procession of a great 
part of the inhabitants. The relics were 
raised on a chariot, and conducted in tri- 
umph, with the excited multitude dancing 
before it, and thundering out the maledic- 


The Daphne. 


* The Jupiter Philius or Casius. This god was 
the tutelary deity of Antioch, and appears on the 
medals of the city.—St. Martin, note to Le Beau, 
t Misopogon, 362. 


jii., 6. 
1 Chrysostom, Orat. in S. Babylam. 


359 


tory psalm: “‘ Confounded be all they that 
worship carved images, and delight in 
vain idols.” Julian attempted to punish 
this outburst of popular feeling. But the 
firmness of the first victim who endured 
the torture, and the remonstrances of the 
prefect Sallust, brought him back to his 
better temperof mind. The restoration of 
the temple proceeded with zealous haste. 
A splendid peristyle arose around it; when 
at midnight Julian received the in- fire in 
telligence that the temple was on the temple. 
fire. The roof and all the ornaments were 
entirely consumed, and the statue of the 
god himself, of gilded wood, yet of such as- 
tonishing workmanship that it is said to 
have enforced the homage of the conquer- 
ing Sapor, was burned toashes. The Chris- 
tians beheld the manifest wrath of Heav- 
en, and asserted that the lightning had 
come down and smitten the idolatrous 
edifice. Julian ascribed the conflagration 
to the malice of the Christians. The most 
probable account is, that a devout worship- 
per had lighted a number of torches before 
an image of the Queen of Heaven, which 
had set fire to some part of the building. 
Julian exacted, as it were, reprisals on 
Christianity ; he ordered the Cathedral of 
Antioch to be closed. His orders were 
executed with insult t6 the sacred place, 
and the spoliation of the sacred vessels.* 
Julian, in the mean time, was not regard- 
less of the advancement of the pagan in- 
terest in other parts of the empire. Alex- 
andrea could not be at peace while 
any kind of religious excitement 
inflamed the minds of men. The character 
of George, the Arian bishop of i. 
Alexandrea, is loaded by hea- ae 
then as well as by Christian Alexandrea. 
writers with every kind of obloguy. His 
low birth ; the base and sordid occupations 
of his youth; his servile and intriguing 
meanness in manhood; his tyranny in 
power, trace, as it were, his whole life 
with increasing odiousness. Yet, extra- 
ordinary as it may seem, the Arian party 
could find no man of better reputation to 
fill this important post; and George, the 
impartial tyrant of all parties, perished at 
last, the victim of his zealous hostility to 
paganism. A chief cause of the unpopu- 
larity of George was the assertion of the 
imperial right over the fee-simple of the 
land on which Alexandrea was built. This 
right was gravely deduced from Alexander. 
the Great. During the reign of Constan- 
tius, George Had seized every opportunity 
of depressing and insulting paganism ; he 


Alexandrea, 


*Amm. Marc., xxii., 13. Theodor.,iil., 11. Soz- 
omen, Υ., 20. 


᾿ from attempting to defend. 


360 


had interdicted the festivals and the sacri- 
fices of the heathen; he had pillaged the 
gifts, the statues, and ornaments of their 
temple; he had been heard, as he passed 
the temple either of Serapis himself, or of 
the Fortune of the city, to utter the con- 
temptuous expression, ‘“‘ How long will this 
sepulchre be permitted to ‘stand?”* He 
had discovered a cave where the Mithraic 
mysteries were said to have been carried 
on with a horrible sacrifice of human life. 
The heads of a number of youths were 
exposed (probably disinterred ¢rom some 
old cemetery near which these rites had 
been established), as of the victims of this 
sanguinary idolatry. These insults and 
outrages rankled in the hearts of the pa- 
gans. The fate of Artemius, the Duke of 
Egypt, the friend and abettor of George in 
all his tyrannical proceedings, prepared 
the way for that of George. Artemius 
was suspected of being concerned in the 
death of Gallus. He was charged with 
enormous delinquencies by the people of 
Alexandrea. Whether as a retribution for 
the former offence against the brother of 
Julian, or as the penalty for his abuse of 
his authority in his government, Artemius 
was condemned to death. The intelli- 
gence of his execution was the signal for 
a general insurrection of the pagans in 
Alexandrea. The palace of George was 
invested by a frantic mob. In an instant 
His Beatie he was dragged forth, murdered, 

see") trampled under foot, dragged 
along the streets, and at length torn limb 
from limb. With him perished two officers 
of the empire, Dracontius, master of the 
mint, and the Count Diodorus; the one 
accused of having destroyed an altar of 
Serapis, the other of having built a chureh. 
The mangled remains of these miserable 
men were paraded through the streets on 
the back of a camel, and at length, lest 
they should be enshrined and worshipped 


_as the relics of martyrs, cast into the sea. 


The Christians, however, of all parties 
appear to have looked with unconcern on 
the fate of this episcopal tyrant,} whom 
the general hatred, if it did not excite them 
to assist in his massacre, prevented them 
Julian ad- 
dressed a letter to the people of Alexan- 
drea. While he admitted, in the strongest 
terms, the guilt of George, he severely re- 
buked their violence and presumption in 
thus taking the law into their own hands, 
and the horrible inhumanity of tearing like 


* Amm. Marcell., xxii., 11. Socrates, iii., 2. 

+ Poterantque miserandi homines ad crudele sup- 
plicium devoti, Christianorum adjumento defendi, 
ni Georgii odio omnes indiscreté flagrabant.—-Am- 
mian. Marcell., xxii., 11. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ὦ ¥ 


dogs the bodies of men in pieces, and thea 
presuming to lift up their blood-stained 
hands to the gods. He admitted that their 
indignation for their outraged temples and 
insulted gods might naturally madden 
them to just resentment ; but they should 
have awaited the calm and deliberate 
course of justice, which would have ex- 
acted the due punishment from the offend- 
er. Julian secured to himself’ part of the 
spoils of the murdered prelate. George 
had a splendid library, rich not merely in 
the writings of the Galileans, but, what 
Julian esteemed as infinitely more pre- 
cious, the works of the Greek orators and 
philosophers. The first he would willingly 
have destroyed, the latter he commanded 
to be carefully reserved for his own use.* 

In the place of George arose a more 
powerful adversary. Julian knew and 
dreaded the character of Atha- 
nasius, who during these tumults 
had quietly resumed his authority over the 
orthodox Christians of Alexandrea. The 
general edict of Julian for the recall of all 
exiles contained no exception, and Atha- 
nasius availed himself of its protecting au- 
thority.| Under his auspices, the Church, 
even in these disastrous times, resumed 
its vigour. The Arians, terrified perhaps 
by the hostility of the pagans, hastened to 
reunite themselves to the Church; and 
Julian heard, with bitter indignation, that 
some pagan females had received baptism 
from Athanasius. Julian expressed his 
astonishment, not that Athanasius had re- 
turned from exile, but that he had dared 
to resume his see. He ordered him into 
instant banishment. He appealed, in a 
letter to the prefect, to the mighty Serapis, 
that if Athanasius, the enemy of the gods, 
was not expelled from the city before the 
calends of December, he should impose a 
heavy fine. ‘“ By his influence the gods 
were brought into contempt; it would be 
better, therefore, that ‘this most wicked 
Athanasius’ were altogether banished from 
Egypt.” Τὸ ἃ supplication from the Chris- 
tian inhabitants of the city in favour of 
Athanasius, he returned a sarcastic and 
contemptuous reply, reminding the people 
of Alexandrea of their descent from pagan 
ancestors, and of the greatness of the gods 
they worshipped, and expressing his aston- 
ishment that they should prefer the wor- 
ship of Jesus, the Word of God, to that of 
the Sun, the glorious, and visible, and eter- 
nal emblem of the Deity. 

In other parts, justified perhaps in their 
former excesses, or encouraged to future 
acts of violence, by the impunity of the 

* Julian, Epist. ix, and x. 

1 Ib., xi, p. 378. 


Athanasius, 


t 10., xxvi., p. 398. 


> ¢* 


af. ἃ 

Alexandreans, paganism awoke, if not to 
make reprisals by conversion, at least to 
take a bloody revenge on its Christian ad- 
versaries.* The atrocious persecutions of 
the fanatic populace in some of the cities 
of Syria have already been noticed. The 
aged Mark of Arethusa was, if not the 
most blameless, at least the victim of these 
cruelties, whose life ought to have been 
sanctified even by the rumour which as- 
eribed the preservation of Julian, when an 
Death of infant, to the pious bishop. Mark 
Mark of was accused of having destroyed 
Arethusa. 4 temple; he was summoned to 
rebuild it at his own expense. But Mark, 
with the virtues, inherited the primitive 
poverty of the apostles ; and, even if he 
had had the power, no doubt would have 
resisted this demand.t But the furious 
populace, according to Sozomen, men, 
women, and schoolboys, seized on the old 
man, and inflicted every torment which 
their inventive barbarity could suggest. 
The patience and calm temperament of 
the old man resisted and survived the 
cruelties.{ Julian is said to have express- 
ed no indignation, and ordered no punish- 
ment. The prefect Sallust reminded him 
of the disgrace to which paganism was 
exposed by being thus put to shame by a 
feeble old man. 

The policy of Julian induced him to 
Julian courts Seek out every alliance which 
the Jews. could strengthen the cause of 
paganism against Christianity. Polythe- 
ism courted an unnatural union with Juda- 
ism; their bond of connexion was their 
common hatred to Christianity. It is not 
clear whether Julian was sufficiently ac- 
quainted with the writings of the Chris- 
tians distinctly to apprehend that they 
considered the final destruction of the Jew- 
ish Temple to be one of the great proph- 
ecies on which their religion rested. The 
rebuilding of that temple was bringing, as 
it were, this question to direct issue; it 
was an appeal to God whether he had or 
had not finally rejected the people of Is- 
rael, and admitted the Christians to all 
their great and exclusive privileges. At 
all events, the elevation of Judaism was 
the depression of Christianity. It set the 
Old ‘Testament, to which the Christians 
appealed, in direct and hostile opposition 
to the New. 


* Julian., Epist.x., p. 377. 

t According to Theodoret, Ὁ δὲ, ἶσον εἰς ἀσέ- 
θειαν ἔφη, τὸ ὀθολὸν γοῦν ἕνα δοῦναι, τῶ πάντα 
δοῦναι .---πἰ. H., iii., 7. 

t Sozomen gives the most detailed account of 
this crue] scene, which was clearly a kind of popu- 
Jar tumult, which the authorities in no way inter- 
fered to igi a Hy, Ve," 10: * 

Z 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. z 


361 


The profound interest awakened in the 
Jewish mind showed that they embraced 
with eager fervour this solemn appeal to 
Heaven. With the joy which animated 
the Jew at this unexpected summons to 
return to his native land and to rebuild 
his fallen temple, mingled, no doubt, some 
natural feeling of triumph and of gratified 
animosity over the Christian. In every 
part of the empire the Jews awoke from 
their slumber of abasement and of de- 
spondency. It was not for them to repu- 
diate the overtures of paganism. The em- 
peror acknowledged their God ), ines 
by the permission to build again torebuild the 
the Temple to his glory; and, if Temple at 
not as the sole and supreme 2TUs#em 
God, yet his language affected a mono- 
theistic tone, and they might indulge the 
fond hope that the re-establishment of the 
Temple upon Mount Moriah might be pre- 
paratory to the final triumph of their faith, 
in the awe-struck veneration of the whole 
world; the commencement of the Mes- 
siah’s kingdom; the dawn of their long- 
delayed, but, at length, approaching mil- 
lennium of empire and of religious suprem- 
acy. Those who could not contribute 
their personal labour devoted their wealth 
to the national work. The extent of their 
sacrifices, the eagerness of their hopes, 
rather belong to the province of Jewish 
history. But every precaution was taken 
to secure the uninterrupted progress of 
the work. It was not an affair of the Jew- 
ish nation, but of the imperial government. 


It was intrusted to the ruler of the prov- | 


ince, as the delegate of the emperor. 
Funds were advanced from the public 
treasury ; and if the Jews themselves, of 
each sex and of every age, took pride in 
hallowing their own hands by assisting in 
heaping up the holy earth or hewing the 
stone to be employed in this sacred de- 
sign; if they wrought their wealth into 
tools of the precious metals, shovels and 
spades of silver, which were to become 
valued heirlooms, as consecrated by this 
pious service, the emperor seemed to take 
a deep personal interest in the design, 
which was at once to immortalize his 
magnificence, and to assist his other glori- 
ous undertakings. The Jews, who ac- 
knowledged that it was not lawful to offer 
sacrifice except on that holy place, were 
to propitiate their God during his expedi- 
tion into Persia; and on his triumphant 
return from that region, he promised to 
unite with them in adoration in the re- 
stored city, and in the reconstructed faue 
of the great God of the Jews.* © 


* In his letter to the Jews, he called the God of 


‘tion. 


362 


Judaism and paganism had joined in this 
solemn adjuration, as it were, of the Deity. 
Their vows were met with discomfiture 
and disappointment. The simple fact of 

the interruption of their labours, 
* by an event which the mass of 
mankind could not but consider preter- 
natural, even as recorded by the pagan 
historians, appeared, in the more excited 
and imaginative minds of the Christians, 
a miracle of the most terrific and appalling 
nature. Few, if any, of the Christians 
could have been eye-witnesses of the 
scene. The Christian world would have 
averted its face in horror from the impious 
design. The relation must, in the first in- 
stance, have come from the fears of the 
discomfited and affrighted workmen. The 
main fact is indisputable, that, as they dug 
down to the foundations, terrific explosions 
took place ; what seemed balls of fire burst 
forth ; the works were shattered to pieces ; 
clouds of smoke and dust enveloped the 
whole in darkness, broke only by the wild 
and fitful glare of the flames. Again the 
work was renewed by the obstinate zeal 
of the Jews; again they were repelled by 
this unseen and irresistible power, till they 
cast away their implements, and abandoned 
the work in humiliation and despair. How 
far natural causes, the ignition of the foul 
vapours confined in the deeply-excavated 
recesses of the temple, according to the 
recent theory, will account for the facts, 
as they are related in the simpler narra- 
tive of Marcellinus, may admit of some 
question; but the philosophy of the age, 
whether heathen or Christian, was as un- 
able as it was unwilling to trace such ap- 
palling events to the unvarying operations 
of nature.* 

Christianity may have embellished this 
the Jews κρείττων ; in his Theologic fragment (p. 
295), μέγας Οεύς. δ 

* See Μ. Guizot’s note on Gibbon [il., p. 37], 
with my additional observations. [This note 15 
well worth consulting. It describes the immense 
excavations in the mountain, and explains the ex- 
plosions on the principle of fire-damps in tnines. 
Bishop Warburton, in his Julian, maintained the 
reality of the miracle-—See Mosheim’s Instit. of 
E. H.,i., p. 222.] There seems a strong distinction 
in puint of credibility between miracles addressed 
to the terror and those which appeal to the calmer 
emotions of the mind, such as most of those record- 
ed in the Gospel. The former, in the first place, 
are usually momentary, or, if prolonged, endure but 
a short time. But the passion of fear so completely 
unhinges and disorders the mind, as to deprive it of 
all trustworthy power of observation or discrimina- 
In themselves, therefore, I should venture to 
conclude that terrific miracles, resting on human 
testimony, are less credible than those of a less ap- 
palling nature. Though the other class of emo- 
tions, those of joy or gratitude, or religious venera- 
tion, likewise disturb the equable and dispassion- 
ate state of mind requisite for cool reasoning, yet 


Interrupted 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. » 


wonderful event, but Judaism and pagan- 
ism confessed by their terrors the prostra- 
tion of their hopes. The work was aban- 
doned; and the Christians of later ages 
could appeal to the remains of the shat- 
tered works and unfinished excavations 
as the unanswerable sign of the Divine 
wrath against their adversaries, as the 
public and miraculous declaration of God 
in favour of their insulted religion. 

But it was not as emperor alone that the 
indefatigable Julian laboured to overthrow 
the Christian religion. 10 was not by the 
public edict, the more partial favour shown 
to the adherents of paganism, the insidi- 
ous disparagement of Christianity, by the 
depression of its ministers and apostles, 
and the earnest elevation of heathenism 
to a moral code and a harmonious reli- 
gion, with all the pomp of a sumptuous rit- 
ual; it was not in the council, or the camp, 
or the temple alone, that Julian stood forth 
as the avowed antagonist of Christianity. 
He was ambitious, as a writer, of confu- 
ting its principles and disproving writings of 
its veracity: he passed in his Julian. 
closet the long nights of the winter, and 
continued, during his Persian campaign, 
his elaborate work against the faith of 
Christ. He seemed, as it were, possessed 
with an equal hatred of those whom he 
considered the two most dangerous ene- 
mies of the Roman empire, the Persians 
and the Christians. While oppressed by 
all the serious cares of organizing and 
moving such anarmy as might bring back 
the glorious days of Germanicus or of 
Trajan; while his ambition contemplated 
nothing less than the permanent humilia- 
tion of the great Eastern rival of the em- 
pire, his literary vanity found time for its 
exercise, and in all his visions of military 
glory and conquest Julian never lost sight 
of his fame as an author.* It is difficult 
to judge from the fragments of Work against 
this work, selected for confu- Christianity. 
tation after his death by Cyril of Jerusa- 
lem, of the power, or even of the candour, 
shown by the imperial controversialist. 
But it appears to have been composed in 
a purely polemic spirit, with no lofty or 
comprehensive views of the real nature of 
the Christian religion, no fine and philo- 
sophie perception of that which in the new 
faith had so powerfully and irresistibly oc- 
cupied the whole soul of man; with no 
consciousness of the utter inefficiency of 
the cold and inccherent pagan mysticism, 


such miracles are in general both more calmly sur- 
veyed and more permanent in their effects. 

* Julianus Augustus septem libros in expedi- 
tione Parthica adversum Christum evomuit.—Hie- 
ronym., Oper., Epist. xx. 


. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


which he endeavoured to substitute for the 
Gospel. 

But, at least, this was a grave and seri- 
ous employment. Whatever might be 
thought of his success as a religious dis- 
putant, there was no loss of dignity in the 
emperor condescending to enlighten his 
subjects on such momentous questions. 
But when he stooped to be the satirist of 
the inhabitants of a city which had ridicu- 
led his philosophy and rejected his reli- 
gion, the finest and most elegant irony, the 
keenest and most delicate wit, would 
scarcely have justified this compromise 

_of imperial majesty. But in the Misopo- 
gon—the apology for his philo- 
-sophic beard—Julian mingled the 
coarseness of the Cynic with the bitter- 
ness of personal indignity. The vulgar 
ostentation of his own filthiness, the de- 
scription of the vermin which peopled his 
thick beard, ill accord with the philosophic 
superiority with which Julian rallies the 
love of amusement and gayety among his 
subjects of Antioch. Their follies were 
at least more graceful and humane than 
this rude pedantry. There is certainly 
much felicity of sarcasm, doubtless much 
justice, in his animadversions on the dis- 
solute manners, the ingratitude for his lib- 
erality, the dislike of his severe justice, 
the insolence of their contempt for his 
ruder manners, throughout the Misopogon; 
but it lowers Julian from a follower of Pla- 
to to a coarse imitator of Diogenes; it 
exhibits him as borrowing the worst part 
of the Christian monkish character, the 
disregard of the decencies and civilities of 
life, without the high and visionary enthu- 
siasm, or the straining after superiority to 
the low cares and pursuits of the world. 
It was singular to hear a Grecian sophist, 
for such was undoubtedly the character 
of Julian’s writings, extolling the barbari- 
ans, the Celts and Germans, above the pol- 
ished inhabitants of Greece and Syria. 
Paganism followed with faithful steps 
Julian sets 2nd with eager hopes the career 
forth on his Of Julian on the brilliant outset 
Persian ex- of his Persiancampaign. Some 
pedition. “ ἊΝ 
of the Syrian cities through 
which he passed, Batne and Hierapolis, 
and Carrhe, seemed to enter into his 
views, and endeavoured, with incense and 
sacrifice, to propitiate the gods of Julian.* 
For the last time the Etruscan haruspices 
accompanied a Roman emperor; but, by 
a singular fatality, their adverse interpre- 
tation of the signs of Heaven was dis- 
dained, and Julian followed the advice of 


Misopogon. 


+ * Julian, Epist. xxvii., p. 399. Amm. Marc., 
xxii., 2. 


363 
: \ 


the philosophers, who coloured their pre- 
dictions with the bright hues of the em- 
peror’s ambition. ἢ 

The death of Julian did greater honour 
to his philosophy. We may re- Death or 
ject as in itself improbable, and Julian. 
as resting on insufficient authority, the 
bitter sentence ascribed to him when he 
received his fatal. wound: “ Thou hast 
conquered, O Galilean.”t He comforted 
his weeping friends; he expressed his 
readiness to pay the debt of nature, and 
his joy that the purer and better part of 
his being was so soon to be released from 
the gross and material body. ‘ The gods 
of heaven sometimes bestow an early 
death as the best reward of the most pi- 
ous.” His conscience uttered no re- 
proach; he had administered the empire 
with moderation, firmness, and élemency ; 
he had repressed the license of public 
manners ; he had met danger with firm- 
ness. His prescient spirit had long in- 
formed him that he should fall by the 
sword. And ‘he thanked the everlasting 
Deity that he thus escaped the secret as- 
sassination, the slow and wasting disease, 
the ignominious death, and departed from 


the world in the midst of his glory and . 


prosperity. “It is equal cowardice to 
seek death before our time, and to at- 
tempt to avoid it when our time is come.” 
His calmness was only disturbed by the 
intelligence of the loss of a friend. He 
who despised his own death lamented 
that of another. He reproved the dis- 
tress of his attendants, declaring that it 


was humiliating to mourn Over a prince ᾿ 


already reconciled to the heavens and to 
the stars; and, thus calmly discoursing 
with the philosophers Priscus and Maxi- 
mus on the metaphysics of the soul, ex- 
pired Julian, the philosopher and em- 
peror.t 

Julian died, perhaps happily for his 
fame. Perilous as his situation was, he 
might still have extricated himself by his 


* Amm. Marc., xxiil., 5. 
δὰ Peek TaAtAace.—Theodoret, Hist. Ec., 
iii., 25. 

1 Amm. Marc., ibid. Even the Christians, at a 
somewhat later period, did justice to the great 
qualities of Julian. The character drawn by the 
pagan Aurelius Victor is adopted by Prudentius, 
who kindles into unusual vigour. Cupido laudis 
immodice ; cultus numinum superstitiosus: au- 
dax plus, quam imperatorem decet, cui salus pro- 
pria cum semper ad securitatem omnium, maximé 
in bello, conservanda est.—Epit., p. 228. 


Ductor fortissimus armis ; 
Conditor et lezum celeberrimus ; ore manuque 
Consultor patria, sed non consultor habende 
Religionis ; amans ter centum millia Divam ; 
Perfidus ille Deo, sed non et perfidus orbi. 
Apoth., 430 


364 


military skill and courage, and eventually 
succeeded in his conflict with the Persian 
empire ; he might have dictated terms. to 
Sapor far different from those which the 
awe Of his name and the vigorous organi- 
zation of his army, even after his death, 
Probable re. extorted from the prudent Per- 
sults of Ju- sian, But in his other, his in- 
a ‘wih. ternal conflict, Julian could have 
Christianity. obtained no victory, even at the 
price of rivers of blood shed in persecu- 
tion, and perhaps civil wars, throughout 
the empire. He might have arrested the 
fall of the empire, but that of paganism 
was beyond the power of man.* The in- 
vasion of arms may be resisted or re- 
pelled; the silent and profound encroach- 
ments of opinion and religious sentiment 
will not retrograde. Already there had 
been ominous indications that the temper 
of Julian would hardly maintain its more 
moderate policy ; nor would Christianity 
in that age have been content with oppo- 
sing him with passive courage: the in- 
sulting fanaticism of the violent, no less 
2 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


than the stubborn econtumacy of the diso- 
bedient, would have goaded him by de- 
grees to severer measures. The whole 
empire would have been rent by civil dis- 
sensions ; the bold adventurer would 
scarcely have been wanting, who, either 
from ambition or enthusiasm, would have 
embraced the Christian cause; and the 
pacific spirit of genuine Christianity, its 
high notions of submission to civil au- 
thority, would scarcely, generally or con- 
stantly, have resisted the temptation of 
resuming its seat upon the throne. Ju- 
lian could not have subdued Christianity 
without depopulating the empire, nor con- 
tested with it the sovereignty of the world 
without danger to himself and to the civil 
authority, nor yielded without the dis- 
grace and bitterness of failure. He who 
stands across the peaceful stream of pro- 
gressive opinion, by his resistance mad- 
dens it to an irresistible torrent, and is 
either swept away by it at once, or di- 
verts it over the whole region in one de- 
vastating deluge.* 


CHAPTER VII. 


VALENTINIAN AND VALENS. 


[r is singular to hear the pagans taking 
Lamenta- up, in their altered position, the 
tions of the arouments of the Christians. 
the death of The extinction of the family of 
Julian. Constantine was a manifest in- 
dication of the Divine displeasure at the 
abandonment of paganism.t But this was 
the calmer conclusion of less recent sor- 
row and disappointment. The immediate 
expression of pagan regret was a bitter 
and reproachful complaint against the in- 
gratitude of the gods, who made so bad a 
return for the zealous services of Julian. 
“Was this the reward for so many vic- 
tims, so many prayers, so much incense, 
so much blood, shed on the altar by night 
as well as by day. Julian, in his. profuse 
and indiscriminate piety, had neglected no 

deity ; he had worshipped all who lived in 
the tradition of the poets—fathers and 
children, gods and goddesses, superior and 
subordinate deities ; and they, instead of 
hurling their thunderbolts and lightnings, 
and all the armory of heaven, against the 
hostile Persians, had thus basely aban- 
doned their sacred charge. The new Sal- 


* Julian’s attempt to restore paganism was like 
that of Rienzi to restore the liberties of Rome. 
¢ Liban. pro Templis, ii., 184. 


moneus, the more impious Lycurgus, the 
senseless image of a man (such were the 
appellations with which the indignant rhet- 
orician alluded to Constantius), who had 
waged implacable warfare with the gods, 
quenched the sacred fires, trampled on the 
altars, closed, or demolished, or profaned 
the temples, or alienated them to loose 
companions—this man had been permitted 
to pollute the earth for fifty years, and 
then departed by the ordinary course of 
nature; while Julian, with all his piety 
and all his glory, had only given to the 
world a hasty glimpse of his greatness, 
and suddenly departed from their unsatis- 
fied sight.”t But, without regarding the 


* Theodoret describes the rejoicings at Antioch 
on the news of the death of Julian. There were 
not only festal dancings in the churches and the 
cemeteries of the martyrs, but in the theatres they 
celebrated the triumph of the cross, and mocked at 
his vaticinations. 

Ἡ δὲ ᾿Αντιόχου πόλις THY ἐκείνου μεμαθηκῦια 
σφαγὴν, δημοθοινίας ἐπετέλει καὶ πανηγύρεις καὶ 
ov’ μόνον ἐν ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις ἐχόρευον καὶ τοῖς 
μαρτύρων σηκοῖς, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ϑεάτροις τοῦ 
σταυροῦ τὴν νίκεν ἐκήρυττον, καὶ τοῖς ἐκείνου 
μαντεύμασιν ἐπετώθαζον .---ἘΣ. H., iii., 27. 

+ Libanius insults, in this passage, the worship 
of the dead man, whose sarcophagus (he seems to 


—— 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


vain lamentations of paganism, Christian- 
Reign of ity calmly resumed its ascendan- 
Jovian. ey, The short reign of Jovian 
sufficed for its re-establishment; and, as 
yet, it exacted no revenge for its suffer- 
ings and degradation under Julian.* The 
character of the two brothers who suc- 
Valentinian Ceeded to the empire, Valentin- 
and Valens. jan and Valens, and their reli- 
gious policy, were widely at variance. 
Valentinian ascended the throne with the 
fame of having rejected the favour of Ju- 
lian and the prospects of military distinc- 
tion for the sake of his religion. He had 
withdrawn from the army rather than offer 
even questionable adoration to standards 
decorated with the symbols of idolatry. 
But Valentinian was content to respect 
those rights of conscience which he had 
so courageously asserted. 

The Emperor of the West maintained a 
A.D. 364, Calm and uninterrupted toleration, 
Toleration which incurred the reproach of 
ervalen- indifference from the Christian 

' party, but has received the re- 
spectful homage of the pagan historian.t 
The immunities and the privileges of the 
pagan priesthood were confirmed:f the 
rites of divination were permitted, if per- 
formed without malicious intent.) ‘The 
prohibition of midnight sacrifices, which 
seemed to be required by the public mor- 
als. threatened to deprive the Greeks of 
their cherished mysteries. Pretextatus, 
then proconsul of Achaia, the head of the 
pagan party, a man of high and unblem- 
ished character, represented to the emper- 
or that these rites were necessary to the 
existence of the Greeks. The law was 
relaxed in their favour, on the condition 
of their strict adherence to ancient usage. 
In Rome the vestal virgins maintained 


allude to the pix or consecrated box in which the 
sacramental symbol of our Saviour’s body was en- 
closed) is introduced into the κλῆρος of the gods.— 
Monod. in Julian., i., p. 509. 

* Themistius praises highly the toleration of 
Jovian. ‘ Thy law and that of God is eternal and 
unchangeable; that which leaves the soul of every 
man free to follow that form of religion which 
seems best to him.”’-—Ad Jovian., p. 81], ed. Din- 
dorf. He proceeds toassert that the general piety 
will be increased by the rivalry of different reli- 
gions. ‘The Deity does not demand uniformity 
of faith.” He touches on the evils which had 
arisen out of religious factions, and urges bim to 
permit supplications to ascend to Heaven from all 
parts of the empire for his prosperous reign. He 
praises him, however, for suppressing magic and 
Goetic sacrifices. 

+ Aminianus Marcellinus, 1, xxx,c 9. 

Testes sunt leges a me in exordio imperii mei 
date ; quibus unicuique quod animo imbibisset, 
colendi libera facultas tributa est.—Cod. Theod., 
Lix., tit. 16, 1. 9. ‘ 


= Cod. 'Theod. xii., 1, 60,75. ὁ Ibid, ix., 16, 9. 


365 


their sanctity ; the altar of Victory, resto- 
red by Julian, preserved its place; a mil- 
itary guard protected the temples from 
insult, but a tolerant as well as prudent 
provision forbade the employment of Chris- 
tian soldiers on this service.* On the oth- 
er hand, Valentinian appears to Laws of 
have retracted some of the lav- Valentinian. 
ish endowments conferred by Julian on 
the heathen temples. ‘These estates were 
reincorporated with the private treasure 
of the sovereign.t At a later period of 
his reign there must have been some gen- 
eral prohibition of animal sacrifice; -the 
pagan worship was restricted to the offer- 
ing of incense to the gods.{ But, accord- 
ing to the expression of Libanius, they 
dared not execute this law in Rome, so 
fatal would it have been considered to the 
welfare of the empire.§ 

Valens in the East, as Valentinian in 
the West, allowed perfect free- Prosecutions 
dom to the public ritual of pa- for magic. 
ganism. But both in the East and in the 
West, the persecution against magic and 
unlawful divination told with tremendous 
force against the pagan cause. It was 
the more fatal because it was not openly 
directed against the religion, but against 
practices denounced as criminal and be- 
lieved to be real by the general sentiment 
of mankind, and prosecuted by that fierce 
animosity which is engendered by fear. 
Some compassion might be felt for inno- 
cent victims, supposed to be unjustly im- 
plicated in such charges ; the practice of 
extorting evidence or confession by tor- 
ture might be revolting, to those especial- 
ly who looked back with pride and with 
envy to the boasted immunity of all Ro- 
man citizens from such cruelties; but 
where strong suspicion of guilt prevailed, 
the public feeling would ratify the stern 
sentence of the law against such delin- 
quents ; the magician or the witch would 
pass to execution amid the universal ab- 
horrence. The notorious connexion of 
any particular religious party with such 
dreaded and abominated procecdings, par- 
ticularly if proved by the conviction of a 
considerable majority of the condemned 
from their ranks, would tend to depress 
the religion itself. This sentiment was 
not altogether unjust. Paganism had, as 
it were, in its desperation, thrown itself 
upon the inextinguishable superstition of 


* Cod. Theod., xvi, 1, 1. ‘ 

+ Cod. Theod., x., 1,8. The law reads as if it 
were a more general and indiscriminate confisca- 
tion. i 

Ὁ Lib. pro Templis, vii., p. 163, éd. Reiske. 
This arose out of some recent and peculiar cir- 
cumstances. § Liban., vol. ii., p. 180. 


> 


Ἐφ 


“* 


366 


the human mind. The more the pagans 
were depressed, the hope of regaining their 
lost supériority, the desire of vengeance, 
would induce them to seize on every meth- 
od of awing or commanding the minds of 
their wavering votaries. Nor were those 
who condescended to these arts, or those 
who in many cases claimed the honours 
annexed to such fearful powers, only the 
bigoted priesthood or mere itinerant tra- 
ders in human credulity ; the high philo- 
sophie party, which had gained such pre- 
dominant influence during the reign of 
Julian, now wielded the terrors and incur- 
red the penalties of these dark and forbid- 
den practices. It is impossible to read 
their writings without remarking a boast- 
ful display of intercourse with supernatu- 
ral agents, which to the Christian would 
appear an illicit communion with malig- 
nant spirits. This was not indeed magic, 
but it was the groundwork of it. The 
theurgy, or mysterious dealings of the Pla- 
tonic philosopher with the demons orstill 
higher powers, was separated by a thin 
and imperceptible distinction from Goetic 
or unlawful enchantment. Divination, in- 
deed, or the foreknowledge of futurity by 
different arts, was an essential part of the 
Greek and Roman religion. But divina- 
tion had, in Greece at least, withdrawn 
from its public office. It had retired from 
the silenced oracles of Delphi or Dodona. 
The gods, rebuked according to the Chris- 
tian, offended according to the pagan, had 
withdrawn their presence. In Rome the 
Etruscan soothsayers, as part of the great 
nationalceremonial, maintained their place, 
and to a late period preserved their influ- 
ence over the public mind. But, in gen- 
eral, it was only in secret, and to its pe- 
culiar favourites, that the summoned or 
spontaneous deity revealed the secrets of 
futurity ; it was by the dream or the pri- 
vate omen, the sign in the heavens vouch- 
safed only to the initiate, or the direct in- 
spiration ; or, if risked, it was by the se- 
cret, mysterious, usually the nocturnal rite, 
that the reluctant god was compelled to 
disclose the course of fate. 

The persecutions of Valentinian in 
Cruelty of Rome were directed against 
Valentinian. magical ¢eremonies. The pa- 
gans, who remembered the somewhat os- 
tentatious lenity and patience of Julian on 
the public tribunal, might contrast the 
more than inexorable, the inquisitorial and 
sanguinary, justice of the Christian Valen- 
tinian, even in ordinary cases, with the be- 
nignant precepts of his religion. But jus- 
tice with Valentinian in all cases, more 
particularly in these persecutions, degen- 
erated into savage tyranny. The emperor 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


kept two fierce bears by his own chamber, 
to which the miserable criminals ~vere 
thrown in his presence, while the unre- 
lenting Valentinian listened with ferocious 
delight-to their groans. 
imals, as a reward for his faithful service 
to the state. received his freedom, and 
was let loose into his native forest.* 
Maximin, the representative of Valen- 
tinian at Rome, administered the yiais ine 
laws with all the vindictive fe- Rome before 
rocity, but without the severe Mximin. 
dignity, of his imperial master. Maximin 
was of an obscure and barbarian family 
settled in Pannonia. He had attained the 
government of Corsica and Sardinia, and 
subsequently of Tuscany. He was pro- 
moted in Rome to the important office of 
superintendent of the markets of the city. 
During the illness of Olybius, the prefect 
of Rome, the supreme judicial authority 
had been delegated to Maximin. Maximin 
was himself rumoured to have dabbled in 
necromantie arts, and lived in constant 
terror of accusation till released by the 
death of his accomplice. This rumour 
may create a suspicion that Maximin was, 
at least at the time at which the accu- 
sation pointed, a pagan. The paganism 
of a large proportion of his victims is more 
evident. The first trial over which Maxi- 
min presided was a charge made by Chi- 
lon, vicar of the prefects, and his wife 
Maximia, against three obscure persons 
for attempting their lives by magical arts: 
of these, one was a soothsayer.f Cruel 
tortures extorted from these miserable 
men a wild string of charges at once against 
persons of the highest rank and of the 
basest degree. All had tampered with 
unlawful arts, and mingled up with them 
the crimes of murder, poisoning, and adul- 
tery. A general charge of magic hung 
over the whole city. Maximin poured 
these dark rumours into the greedy ear of 
Valentinian, and obtained the authority 
which he coveted, for making a strict in- 
quisition into these offences, for exacting 
evidence by torture from men of every 
rank and station, and for condemning them 
to a barbarous and ignominious death. 
The crime of magic was declared of equal 
enormity with treason; the rights of Ro- 
man citizenship, and the special privileges 
granted by the imperial edicts, were sus- 


* The Christians did not escape these legal mur- 
ders, constantly perpetrated by the orders of Valen- 
linian. In Milan, the place where three obscure 
victims were buried, was called ad Innocentes. 
When he had condemned the decurions of three 
towns to be put to death, in a remonstrance against 
their execution it was stated that they would be 
worshipped as martyrs by the Christians.— Amm. 
Marc., xXvii., 7. { Haruspex. 


One of these an-— 


a 


Ἢ ." 


‘ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 


pended ;* neither the person of senator 
nor dignitary was sacred against the 
scourge or the rack. The powers of this 
extraordinary commission were exercised 
with the utmost latitude and most impla- 
cable severity. Anonymous accusations 
were received; Maximin was understood 
to have declared that no one should be 
esteemed innocent whom he chose to find 
guilty. But the details of this persecution 
belong to our history only as far as they 
relate to religion. On general grounds it 
may be inferred that the chief brunt of 
this sanguinary persecution fell on the 
pagan party. Magic, although even at 
that time, perhaps, the insatiate curiosity 
about the future, the indelible passion for 
supernatural excitement, even more crim- 
inal designs, might betray some few pro- 
fessed Christians into this direct treason 
against their religion, was a crime which, 
in general, would have been held in dread 
and abhorrence by the members of the 
Church. In the laws it is invariably de- 
nounced as a pagan crime. ‘The aristoc- 
racy of Rome were the chief victims of 
Maximin’s cruelty, and in this class, till 
its final extinction, was the stronghold of 
paganism. It is not assuming too much 
Connexion of fluence to the Christianity 
these crimes Of that age to consider the im- 
with paganism. moralities and crimes, the 
adulteries and the poisonings, which were 
mingled up with these charges of magic, 
as the vestiges of the old unpurified Ro- 
man manners. The Christianity of that 
period ran into the excess of monastic as- 
ceticism, for which the enthusiasm, to 
judge from the works of St. Jerom, was 
at its height ; and this violation of nature 
had not yet produced its remote but ap- 
parently inevitable consequence, disso- 
luteness of morals. In almost every case 
recorded by the historian may be traced 
indications of pagan religious usages. A 
soothsayer, as it has appeared, was involved 
in the first criminal charge. While his 
meaner accomplices were beaten to death 
by straps loaded with lead, the judge having 
bound himself by an oath that they should 
neither die by fire nor steel, the sooth- 
sayer, to whom he had made no such 
pledge, was burned alive. The affair of 
Hymettius betrays the same connexion 
with the ancient religion. Hymettius had 
been accused, seemingly without justice, 
of malversation in his office of proconsul 
of Africa, in the supplies of corn to the 
metropolis. A celebrated soothsayer (ha- 
ruspex) named Amantius was charged 
with offering sacrifices, by the command 


* Juris prisci Justitia et divorum arbitria.—Amm, 
Mare. 


367 


of Hymettius, with some unlawful or trea- 


sonable design. Amantius resisted the 
torture with unbroken courage, but among 
his papers was found a writing of Hymet- 
tius, of which one part contained bitter in- 
vectives against the avaricious and cruel 
Valentinian; the other implored him, by 
‘sacrifices, to induce the gods to mitigate 
the anger of both the emperors. Aman- 
tius suffered capital punishment. A youth 
named Lollianus, convicted of inconsider- 
ately copying a book of magic incanta- 
tions, and condemned to exile, had the 
rashness to appeal to the emperor, and 
suffered death. Lollianus was the son of 
Lampadius, formerly prafect of Rome,* 
and, for his zeal for the restoration of the 
ancient buildings, and his vanity in caus- 
ing hisown name to be inscribed on them, 
was called the Lichen. Lampadius was 
probably a pagan. ‘The leader of that par- 
ty, Pretextatus, whose unimpeachable 
character maintained the universal respect 
of all parties, was the head of a deputation 
to the emperor,} entreating him that the 
punishment might be proportionate to the 
offences, and claiming for the senatorial or- 
der their immemorial exemption from the 
unusual and illegal application of torture. 
On the whole, this relentless and sangui- 
nary inquisition into the crime of magic, 
enveloping in one dreadful proscription a 
large proportion of the higher orders of 
Rome and of the West, even if not direct- 
ly, must incidentally have weakened the 
cause of paganism; connected it in many 
minds with dark and hateful practices, 
and altogether increased the deepening 
animosity against it. 1 

In the East the fate of paganism was still 
more adverse. Thereis strong | 4.5 
ground for supposing that the 0 Soh ke 
rebellion of Procopius was con- Procopius. 
nected with the revival of Ju- “2 05. 
lian’s party. It was assiduously rumour- 
ed abroad that Procopius had been desig- 
nated as his successor by the expiring 
Julian. Procopius, before the soldiery, 
proclaimed himself the relative and heir 
of Julian.{ The astrologers had predicted 
the elevation of Procopius to the greatest 
height—of empire, as his partisans fondly 
hoped—of misery, as the ingenious seers 
expounded the meaning of their oracle af- 
ter his death.§ The pagan and philosoph- 


* Tillemont thinks Lampadius to have heen a 
Christian: but his reasons are to me inconclusive, 

+ Amm. Marc., xxvii, 1, &c. + Ibid, xxvi., 6. 

ὁ See Le Beau, ili., p. 250. 

“Ὥστε αὐτὸν τῶν ἐπὶ ταῖς μεγίσταις ἀρχαῖς γνω- 
ρισθέντων, ἐν τῷ μεγέθει τῆς συμφορᾶς γενέσθαι 
διασημότερον. He was deceived by the Genethli- 
aci.—Greg. Nyss., de Fato 


ie 


.. 


“os 


ΓῚ 


Ό 


: we 
Ve ᾿ 


368 


ic party were more directly and exclu- 
sively implicated in the fatal event, which 
was disclosed to the trembling Valens at 
Antioch, and brought as wide and relent- 
less desolation on the East as the cruelty 
“AD. 363, Of Maximin on the West. It was 
"= mingled up with treasonable de- 
signs against the throne and the life of 
the emperor. The magical ceremony of 
divination, which was denounced before 


Valens, was pagan throughout all its dark | 


and mysterious cireumstances.* The tri- 
pod on which the conspirators performed 
their ill-omened rites was modelled after 
‘that at Delphi; it was consecrated by 
magic songs and frequent and daily cere- 
_ monies, according to the established ritu- 
al. The house where the rite was held 
was purified by incense; a kind of char- 
ger made of mixed metals was placed 
upon the altar, around the rim of which 
were letters at’ certain intervals. The 
officiating diviner wore the habit of a hea- 
then priest, the linen garments, sandals, 
and a fillet wreathed round his head, and 
held a sprig of an auspicious plant in his 
hand; he chanted the accustomed hymn 
to Apollo, the god of prophecy. The div- 
ination was performed by a ring running 
round on a slender thread and pointing to 
certain letters, which formed an oracle m 
heroic verse, like those of Delphi. The 
fatal prophecy then pointed to the three 
first and the last letters of a name, like 
Theodorus, as the fated successor of Va- 
lens. 

Among the innumerable victims to the 
fears and the vengeance of Valens, whom 
the ordinary prisons were not capacious 
enough to contain, those who either were, 
or were suspected of having been intrust- 
ed with the fatal secret, were almost all 
the chiefs of the philosophic party. Hi- 
lary of Phrygia, with whom is associated, 
by one historian, Patricius of Lydia and 
Andronicus of Caria, all men-of the most 
profound learning} and skilled in divina- 
tion, were those who had been consulted 
on that unpardoned and unpardonable of- 
fence, the inquiring the name of the suc. 
cessor to the reigning sovereign. They 
were, in fact, the conductors of the magic 
ceremony, and on their confession betray- 
ed the secret circumstances of the incan- 
tation. Some, among whom appears the 


* Philostorgius describes it as a prediction of the 
Gentile oracles. Τῶν ‘EAAnvixov ypnotnpiov.— 
Lib. viii., ς. 15. 

| cannot but suspect that the prohibition of sacri- 

| fice mentioned by Libanius, which seems contrary 
to the general policy of the brothers, and was but 
partially carried into execution, may have been con- 
‘nected with these transactions. 

_ + Zosimus, iv., 15. 
WER oh 


, 
“ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


x 


name of Iamblichus, escaped by miracle 
from torture and execution.* Libanius 
himself (it may be observed, as evidence 
how closely magic and philosophy were 
mingled up together in the popular opin- 
ion) had already escaped with difficulty 
two charges of unlawful praciices;} on 
this occasion, to the general surprise, he 
had the same good fortune: either the 
favour or the clemency of the emperor, 
or some interest with the general accu- 
sers of his friends, exempted him from 
the common peril. Of those whose suf- 
ferings are recorded, Pasiphilus resisted 
the extremity of torture rather than give 
evidence against an innocent man: that 
man was Eutropius, who held the rank 
of proconsul of Asia. Simonides, though 
but a youth, was one of the most austere 
disciples of philosophy. He boldly ad- 
mitted that he was cognizant of the dan- 
gerous secret, but he kept it undivulged. 
Simonides was judged worthy of a more 
barbarous death than the rest; he was 
condemned to be burned alive; and the 
martyr of philosophy calmly ascended the 
funeral pile. The fate of Maximus, since 
the death of Julian, had been marked 
with strange vicissitude. With Priscus, 
on the accession of Valentinian, he was 
summoned before the imperial tribunal; 
the blameless Priscus was dismissed, but 
Maximus, who, according to his own 
friends, had displayed, during the life of 
Julian, a pomp and luxuriousness un- 
seemly in a philosopher, was sent back 
to Ephesus, and amerced in a heavy fine 
utterly disproportioned to philosophic pov- 
erty. The fine was mitigated, but in its 
diminished amount exacted by cruel tor- 
tures. Maximus, in his agony, entreated 
his wife to purchase poison to rid him of 
his miserable life. The wife obeyed, but 
insisted on taking the first draught: she 


drank, expired ; and Maximus—declined to ° 


drink. He was so fortunate as to attract 
the notice of Clearchus, proconsul of Asia; 
he was released from his bonds, ‘rose in 
wealth and influence, returned to Constan- 
tinople, and resumed his former State. 
The fatal secret had been communicated 
to Maximus. He had the wisdom, his par- 
tisans declared the prophetic foresight, to 
discern the perilous consequences of the 
treason. He predicted the speedy death 
of himself and of all who were in posses- 
sion of the secret. He added, it is said,a 
more wonderful oracle ; that the emperor 
himself would soon perish by a strange 
death, and not even find burial. Maxi- 
mus was apprehended and earried to An- 
tioch. After a hasty trial, in which he 


* See Zonaras, 13, 2, 


Vitis, ΠΕ ; 


cased ra 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


369 


confessed his knowledge of the oracle, |acclamations of his followers, and the 
but declared that he esteemed it unwor- | baffled imperial authority acquiesced in 
thy of a philosopher to divulge a secret | his peaceful rule till his decease. But at 
intrusted to him by his friends, he was |his death, five years afterward, were re- 


taken back to Ephesus, and there exe- 


cuted with all the rest of his party who 


were implicated in the conspiracy. Fes- 
tus, it is said, who presided over the exe- 
cution, was haunted in after life by a vis- 
ion of Maximus dragging him to judg- 


ment before the infernal deities.* ‘Though 


a despiser of the gods, a Christian, he was 
compelled by his terrors to sacrifice to the 
Eumenides, the avengers of blood; and 
having so done, he fell down dead. So 
completely did the cause of the pagan dei- 
ties appear involved with that of the per- 
secuted philosophers. 

Nor was this persecution without con- 
siderable influence on the literature of 
Greece. So severe an inquisition was 
instituted into the possession of magical 
books, that, in order to justify their san- 
guinary proceedings, vast heaps of man- 
uscripts relating to law and general litera- 
ture were publicly burned, as if they con- 
tained unlawful matter. Many men of 
letters throughout the East in their ter- 
ror destroyed their whole libraries, lest 
some innocent or unsuspected work should 
be seized by the ignorant or malicious in- 
former, and bring them unknowingly with- 
in the relentless penalties of the law.t 
From this period philosophy is almost ex- 
tinct, and paganism in the East drags on 
its silent and inglorious existence, de- 
prived of its literary aristocracy, and op- 
posing only the inert resistance of habit 
to the triumphant energy of Christianity. 
-™ Arianism, under the influence of Valens, 

J State of maintained its ascendancy in the 
Christianity Kast. Throughout the whole of 
in the East. that division of the empire the 
two forms of Christianity still subsisted 
in irreconcilable hostility. Almost every 
city had two prelates, each at the head of 
his separate communion; the one, ac- 
cording to the powers or the numbers of 
his party, assuming the rank and title of 
the legitimate bishop, and looking down, 
though with jealous animosity, on his 
factious rival. During the life of Atha- 
nasius the see of Alexandrea remained 
faithful to the Trinitarian doctrines. For 
a short period, indeed, the prelate was 


obliged to retire, during what is called his’ 


fifth exile, to the tomb of his father; but 
he was speedily welcomed back by the 


* Kunap., Vit. Maxim. Amm. Marc., xxix., 1. 
+Amm. Marcell.. xxix., 1. Inde factum est per 
Orientales previncias, ut omnes metu similium ex- 
urerent libraria omnia: tantus universos invaserat 
terror, xxix.,2.—Compare Heyne, note on Zosimus. 
A 


newed the old scenes of discord and blood- 
shed. Palladius, the prefect of pee 
Egypt, received the imperial com- ~~" 
mission to install the Arian preiate, Lu- 
cius, on the throne of Alexandrea. Pal- 
ladius was a pagan, and the Catholic wri- 
ters bitterly reproach their rivals with 
this monstrous alliance. It was rumour- 
ed that the pagan population welcomed 
the Arian prelate with hymns of gratula- 
tion as the friend of the god Serapis, as 
the restorer of his worship. 

In Constantinople Valens had received 
baptism from Eudoxus, the aged aD. 376 
Arian prelate of that see. Sacer- ~~" * 
dotal influence once obtained over the 
feeble mind of Valens, was likely to car- 
ry him to any extreme; yet, on the other 
hand, he might be restrained and over- 
awed by calm and. dignified resistance. 
In general, therefore, he might yield him- 
self up as an instrument to the passions, 
jealousies, and persecuting violence of 
his own party; while he might have re- 
course to violence to place Demophilus 
on the episcopal throne of Constantinople, 
he might be awed into a more tolerant and 
equitable tone by the eloquence and com- 
manding character of Basil. It is unjust 
to load the memory of Valens with the 
most atrocious crime which has been 
charged upon him by the vindictive exag- 
geration of his triumphant religious ad- 
versaries. As a deputation of eighty 
Catholic ecclesiastics of Constantinople 
were returning from Nicomedia, the ves- 
sel was burned, the crew took to the 
boat, the ecclesiastics perished to a man. 


As no one escaped to tell the tale, and the « 


crew, if accomplices, were not likely to 
accuse themselves, we may fairly doubt 
the assertion that orders had been secret- 
ly issued by Valens to perpetrate this wan- 
ton barbarity.* 


[ἢ The story is circumstantially narrated by Soc- 
rates, H. E., iv., c. 16; by Sozomen, H. E., vi., 14; 
and by Theodoret, H. E., iv., 24. They say that 
Valens ordered his minister Modestus to put these 
envoys to death. Modestus, fearing it would pro- 
duce an insurrection, pretended to have orders to 
send them into exile; and, under this pretence, put 
them on board the vessel, ordering the captain, 
when well ont at sea, to fire the vessel and leave 
the envoys to perish, while the captain and sailors 
escaped in the boat. This was done. But, after 
the sailors left the vessel on fire, a strong wind 


drove it to the shore, where it was consumed, with F J 
the persons on board. Most historians admit {Π6 ~ 


facts as stated —See Schroeckh, K. G., vol. Xil., p. > 

35,&c. Milman’s confident assertion needs quali- * 

fication. ]} μι Pe. 
ee a 


370 


+ 


# : 


.. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


The memorable interview with Saint | bestow an endowment on the Church for 


Interview Basil, as it is related by the Cath- 
with Basil. olic party, displays, if the weak- 
ness, certainly the patience and tolera- 
tion, of the sovereign; if the uncompro- 
mising firmness of the prelate, some of 
that leaven of pride with which he is 
taunted by Jerome. ΚΝ 
During his circuit through the Asiatic 
provinces, the emperor approached the 
city of Cesarea in Cappadocia. Modes- 
tus, the violent and unscrupulous favour- 
ite of Valens, was sent before, to persuade 
the bishop to submit to the religion of the 
emperor. Basil was inflexible. 
“Know you not,” said the of- 
fended officer, ‘that 1 have power to strip 
you of all your possessions, to banish you, 
to deprive you of life?” ‘ He,” answer- 
ed Basil, ‘‘ who possesses nothing can 
lose nothing; all you can take from me is 
the wretched garments I wear, and the few 
books, which are my only wealth. As to 
exile, the earth is the Lord’s ; everywhere 
it will be my country, or, rather, my place 
of pilgrimage. Death will be a mercy; 
it will but admit me into life: long have 
I been dead to this world.” Modestus 
expressed his surprise at this unusual 
tone of intrepid address. ‘“ You have 
never, then,” replied the prelate, “ con- 
versed before with a bishop?” Modestus 
returned to his master. ‘* Violence will 
be the only course with this man, who is 
neither to be appalled by menaces nor 
won by blandishments.” But the emperor 
shrunk from violent measures. His hum- 
bler supplication confined itself to the ad- 
mission of Arians into the communion of 
Basil; but he implored in vain. The em- 
peror mingled with the crowd of undis- 
tinguished worshippers; but he was so 
“impressed by the solemnity of the Catho- 
lie service, the deep and full chanting of 
the psalms, the silent adoration of the 
people, the order and the majesty, by the 
calm dignity of the bishop and of his at- 
tendant clergy, which appeared more like 
the serenity of angels than the busy scene 
of mortal men, that, awe-struck and over- 
powered, he scarcely ventured to approach 
to make his offering. The clergy stood 
irresolute whether they were to receive it 
from the infectious hand of an Arian; Ba- 
sil at length, while the trembling emperor 
leaned for support on an attendant priest, 
condescended to advance and accept the 
oblation. But neither supplications, nor 
bribes, nor threats could induce the bish- 
op to admit the sovereign to the commu- 
nion. Ina personal interview, instead of 
convincing the bishop, Valens was so over- 


A.D. 371. 


powered by the eloquence of Basil as to | 


the use of the poor. A scene of mingled 
intrigue and asserted miracle ensued. The 
exile of Basil was determined, but the 
mind of Valens was alarmed by the dan- 
gerous illness of his son. The prayers 
of Basil were said to have restored the 
youth to life; but a short time after, hav 
ing been baptized by Arian hands, he re 
lapsed and died. Basil, however, main. 
tained his place and dignity to the end.* 
But the fate of Valens drew on; it was 
followed by the first permanent Eaee of 
establishment of the barbarians Christianity 
within the frontiers of the Ro- i? mitigating 
man empire. Christianity now  barbarianin 
began to assume a new and im- Yasion. 
portant function, that assimilation and 
union between the conquerors and the 
conquered which prevented the total ex- 
tinction of the Roman civilization, and the 
oppression of Europe by complete and al- 
most hopeless barbarism. However Chris- 
tianity might have disturbed the peace, 
and therefore, in some degree, the stabili- 
ty of the empire, by the religious factions 
which distracted the principal cities ; how- 
ever that foreign principle of celibacy, 
which had now become completely identi- 
fied with it, by withdrawing so many ac- 
tive and powerful minds into the cloister 
or the hermitage, may have diminished the 
civil energies, and even have impaired the 
military forces of the empire, yet the en- 
terprising and victorious religion amply 
repaid those injuries by its influence in 
remodelling the new state of society. If 
treacherous to the interests of the Roman 
empire, it was true to those of mankind. 
Throughout the whole process of the re- 
settling of Europe and the other provinces 
of the empire by the migratory tribes from 
the north and east, and the vast system 
of colonization and conquest which intro- 
duced one or more new races into every 
province, Christianity was the one com- 
mon bond, the harmonizing principle, 
which subdued to something like unity 
the adverse and conflicting elements of 
society. Christianity, no doubt, while it 
discharged this lofty mission, could not but 
undergo a great and desecrating change. 
It might repress, but could not altogether 


“* Greg. Naz., Orat. xx. Greg. Nyss. contra Eu- 
nom.; and the ecclesiastical historians in loco. 
+ Valens, perceiving the actual operation of this 
unwazlike dedication oe able-bodied men 
to useless inactivity, attemp Ὁ correct the evil 
by law, and by the strong interference of the gov- 
ernment. He invaded the monasteries and solitai 
hermitages of Egypt, and swept the monks by 
thousands into the ranks of his army. Buta re- 
luctant Egyptian monk would, in general, make 
but an indifferent soldier. 


‘ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


subdue, the advance of barbarism; it was 
constrained to accommodate itself to the 
spirit of the times; while struggling to 
es ὙΠ barbarism, itself became bar- 


, barized. It lost at once much of its purity 


— 


and its gentleness ; it became splendid and 
imaginative, warlike, and at length chival- 
rous. When a country in a comparatively 
high state of civilization is overrun by a 
foreign and martial horde, in numbers too 
great to be absorbed by the local popula- 
tion, the conquerors usually establish 
themselves as a kind of armed aristocracy, 
while the conquered are depressed into a 
race of slaves. Where there is no con- 
necting, no intermediate power, the two 
races coexist in stern and irreconcilable 
hostility. he difference in privilege, and 
often in the territorial possession of the 
land, is increased and rendered more 
strongly marked by the total want of com- 
munion in blood. . Intermarriages, if not, 
as commonly, prohibited by law, are al- 
most entirely discountenanced by general 
opinion. Such was, in fact, the ordinary 
process in the formation of the society 
which arose out of the ruins of the Roman 
empire. The conquerors became usually 
a military aristocracy ; assumed the prop- 
erty in the conquered lands, or, at least, 
a considerable share in the landed estates, 
and laid the groundwork, as it were, for 
that feudal system which was afterward 
developed with more or less completeness 
in different countries of Europe. 

One thing alone in some cases tempered, 
Influence of Curing the process of conquest, 
the clergy. the irreclaimable hostility; in 
all, after the final settlement, moulded up 
together in some degree the adverse 
powers. Where, as in the Gothic inva- 
sion, it had made some previous impres- 
sion on the invading race, Christianity 
was constantly present, silently mitigating 
the horrors of the war, and afterward 
blending together, at least to a certain ex- 
tent, the rival races. At all times it be- 
came the connecting link, the intermediate 
power, which gave some community of 
interest, some similarity of feeling, to the 
master and the slave. They worshipped at 
least the same God in the same church; 
and the care of the same clergy embraced 
both with something of a harmonizing and 
equalizing superintendence. The Chris- 
tian clergy occupied a singular position 
in this new state of society. At the 

earlier period they were in general Ro- 
; later, though sometimes barbarian 

by birth, they were Roman in education. 
hen the prostration of the conquered 
people was complete, there was still an 
order of people, not strictly belonging to 


371 


either race, which maintained a command- 
ing attitude, and possessed certain au- 
thority. The Christian bishop confronted © 
the barbarian sovereign, or took his ra 
among the leading nobles. During the 
invasion, the Christian clergy, though 
their possessions were ravaged in the in- 
discriminate warfare, though their per- 
sons were not always secure from insult 
or from slavery, yet, on the whole, re- 
tained, or very soon resumed, a certain 
sanctity, and hastened before long to 
wind their chains around the minds of the 
conquerors. Before anew invasion, Chris- 
tianity had in general mingled up the in- 
vaders with the invaded; till at length 
Europe, instead of being a number of dis- 
connected kingdoms, hostile in race, in 
civil polity, in religion, was united in a 
kind of federal Christian republic, on a 
principle of unity, acknowledging the su- 
premacy of the pope. 

The overweening authority claimed and 
exercised by the clergy ; their Their tihpore 
existence as a separate and eX- tance in this 
clusive caste, at this particular new state of 
period in the progress of civiliza- “"** 
tion, became of the highest utility. A re- 
ligion without a powerful and separate 
sacerdotal order, even perhaps if that 
order had not in general been bound to 
celibacy, and so prevented from degenera- 
ting into an hereditary caste, would have 
been absorbed and lost in the conflict and 
confusion of the times. Religion, unless 
invested by general opinion in high author- 
ity, and that authority asserted by an ac- 
tive and incorporated class, would scarcely 
have struggled through this complete dis- 
organization of all the existing relations of 
society. The respect which the clergy 
maintained was increased by their being 
almost the exclusive possessors of that 
learning which commands the reverence 
even of barbarians when not actually en- 
gaged in war, A religion which rests on 
a written record, however that record may 
be but rarely studied, and by a few only 
of its professed interpreters, enforces the 
general respect to literary attainment. 
Though the traditional commentary may 
overload or supersede the original book, 
the commentary itself is necessarily com- 
mitted to writing, and becomes another 
subject of honoured and laborious study. 
All other kinds of literature, aS yyauence of 
far as they survive, gladly rank Christianity 
themselves under the protection © "erature 
of that which commands reverence for its 
religious authority. The cloister or the 
religious foundation thus became the place 
of refuge to all that remained of letters or 
of arts. Knowledge brooded in secret, 


᾿ 


372 


though almost with unproductive, yet with 
life-sustaining warmth, over these seclu- 
‘ded treasures. But it was not merely an 
. inert and quiescent resistance which was 
thus offered to barbarism ; it was perpetu- 
ally extending its encroachments, as well 
as maintaining its place. Perhaps the de- 
gree to which the Roman language modi- 
fied the Teutonic tongues may be a fair 

xampleof the extent to which the Roman 

ivilization generally modified the man- 
-ners and the laws of the Northern nations? 
- The language of the conquered people 
lived in their religious ritual. 
Throughout the rapid succes- 
sion of invaders who passed over Europe, 
seeking their final settlement, some in the 
remotest province of Africa, before the 
formation of other dialects, the Latin was 
kept alive as the language of Western 
Christianity. The ¢lergy were its con- 
servators, the Vulgate Bible and the offi- 
ces of the Church its depositaries, unvio- 
lated by any barbarous interruption, re- 
spected as the oracles of Divine truth. 
But the constant repetition of this lan- 
guage in the ears of the mingled people 
can scarcely have been without influence 
in increasing and strengthening the Roman 
element in the common language, which 
gradually grew up from mutual intercourse, 
intermarriage, and all the other bonds of 
community which blended together the 
various races. 

The old municipal institutions of the 
Onthe muni. €™Mpire probably owed their per- 
cipal institu- Manence, in no inconsiderable 
ie degree, to Christianity. It has 
been observed in what manner the decu- 
rionate, the municipal authorities of each 
town, through the extraordinary and op- 
pressive system of taxation, from guardi- 
ans of the liberties of the people became 
mere passive and unwilling agents of the 
government. Responsible for payments 
which they could not exact, men of opu- 
lence, men of humanity, shrunk from the 
public offices. From objects of honour- 
able ambition they had become burdens, 
loaded with unrepaid unpopularity, as- 
sumed by compulsion, and exercised with 
reluctance. The defensors, instituted by 
Valentinian and Valens, however they 
might afford temporary protection and re- 
lief to the lower orders, scarcely exercised 
any long or lasting influence on the state 
of society, Yet the municipal authorities 
at least retained the power of administer- 
ing the laws; and, as the law became more 
and more impregnated with Christian sen- 
timndattit assumed something of a religious 
as well as civil authority. The magis- 
trate became, as it were, an ally of the 


On language. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ao 4 


Christian bishop ; the institutions had a 
sacred character besides that of their 
general utility. Whatever remained of 
commerce and of art subsisted chiefly 
among the old Roman population of the 
cities, which was already Christian; and 
hence, perhaps, the guilds and fraternities 
of the trades, which may be traced up to 
an early period, gradually assumed a sort 
of religious bond of union. In all points 
the Roman civilization and Christianity, 
when the latter had completely pervaded 
the various orders of men, began to make 
common cause; and during all the time 
that this disorganization of conquest and 
new settlement was taking place in this 
groundwork of the Roman social system, 
and the loose elements of society were 
severing by gradual disunion, a new con- 
federative principle arose in these smaller 
aggregations, as well as in the general 
population of the empire. The Church 
became another centre of union. Menin- 
corporated themselves together, not only 
nor so much as fellow-citizens, as fellow- 
Christians. They submitted to an au- 
thority co-ordinate with the civil power, 
and united as members of the same reli- 
gious fraternity. 

Christianity, to a certain degree, chan- 
ged the general habits of men. on general 
For a time, at least, they were habits. 
less public, more private and domestic 
men. ‘The tendency of Christianity, while 
the Christians composed a separate and 
distinct community, to withdraw men from 
public affairs; their less frequent attend- 
ance on the courts of law, which were 
superseded by their own peculiar arbitra- 
tion; their repugnance to the ordinary 
amusements, which soon, however, in the 
large cities, such as Antioch and Constan- 
tinople, wore off; all these principles of 
disunion ceased to operate when Chris- 
tianity became the dominant, and at length 
the exclusive, religion. The Christian 
community became the people ; the shows, 
the pomps, the ceremonial of the religion 
replaced the former seasons of periodical 
popular excitement; the amusements 
which were not extirpated by the change 
of sentiment, some theatrical exhibitions 
and the chariot-race, were crowded with 
Christian spectators; Christians ascended 
the tribunals of law; not only the spirit 
and language of the New Testament, but 
likewise of the Old, entered both into the 
Roman jurisprudence and into the various 
barbarian codes, in which the Roman law | 
was mingled with the old Teutonic usages. 
Thus Christianity was perpetually dis- 
charging the double office of conservator 
with regard to the social institutions with 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 
λον 


which she had entered into alliance, and 
of mediator between the conflicting races 
' which she was gathering together under 
her own wing. Where the relation be- 
tween the foreign conqueror and the con- 
quered inhabitant of the empire was that 
of master and slave, the Roman ecclesi- 
astic still maintained his independence 
and speedily regained his authority; he 
only admitted the barbarian into his order 
on the condition that he became to a cer- 
tain degree Romanized; and there can be 
no doubt that the gentle influence of Chris- 
tian charity and humanity was not without 
its effect in mitigating the lot, or at least 
in consoling the misery, of the change 
from independence or superiority to hu- 
miliation and servitude. Where the two 
races mingled, as seems to have been the 
case in some of the towns and cities, on 
more equal terms, by strengthening the 
municipal institutions with something of 
a religious character and by its own pow- 
erful federative principle, it condensed 
them much more speedily into one people, 
and assimilated their manners, habits, and 
usages. 

Christianity had early, as it were, pre- 
Early Chris- pared the way for this amalga- 
tianity among mation of the Goths with the 
the Goths. Roman empire. In their first 
inroads, during the reign of Gallienus, 
when they ravaged a large part of the 
Roman empire, they carried away num- 
bers of slaves, especially from Asia Minor 
and Cappadocia. Among these were many 
Christians. The slaves subdued the con- 
querors ; the gentle doctrines of Christi- 
anity made their way to the hearts of the 
barbarous warriors. The families of the 
slaves continued to supply the priesthood 
to this growing community. A Gothic 
bishop* with a Greek name, Theophilus, 
Ulphilas's attended at the Council of Nice; 
version of Ulphilas, at the time of the inva- 
the Scrip- sion in the reign of Valens, con- 
tures: ~~ secrated bishop of the Goths du- 
ring an embassy to Constantinople, was of 
Cappadocian descent.t Among the Goths 
Christianity first assumed its new office, 
the advancement of general civilization, as 
well as of purer religion. It is difficult to 
suppose that the art of writing was alto- 
gether unknown to the Goths before the 
time of Ulphilas. The language seems 
to have attained a high degree of artifi- 
cial perfection before it was employed by 
that prelate in the translation of the Scrip- 
tures.{ Still the Maso-Gothic alphabet, 


* Philostorgius, 11., 5. + Socrates, ii., 41. 

t The Gothic of Ulphilas is the link between the 
East and Europe, the transition state from the San- 
scrit tothe modern Téutonic languages. It is pos- 


- 


373 
of which the Greek is by far the principal 


element, was generally adopted by the 


Goths.* It was universally dissemina- 


ted ; it was perpetuated, until the extinc- — 


tion or absorption of the Gothic race in 
other tribes, by the translation of the sa- 
cred writings. This was the work of 
Ulphilas, who, in his version of the 
Scriptures,t is reported to have omitted, 


κ᾿ 


with a Christian but vain precaution, {π6 


books of Kings, lest, being too congenial 


to the spirit of his countrymen, they 


should inflame their warlike enthusiasm. 
Whether the genuine mildness of Christi- 
anity, Or some patriotic reverence for the 
Roman empire, from which he drew his 
descent, influenced the pious bishop, the 
martial ardour of the Goths was not the 
less fatal to the stability of the Roman 
empire. Christianity did not even miti- 
gate the violence of the shock with which, 
for the first time, a whole host of North- 
ern barbarians was thrown upon the em- 


pire, never again to be shaken off. This — 


Gothie invasion, which first established 2 
Teutonic nation within the frontier of the 
empire, was conducted with all the feroci- 
ty, provoked, indeed, on the part of the 
Romans, by the basest treachery, of hos- 
tile races with no bond of connexion. 
The pacificatory effect of the general 
conversion of the Goths to Christianity 


sible that the Goths, after their migration from the 
East to the north of Germany, may have lost the 
art of writing, partly from the want of materials. 
The German forests would afford no substitute 
for the palm-leaves of the East; they may have 
been reduced to the barbarous runes of the heathen 
tribes.—Compare Bopp, Conjugations System. 

* The Mzso-Gothic alphabet has twenty-five 
letters, of which fifteen are evidently Greek, eight 
Latin. The two, th and hw, to which the Greek 
and Latin have no corresponding sound, are derived 
from some other quarter. They are most likely 
ancient characters. The th resembles closely the 
runic letter which expresses the same sound.—See 
St. Martin, note on Le Beau, iii., p. 120. 

+ The greater part of the fragments of Ulphilas’s 
version of the Scriptures now extant is contained 
in the celebrated Codex Argenteus, now at Upsala. 
This splendid MS., written in silver letters on 
parchment of a purple ground, contains almost the 
whole four Gospels. Knittel, in 1762, discovered 
five chapters of St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans 
in a Palimpsest MS. at Wolfenbuttel. The best 
edition of the whole of this is by J. Christ. Zahn, 
Weisenfels, 1805. Since that time M. Mai has 
published, from Milan Palimpsests, several other 
fragments, chiefly of the other Epistles of St. Paul, 
Milan, 1819.—St. Martin, notes to Le Beau, iii., 
100. On the Gothic translation of the Scrip- 
tures. See Socrates, iv., 33. Sozomen, vi., 37. 
Philostorgius, ii., 5. Compare Theodoret, v., 30, 31. 

t It is remarkable to find a Christian priest em- 
ployed as an ambassador between the Goths and 
the Romans, and either the willing or undesighing 
instrument of that stratagem of the Gothic general 
be was so fatal to Valens.—Amm. Marc,. XXX1., 

2. 


374 


was impeded by the form of faith which 
they embraced. ‘lhe Gothic prelates, 
Arianism of Ulphilas among the rest, who 
the Goths. yjsited the court of Constantino- 
ple, found the Arian bishops in possession 
of the chief authority ; they were the rec- 
ognised prelates of the empire. Whether 
their less cultivated minds were unable to 
comprehend, or their language to express, 
the fine and subtle distinctions of the 
Trinitarian faith, or persuaded, as it was 


said, by the Arian bishops, that it was | 


mere verbal dispute, these doctrines were 
introduced among the Goths before their 
passage of the Danube or their settle- 
ment within the empire. The whole na- 
tion received this form of Christianity ; 
from them it appears to have spread, first 
embracing the other branch of the nation, 
the Ostrogoths, among the Gepide, the 
Vandals, and the Burgundians.* Among 
the barbaric conquerors was the strong- 
hold of Arianism; while it was gradually 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Ν 
repudiated by the Romans both in the 
East and in the West, it raised its head, 
and obtained a superiority which it had 
never before attained, in Italy and Spain. 
Whether more congenial to the simplicity 
of the barbaric mind, or in some respects 
cherished on one side by the conqueror as | 
a proud distinction, more cordially detest- 
ed by the Roman population as the creed 
of their barbarous masters, Arianism ap- 
peared almost to make common cause 
with the Teutonic invaders, and only fell 
with the Gothic monarchies in Italy and 
in Spain. While Gratian and Valentinian 
the Second espoused the cause of Trinita- 
rianism in the West (we shall hereafter 
resume the Christian history of that di 
vision of the empire), by measures which 
show that their sacerdotal advisers were 
men of greater energy and decision than 
their civil ministers, it subsisted almost as 
a foreign and barbarous form of Christi- 
anity. 


EE Se A SE eee a) 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THEODOSIUS. 


Tue fate of Valens summoned to the 
empire a sovereign not merely qualified 
to infuse a conservative vigour into the 
civil and military administration of the 
empire, but to compress into one uniform 
system the religion of the Roman world. 
It was necessary that Christianity should 
acquire a complete predominance, and that 
it should be consolidated into one vigor- 
ous and harmonious system. The rele- 
gation, as it were, of Arianism among the 
Goths and other barbarous tribes, though 
it might theréby gain a temporary acces- 
sion of strength, did not permanently im- 
pede the final triumph of Trinitarianism. 
While the imperial power was thus lend- 
ing its strongest aid for the complete tri- 
umph and concentration of Christianity, 
from the peculiar character of the mind 
of Theodosius, the sacerdotal order, on 

the strength and unity of which was to 
rest the permanent influence of Christi- 
anity during the approaching centuries of 
darkness, assumed new energy. A re- 
_ligious emperor, under certain circum- 


* Sic quoque Visigothi a Valente Imperatore 
Ariani potius quam Christiani effecti. De cxtero 
tam Ostrogothis, quam Gepidis parentibus suis per 
affectionis gratiam evangelizantes, hujus perfidiz 
culturam edocentes omnem ubique lingue hujus 
nationem ad culturam hujus secte incitavere.— 
Jomand., c. 25. 


ABOLITION 


OF PAGANISM. 


stances, might have been the most danger- 
ous adversary of the priestly power; he 
would have asserted with vigour, which 
could not at that time be resisted, the su- 
premacy of the civil authority. But the 
weaknesses, the vices of the great Theo- 
dosius, bowed him down before the aspi- 
ring priesthood, who, in asserting and ad- 
vancing their own authority, were assert- 
ing the cause of humanity. The passion- 
ate tyrant at the feet of the Christian prel- 
ate, deploring the rash resentment which 
had condemned a whole city to massacre; 
the prelate exacting the severest penance 
for the outrage on justice and on humani- 
ty, stand in extraordinary contrast with 
the older Cesars, without remonstrance 
or without humiliation glutting their lusts 
or their resentment with the misery and 
blood of their subjects. 

The accession of Theodosius was hailed 
with universal enthusiasm through- 
out the empire. The pressing fears 
of barbaric invasion on every frontier si- 
lenced for a time the jealousies of Chris- 
tian and pagan, of Arian and Trinitarian. 
On the shore of each of the great rivers 
which bounded the empire appeared a 
host of menacing invaders. The Per- 
sians, the Armenians, the Iberians were 
prepared to pass the Euphrates on the 
eastern frontier; the Danube had already 


A.D. 379. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


afforded a passage to the Goths; behind 
them were the Huns, in still. more formi- 
dable and multiplying swarms ; the Franks 
and the rest of the German nations were 
crowding to the Rhine. Paganism, as 
well as Christianity, hastened to pay its 
grateful homage to the deliverer of the 
empire; the eloquent Themistius address- 
ed the emperor in the name of the imperi- 
al city ; Libanius ventured to call on the 
Christian emperor to revenge the death of 
Julian, that crime for which the gods were 
exacting just retribution; pagan poetry 
awoke from its long silence; the glory of 
Theodosius and his family inspired its last 
noble effort in the verse of Claudian. 

Theodosius was a Spaniard. In that 
province Christianity had probably found 
less resistance from the feeble provincial 
paganism ; nor was there, as in Gaul, an 
old national religion which lingered in the 
minds of the native population.. Christi- 
anity was early and permanently estab- 
lished in the Peninsula. ‘To Theodosius, 
who was but slightly tinged with the love 
of letters or the tastes of a more liberal 
education, the colossal temples of the 
East or the more graceful and harmoni- 
ous fabrics of Europe would probably 
create no feeling but that of aversion 
from the shrines of idolatry. His Chris- 
tianity was pure from any of the old pa- 
gan associations ; unsoftened, it may per- 
haps be said, by any feeling for art, and 
unawed by any reverence for the ancient 
religion of Rome; he was a soldier, a 
provincial, an hereditary Christian of a 
simple and unquestioning faith; and he 
added to all this the consciousness of con- 
summate vigour and ability, and a choler- 
ic and vehement temperament. 

Spain, throughout the Trinitarian con- 
troversy, perhaps from the commanding 
influence of Hosius, had firmly adhered to 
the Athanasian doctrines. The Maniche- 
an tenets, for which Priscillian and his 
followers suffered (the first heretics con- 
demned to death for their opinions), were 
but recently introduced into the province. 

Thus by character and education deep- 
ly impressed with Christianity, and that of 
a severe and uncompromising orthodoxy, 

_ Theodosius undertook the sacred obliga- 
| tion of extirpating paganism, and resto- 
\ ring to Christianity its severe and invio- 
‘lable unity. Without tracing the succes- 
| sion of events throughout his reign, we 
/may survey the Christian emperor in his 
acts; first, as commencing, if not com- 
pleting, the forcible extermination of pa- 
ganism ; secondly, as confirming Christi- 
anity, and extending the authority of the 
sacerdotal order; and, thirdly, as estab- 


375 


lishing the uniform orthodoxy of the West- 
ern Roman Church. 

The laws of Theodosius against the pa- 
gan sacrifices grew insensibly Hostility of 
more and more severe. The Theodosius 
inspection of the entrails of vic- ‘°P4samism. 
tims and magic rites were made a capital 
offence. In 391 issued an edict prohibit- 
ing sacrifices, and even the entering into 
the temples. In the same year a rescript 
was addressed to the court and prefect of 
Egypt, fining the governors of provinces 
who should enter a temple fifteen pounds 
of gold, and giving a kind of authority to 
the subordinate officers to prevent their 
superiors from committing such offences. 
The same year all unlawful sacrifices are 
prohibited by night or day, within or with- 
out the temples.® In 392 all immolation 
is prohibited under the penalty of death, 
and all other acts of idolatry under for- 
feiture of the house or land in which the 
offence shall have been committed.* 

The pagan temples, left standing in all 
their majesty, deserted, overgrown, would 
have been the most splendid monument to 
the triumph of Christianity. If, with the 
disdain of conscious strength, she had al- 
lowed them to remain without victim, 


without priest, without worshipper, but - 


uninjured, and only exposed to natural de- 
cay from time and neglect, posterity would 
not merely have been grateful for the pres- 
ervation of such stupendous models of art, 
but would have been strongly impressed 
with admiration of her magnanimity. But 
such magnanimity was neither to be ex- 
pected from the age nor the state of the re- 
ligion. The Christians believed in the ex- 
istence of the heathen deities, with, per- 
haps, more undoubting faith than the hea- 
thens themselves. The demons who 
inhabited the temples were spirits of ma- 
lignant and pernicious power, which it 
was no less the interest than the duty of 
the Christian to expel from their proud 
and attractive mansions.; The temples 


were the strongholds of the vigilant and’ 
active adversaries of Christian truth and: 


Christian purity, the enemies of God and 
man. The idols, it is true, were but wood 
and stone, but the beings they represented 
were real; they hovered, perhaps, in the 
air; they were still present in the conse- 
crated spot, though rebuked and control- 
led by the mightier name of Christ, yet 
able to surprise the careless Christian in 
his hour of supineness or negligent adhe- 
rence to his faith or hisduty. When zeal 
inflamed the Christian populace to aggres- 


* Cod. Theod., xvi., 10,7, 11,12. . 
+ Dii enim Gentium demonia, ut Scriptura docet. 
—Ambros., Epist. Resp. ad Symmach. 1n init. 


wes 


my 


= 


37g” . 


sion upon any of these ancient and time- 
hallowed buildings, no doubt some latent 
awe lingered within; something of the 
suspense of doubtful warfare watched the 
issue of the strife. However they might 
have worked themselves up to the convic- 
tion that their ancient gods were but of 
this inferior and hostile nature, they would 
still be haunted by some apprehensions 
lest they should not be secure of the pro- 
tection of Christ, or of the angels and 
saints in the new tutelar hierarchy of 
Heaven. The old deities might not have 
been so completely rebuked and control- 
led as not to retain some power of injuring 
their rebellious votaries. It was at last, 
even to the faithful, a conflict between 
two unequal supernatural agencies ; une- 
qual indeed, particularky where the faith 
of the Christian was fervent and sincere, 
yet dependant for its event on the confi- 
dence of that faith, which sometimes 
trembled at its own insufficiency, and fear- 
ed lest it should be abandoned by the Di- 
vine support in the moment of strife. | 
Throughout the East and West the 
monks were the chief actors in this holy 
warfare. They are constantly spoken of 
by the heathen writers in terms of the 
bitterest reproach and contempt. The 
most particular account of their proceed- 
ings relate to the East. Their desultory 
attacks were chiefly confined to the coun- 
try, where the numberless shrines, images, 
and smaller temples were at the same 
time less protected and more dear to the 
feelings of the people. In the towns, the 
larger fanes, if less guarded by the rever- 
ence of their worshippers, were under the 
protection of the municipal police.* Chris- 
tianity was long almost exclusively the 
religion of the towns; and the term pa- 
ganism (notwithstanding the difficulties 
which embarrass this explanation) ap- 
pears to owe its origin to this general dis- 
tinction. ‘The agricultural population, li- 
able to frequent vicissitudes, trembled to 
offend the gods, on whom depended the 
plenty or the failure of the harvest. Hab- 
its are more intimately enwoven with the 
whole being in the regular labours of hus- 
bandry than in the more various and 
changeable occupations of the city. The 
whole heathen ritual was bound up with 
the course of agriculture: this was the 
oldest part both of the Grecian and Italian 
worship, and had experienced less change 
from the spirit of the times. In every 
field, in every garden, stood a deity; 
shrines and lesser temples were erected 


* πολμᾶται μὲν οὖν κἂν ταῖς πόλεσι, τὸ πολὺ 
δὲ εν τοῖς Gypoic.—Liban. pro Templis, 
ἁ 


Ἕ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


in every grove, by every fountain. The 
drought, the mildew, the murrain, the lo- 
custs, whatever was destructive to the 
harvest or to the herd, were in the power of 


these capricious deities ;* even when con- _ 
verted to Christianity, the peasant trem- 


bled at the consequences of his own apos- 


tacy ; and it is probable that not until the — 
whole of this race of tutelary deities had 
been gradually replaced by what we must 
call the inferior divinities of paganizing 
Christianity, saints, martyrs, and angels, 


that Christianity was extensively or per- ~ 


manently established in the rural dis- 
tricts. t 

During the reign of Constantine, that 
first sign of adecaying religion, 4 jjenation of 
the alienation of the property the revenue 
attached to its maintenance, be- chia tem- 
gan to be discerned. Somees- ~~ 
tates belonging to the temples were seized 
by the first Christian emperor, and appro- 
priated to the building of Constantinople. 
The favourites of his successor, as we 
have seen, were enriched by the donation 
of other sacred estates, and even of the 
temples themselves.{ Julian restored the 
greater part of these prodigal gifts, but 
they were once more resumed under Val- 
entinian, and the estates escheated to the 
imperial revenue. Soon after the acces- 
sion of Theodosius, the pagans, particu- 
larly in the East, saw the storm gathering 
in the horizon. The monks, with perfect 
impunity, traversed the rural districts, de- 
molishing all the unprotected edifices. [π΄ 
vain did the pagans appeal to the episco- 
pal authority ; the bishops declined to re- 
press the over-active, perhaps, but pious 
zeal of their adherents. Already much 
destruction had taken place among the 
smaller rural shrines ; the temples in An- 
tioch, of Fortune, of Jove, of Athene, of 
Dionysus, were still standing ; but the de- 
molition of one stately temple, either at 
Edessa or Palmyra, and this under the pre- 
text of the imperial authority, had awaken- 
ed all the fears of the pagans. Libanius‘ad- 
dressed an elaborate oration to the emper- 


* Kal τοὶς γεωργοῦσιν ἐν αὐτοῖς ai ἐλπίδες, 
ὅσαι περὶ τε ἀνδρῶν καὶ γυναικῶν, καὶ τέκνων καὶ 
βοῶν, καὶ τῆς σπειρομένης γῆς καὶ πεφυτευμένης. 
—Liban. de Templ. : 

+ This difference prevailed equally in the West. 
Fleury gives an account of the martyrdom of three 
missionaries by the rural population of a district in 
the Tyrol, who resented the abolition of their dei+ 
ties and their religious ceremonies.—Hist. Eccles., 
v., 64. λ 
+ They were bestowed, according to Libanius, 
with no more respect than a horse, a slave, a dog, 
or a golden cup. The position of the slave between 
the horse and the dog, as cheap gifts, is curious 
enough.—Liban., ΟΡ.» v. il., p. 185. 


A 


ν᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Oration of OF, ‘‘For the Temples.”* Like 
Libanius. Christianity under the Antonines, 
paganism is now making its apology for 
its public worship. Paganism is reduced 
to still lower humiliation ; one of its mod- 


» est arguments against the destruction of 


. Ἔ temples is an appeal to the taste and 
lo 


, 


« 


if 


- 


ve of splendour, in favour of buildings 
at least as ornamental to the cities as the 
imperial palaces.t ‘The orator even stoops 
to suggest that, if alienated from religious 
uses and let for profane purposes, they 
might be a productive source of revenue. 
But the eloquence and arguments of Liba- 
niusS were wasted on deaf and unheeding 
ears. ‘The war against the temples com- 
Syrian tem- menced in Syria, but it was 
ples destroyed. not conducted with complete 
success. In many cities the inhabitants 
rose in defence of their sacred buildings, 
and, with the Persian on the frontier, a 
religious war might have endangered the 
allegiance of these provinces. ‘The splen- 
did temples, of which the ruins have re- 
cently been discovered, at Petra,{ were 
defended by the zealous worshippers ; and 
in those, as well as at Areopolis and Ra- 
phia, in Palestine, the pagan ceremonial 
continued without disturbance. In Gaza, 
the temple of the tutelar deity Marnas, the 
lord of men, was closed; but the Chris- 
tians did not venture to violate it. The 
form of some of the Syrian edifices allow- 
ed their transformation into Christian 
churches; they were enclosed, and made 
to admit sufficient light for the services 
of the Church. A temple at Damascus, 
and another at Heliopolis or Baalbec,§ 
were consecrated to the Christian wor- 
ship. Marcellus of Apamea was the mar- 
tyr in this holy warfare. He had signal- 
ized himself by the destruction of the tem- 
ples in his own city, particularly that of 
Jupiter, whose solid foundations defied the 
artificers and soldiery employed in the work 
of demolition, and required the aid of mir- 
acle to undermine them. But, on an ex- 
pedition into the district of Apamea, called 
the Aulon, the rude inhabitants rose in de- 
fence of their sacred edifice, seized Mar- 
cellus, and burned him alive. ‘The synod 
of the province refused to revenge on his 


* This oration was probably not delivered in the 
presence of Theodosius. 

+ Liban. pro Templis, p. 190. abe 

1 Laborde’s Journey. In most of these buildings 
Roman architecture of the age of the Antonines Is 
manifest, raised in general on the enormous sub- 
structions of much earlier ages. 

ὁ If this (as indeed is not likely) was the vast 
Temple of the Sun, the work of successive ages, it 
is probable that a Christian church was enclosed 
in some part of its precincts. The sanctuary was 
usually taken for this purpose. 

3B 


ur 


577 


barbarous enemies a death so happy for 
Marcellus and so glorious for his family.* 

The work of demolition was not long 
content with these less famous edifices, 
these outworks of paganism ; it aspired to 
attack one ofits strongest citadels, and, by 
the public destruction of one of the most 
celebrated temples in the world, to an- 
nounce that Polytheism had forever lost 
its hold upon the minds of men. 

It was considered the highest praise of 
the magnificent temple at Edes- qempte of 
sa, of which the roof was of Serapis at 
remarkable construction, and A!exandrea. 
which contained in its secret Sanctuary 
certain very celebrated statues of wrought 
iron, and whose fall had excited the indig- 
nant eloquence of Libanius, to compare it 
to the Serapion in Alexandrea. The Se- 
rapion at that time appeared secure in 
the superstition which connected its invi- 
olable sanctity and the honour of its godt 
with the rise and fall of the Nile, with the 
fertility and existence of Egypt, and, as 
Egypt was the granary of the East, of 
Constantinople. ‘The pagans had little 
apprehension that the Serapion itself, be- 
fore many years, would be leveiled to the 
ground. 

The temple of Serapis, next to that of 


Jupiter in the Capitol, was the 4p. 389 © 


proudest monument of pagan re- or 391. 

ligious architecture.{ Like the more cel- 
ebrated structures of the East, and that of 
Jerusalem in its glory, it comprehended 
within its precincts a vast mass of build- 
ings, of which the temple itself formed the 
centre. It was built on an artificial hill, 
in the old quarter of the city called Rha- 
cotis, to which the ascent was by a hun- 
dred steps. All the substructure was 
vaulted over; and in these dark chambers. 
which communicated with each other, 
were supposed to be carried on the most 
fearful, and, to the Christian, abominable 
mysteries. All around the spacious level 
platform were the habitations of the priests, 
and the ascetics dedicated to the worship 
ofthe god. Within these outworks of this 
city rather than temple was a square, sur- 
rounded on all sides with a magnificent 
portico. 


beautiful proportion. ‘The work either of 
Alexander himself or of the first Ptolemy 
aspired to unite the colossal grandeur of 
Egyptian with the fine harmony of Gre- 
cian art. The god himself was the espe- 


* Sozomen, vii., 15. Theodoret, v., 21. 

+ Libanius expresses himself to this effect. 

t Post Capitolium, quo se venerabilis Roma in 
eternum attollit nihil orbis terrarum ambitloslus 
cernat.—Ammian. Marcell., xxii., 16. ; 


In the centre arose the temple, | 
on pillars of enormous magnitude and ἢ 


>> 


’ representative of Polytheism. 


378 


% 


cial object of adoration throughout the jin the time of Hadrian, the philosophic 


whole country, and throughout every part 
of the empire into which the Egyptian 
worship had penetrated,* but more par- 
ticularly in Alexandrea ; and the wise pol- 
icy of the Ptolemies had blended together, 
under this pliant and all-embracing reli- 


. gion, the different races of their subjects 
‘Egyptian and Greek met as worshippers 
- Worship of Of Serapis. 


The Serapis of 
Egypt was said to have been 
worshipped for ages at Sinope; he was 
transported from that city with great pomp 
and splendour, to be reincorporated, as it 
were, and reidentified with his ancient 
prototype. While the Egyptians worship- 
ped in Serapis the great vivific principle 
of the universe, the fecundating Nile, hold- 
ing the Nilometer for his sceptre, the lord 
of Amen-ti, the president of the regions 
beyond the grave, the Greeks at the same 
time recognised the blended attributes of 
their Dionysus, Helios, Aisculapius, and 
Hades.t 

The colossal statue of Serapis imbodied 
Statue of these various attributes.{ It filled 
Serapis. the sanctuary : its outstretched and 
all-embracing arms touched the walls; the 
right the one, the left the other. It was 
said to have been the work of Sesostris ; 
it was made of all the metals fused to- 
gether, gold, silver, copper, iron, lead, and 
tin ; it was inlaid with all kinds of precious 
stones; the whole was polished, and ap- 
peared of an azure colour. The measure 
or bushel, the emblem of productiveness 
or plenty, crowned its head. By its side 
stood the symbolic three-headed animal, 
one the forepart of a lion, one of a dog, 
one of a wolf. In this. the Greeks saw 
the type of their poetic Cerberus.§ The 
serpent, the symbol of eternity, wound 
round the whole and returned, resting its 
head on the hand of the god. 

The more completely the adoration of 
Serapis had absorbed the worship of the 
whole Egyptian pantheon, the more eager- 
ly Christianity desired to triumph over the 
However, 


Serapis. 


* In Egypt alone he had forty-two temples ; in- 
numerable others in every part of the Roman em- 
pire —Aristid., Orat: in Canop. 

+ This appears to me the most natural interpre- 
tation of the celebrated passage in Tacitus.—Com- 
pere De Guigniaut, Le Dieu Serapis et son Origine, 
originally written as a note fur Bournouf’s trans- 
lation of Tacitus. 

{ The statue is described by Macrobius, Saturn., 
i, 20. Clemens Alexandrin., Exhortat. ad Gent., i., 
p. 42. Rufinus, EK. H., xii., 23. 

§ According to the interpretation of Macrobius, 
the three heads represented the past, the present, 
and the future; the rapacious wolf the past, the 
central lion the intermediate present, the fawning 
dog the hopefui future. ’ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


party may have endeavoured to blend and 
harmonize the two faiths,* they stood now 
in their old direct and irreconcilable oppo- 
sition. The suppression of the internal 
feuds between the opposite parties in 
Alexandrea enabled Christianity to direct 
all its concentred force against paganism. 
Theophilus, the archbishop, was he first ate 
a man of boldness and activity, tacks on pa- 
eager to seize, and skilful to S@msm- 
avail himself of, every opportunity to in- 

flame the popular mind against the hea- 
thens. A priest of Serapis was accused 
and convicted of practising those licentious 
designs against the virtue of the female 
worshippers so frequently attributed to 
the priesthood of the Eastern religions. 
The noblest and most beautiful women 
were persuaded to submit to the embraces 
of the god, whose place, under the favour- 
able darkness caused by the sudden ex- 


tinction of the lamps in the temple, was 
filled by the priest. ‘These inauspicious 
rumours prepared the inevitable collision. 
A neglected temple of Osiris or Dionysus 
had been granted by Constantius to the 
Arians of Alexandrea. Theophilus ob- 
tained from the emperor a grant of the 
vacant site for a new church, to accom- 
modate the increasing numbers of the 
Catholic Christians. On digging the found- 
ation, there Were discovered many of the 
obscene symbols used in the Bacchic or 
Osirian mysteries. Theophilus, with more 
regard to the success of his cause than to 
decency, exposed these ludicrous or dis- 
gusting objects in the public market-place 
to the contempt and abhorrence of the — 
people. The pagans, indignant at this 
‘treatment of their sacred symbols, and — 
maddened by the scorn and ridicule of the 
Christians, took up arms. The streets , 
ran with blood; and many Christians who © 
fell in this tumultuous fray received the — 
honours of martyrdom. A philos- olympus the 
opher named Olympus placed philosopher. 
himself at the head of the pagan party. 
Olympus had foreseen and predicted the 
ruin of the external worship of Polytheism. 
He had endeavoured to implant a profound 
feeling in the hearts of the pagans which 
might survive the destruction of their or- 
dinary objects of worship. ‘The statues 
of the gods are but perishable and material 
images; the eternal intelligences which 
dwelt within them have withdrawn to the 
heavens.”t Yet Olympus hoped, and at 

* See the letter of Hadrian, p. 223. 

+ Ὕλην φθαρτὴν καὶ ἰνδάλματα λέγων εἶναι τὰ 
ἀγάλματα, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἀφανισμὸν ὑπομένειν" 
δυνάμεις δέ τινας ἐνοικῆσαι αὑτοῖς, καὶ εἰς οὐραν- 


| ὃν ἀποπτῆναι.--- βοζοπι., H. E,, vii., 15. 


ΓΙ 


Pw 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Air st, with his impassioned eloquence, suc- 
ceeded, in rousing his pagan compatriots 
to a bold defiance of the public authorities 
in support of their religion; faction and 
rivalry supplied what was wanting to faith, 
and it appeared that paganism would like- 
wise boast its army of martyrs—-martyrs, 
not indeed through patient submission to 
the persecutor, but in heroic despair per- 
ishing with their gods. ᾿ 

The pagans at first were the aggressors ; 
War in they sallied from their fortress, 
the city. the Serapion, seized the unhappy 
Christians whom they met, forced them 
to sacrifice on their altar, or slew them 
upon it, or threw them into the deep trench 
defiled with the blood and offal of sacrifice. 
In vain Evagrius, the prefect of Egypt, and 
Romanus, the commander of the troops, 
appeared before the gates of the temple, 
remonstrated with the garrison, who ap- 
peared at the windows, against their bar- 
barities, and menaced them with the just 
vengeance of the law. They were obliged 

to withdraw, baffled and disregarded, and 
’ to await the orders of the emperor. Olym- 
pus exhorted his followers to the height of 
yeligious heroism. “Having made a glori- 
gus sacrifice of our enemies, let us immo- 
late ourselves and perish with our gods.” 
Flight of But, before the rescript arrived, 
Olympus. Olympus had disappeared : he had 
stolen out of the temple, and embarked for 
Italy. ‘The Christian writers do honour 
to his sagacity or to his prophetic powers, 
at the expense of his courage and fidelity 
to his party. In the dead of night, when 
all was slumbering around, and all the 
gates closed, he,had heard the Christian 
Alleluia pealing from a single voice through 
the silent temple. He acknowledged the 
sign or the omen, and anticipated the un- 
favourable sentence of the emperor, the 
fate of his faction and of his gods. 
᾿ς The Eastern pagans, it should seem, 
were little acquainted with the real char- 
acter of Theodosius. When the rescript 
arrived they laid down their arms, and 
assembled in peaceful array before the 
temple, as if they expected the sentence 
of the emperor in their own favour.* 
Reseriptor The officer began ; the first 
Theodosius. words of the rescript plainly 
intimated the abhorrence of ‘Theodosius 
against idolatry. Cries of triumph from 


* If the oration of Libanius, exhorting the em- 
peror to revenge the death of Julian, was really 
presented to Theodosius, it betrays something of 
the same ignorance. He seems to think his argu- 
ments not unlikely to meet with success; at all 
events, he appears not to have the least notion that 
Theodosius would not respect the memory of the 
apostate. : 


᾿ 379 
the Christians interrupted the proceed- 
ings; the p&nic-stricken pagans, aban- 
doning their temple and their god, si- 
lently dispersed; they sought out the 
most secret places of refuge; they fled 
their country. Two of the celebrated 
pontiffs, one of Amoun, one of “the 
Ape,” retired to Constantinople, where 
the one, Ammonius, taught in a school, 
and continued to deplore the fall of pa- 
ganism; Helladius, the other, was known 
to boast the part he had taken in the se- 
dition of Alexandrea, in which, with his 
own hand, he had slain nine Christians.* 
The imperial rescript at once went be- 
yond and fell short of the fears of. the pa- 
gans. It disdained to exact vengeance 
for the blood of the Christian martyrs, 
who had been so happy as to lay down 
their lives for their Redeemer; but it com- 
manded the destruction of the idolatrous 
temples; it confiscated all the ornaments, 
and ordered the statues to be melted or 
broken up for the benefit of the poor. 
Theophilus hastened in his triumphant 
zeal to execute the ordinance of The temple 
the emperor. Marching, with assailed. 
the prefect at the head of the military, 
they ascended the steps to the temple 
of Serapis. They surveyed the vacant 
chambers of the priests and the ascetics ; 
they paused to pillage the library ; they 
entered the deserted sanctuary; they 
stood in the presence of the god. The 
sight of this colossal image, for 
centuries an object of worship, 
struck awe to the hearts of the Christians 
themselves. They stood silent, inactive, 
trembling. The archbishop alone main- 
tained his courage : he commanded a sol- 
dier to proceed to the assault. The soldier 
struck the statue with his hatchet on the 
knee. The blow echoed through the 
breathless hall, but no sound or sign of Di- 
vine vengeance ensued; the roof of the 
temple fell not to crush the sacrilegious as- 
sailant, nor did the pavement heave and 
quake beneath his feet. The imboldened 
soldier climbed up to the head and struck 
it off; it rolled upon the ground. Serapis 
gave no sign of life, but a large colony of 
rats, disturbed in their peaceful abode, ran 
about on all sides. Thé passions of the 
multitude are alwaysin extremes. From 
breathless awe they passed at once to 


The statue. 


* Socrat , Eccl. Hist., v.,16. Helladius is men- 
tioned, in a law of Theodosius the Younger, as a 
celebrated grammarian elevated to certain honours. 
This law is, however, dated 425; at least five-and- 
thirty vears after this transaction. Conse 

+ Nos vidimus armaria librorum ; quibus direptis, 
exinanita ea a nostris hominibus, nostris temporl- 
bus memorant.—Oros., vi., 15. 


“ 


a 


barrenness ? 


380 : HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


- 
- 


- ungovernable mirth. The work of de- 


struction went on amid peals of laughter, 
coarse jests, and shouts of acclamation ; 


and as the fragments of the huge body of 
Serapis were dragged through the streets,’ 


the pagans, with that revulsion of feeling 
common to the superstitious populace, 
joined in the insult and mockery against 
their unresisting and self-abandoned god.* 

The solid walls and deep foundations of 
the temple offered more unsurmountable 
resistance to the baffled zeal of the Chris- 
tians ; the work of demolition proceeded 
but slowly with the massive architecture :Ὁ 
and some time after a church was erect- 
ed in the precincts, to look down upon the 
ruins of idolatry, which still frowned in 
desolate grandeur upon their conquerors.{ 

Yet the Christians, even after their 
complete triumph, were not without some 
lingering terrors; the pagans not without 
hopes that a fearful vengeance would be 
exacted from the land for this sacrile- 
gious extirpation of their ancient deities. 
Serapis was either the Nile, or the deity 
who presided over the periodical inunda- 
tions of the river. The Nilometer, which 
measured the rise of the waters, was kept 
in the temple. Would the indignant river 
refuse its fertilizing moisture ; keep sullen- 
ly within its banks, and leave the ungrate- 
ful land blasted with perpetual drought and 
As the time of the inunda- 
tion approached, all Egypt was in a state 
of trembling suspense. Long beyond the 
accustomed day the waters remained at 
their usual level; there was no sign of 
overflowing. The people began to mur- 
mur; the murmurs swelled into indignant 
remonstrances; the usual rites and sacri- 
fices were demanded fromthe reluctant 
prefect, who despatched a hasty messen- 
ger to the emperor for instructions. There 
was every appearance of a general insur- 


* They.were said to have discovered several of 
the tricks by which the priests of Serapis imposed 
on the credulity of their worshippers. An aper- 
ture of the wall was so contrived, that the light of 
the sun, at a particular time, fell on the face of Se- 
rapis. The sun was then thought to visit Serapis ; 
and, at the moment of their meeting, the flashing 
light threw a smile on the lips of the deity. There 
is another story of a magnet on the roof, which, as 
in the fable about Mohammed’s coffin, raised either 
a small statue of the Deity, or the sun in a car 
with four horses, to the roof, and there held it sus- 
pended. A Christian withdrew the magnet, and 
the car fell, and was dashed to pieces on the pave- 
ment. 

+ Compare Eunap., Vit. Adesii, p. 44, edit. Bois- 
sonade. 

Ὁ The Christians rejoiced in discovering’ the 
cross in various parts of the building; they were 
inclined to suppose it miraculous, or prophetic of 
their tnumph. But, in fact, the crux ansata is a 
common hieroglyphic, a symbol of life. = 


¥ 


ἣν» 
rection; the pagans triumphed in their 
turn; but, before the answer of the em- 
peror arrived, which replied, in uncom- 
promising faith, “that if the inundation 
of the river could only be obtained by 
magic and impious rites, let it remain 
dry ; the fertility of Egypt must not be 
purchased by an act of infidelity to God,”* 
suddenly the waters began to swell, an 
inundation more full and extensive than 
usual spread over the land, and the versa- 
tile pagans had now no course but to 
join again with the Christians in mock- 
eries against the impotence of their gods. 

But Christianity was not content with 
the demolition of the Serapion; its pre- 
dominance throughout Egypt may be es- 
timated by the bitter complaint of the pa- 
gan writer: ‘“*‘ Whoever wore a black dress 
(the monks are designated by this descrip- 
tion) was invested in tyrannical power ; 
philosophy and piety to the gods were 
compelled to retire into secret places, and 
to dwellin contented poverty and dignified 
meanness of appearance. The temples . 
were turned into tombs for the adoration 
of the bones of the basest and most de- 
praved of men, who had suffered the pen- 
alty of the law, whom they made their 
gods.”+ Such was the light in which the 
martyr-worship of the Christians appear- 
ed to the pagans. 

The demolition of the Serapion was a 
penalty inflicted on the pagans of Alexan. 
drea for their sedition and sanguinary vio- 
lence ; but the example was too encour- 
aging, the hope of impunity under the 
present government too confident, not to 
spread through other cities of Egypt. To 
Canopus, where the principle of humidity 
was worshipped in the form ofa vase with 
a human head, Theophilus, who consider- 
ed Canopus within his diocese, marched 
at the head of his triumphant party, de- 
molished the temples, abolished the rites, 
which were distinguished for their disso- 
lute license, and established monasteries 
in the place. Canopus, from a city of revel 
and debauchery, became a city of monks. 

The persecution extended throughout 


* Improbable as it may seem that such an an- 
swer should be given by a statesman like Theodo- 
sius, yet it is strongly characteristic of the times. 
The emperor neither denies the power of the ma- 
lignant demons worshipped by the idolaters, nor 
the efficacy of enchantments to obtain their fa- 
vour, and to force from them the retarded overflow 
of the river. ᾽ 

+ Eunap.. Vit. Avdesii, loc. cit. , 

+ The Christians Jaughed at Canopus being call- 
ed ‘‘the conqueror of the gods.” The origin of — 
this name was, that the principle of fire, the god 
of the Chaldeans, had been extinguished by the 
water within the statue of Canopus, the principle 
of humidity. 


wt ia 


i 
Egypt; but the vast buildings which even 
now subsist, the successive works of the 
Pharaohs, the Ptolemies, and the Roman 
emperors, having triumphed alike over 
time, Christianity, and Mohammedanism, 
show either some reverent reluctance to 
deprive the country of its most magnificent 
ornaments, or the inefficiency of the in- 
struments which they employed in the 
work of devastation. For once it was 
less easy for men to destroy than to pre- 
serve ; the power of demolition was re- 
buked before the strength and solidity of 
these erections of primeval art. 

The war, as we have seen, raged with 
the same partial and imperfect success 
in Syria; with less, probably, in Asia Mi- 
nor; least of all in Greece. The demo- 
lition was nowhere general or systemat- 
ic. Wherever monastic Christianity was 
completely predominant, there emulous 
zeal excited the laity to these aggressions 
on paganism. But in Greece the noblest 
buildings of antiquity, at Olympia, Eleusis, 
Athens,* show in their decay the slower 
process of neglect and time, of accident 
and the gradual encroachment of later 
barbarism, rather than the iconoclastic 
destructiveness of early religious zeal. 

In the West, the task of St. Martin of 
Tours, the great extirpator of idolatry in 
Gaul, was comparatively easy, and his 
achievements by no means so much to be 
lamented as those of the destroyers of the 
purer models of architecture in the East. 
The life of this saint, of which the com- 
paratively polished and classical style sin- 
gularly contrasts with the strange and le- 
gendary incidents which it relates, de- 
scribes St. Martin as making regular cam- 
paigns into all the region, destroying wher- 
ever he could the shrines and temples of 
the heathen, and replacing them by church- 
es and monasteries. So completely was 
his excited imagination full of his work, 
that he declared that Satan often assumed 
the visible form of Jove, of Mercury, of 
Venus, or of Minerva, to divert him, no 
doubt, from his holy design, and to protect 
their trembling fanes.f 
. But the power and the majesty of pa- 
Paganism ganism were still concentred at 
“at Kome. Rome; the deities of the ancient 
‘faith found their last refuge in the capital 

f{ the empire. To the stranger, Rome 


* The Parthenon, it is well known, was entire 
till towards the close of the sixteenth century. [18 
roof was destroyed during the siege by the Vene- 
tians.— See Spon. and Wheler’s ‘l'ravels. 

+ The council of Illiberis refused the honours of 
martyrdom to those who were killed while break- 
ing idols.—Can Ix. 

1 Sulpic. Sever., Vit. B. Martini, p. 469. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


4 


881 


still offered the appearance of a pagan 
city : it contained one hundred and fifty- 
two temples and one hundred and eighty 
smaller chapels or shrines, still sacred to 
their tutelary god, and used for public wor- 
ship.* Christianity had neither ventured 
to usurp those few buildings which might 
be converted to her use, still less had she 
the power todestroy them. The religious 
edifices were under the protection of the 
prefect of the city, and the prefect was 
usually a pagan; at all events, he would 
not permit_any breach of the public peace 
or violation of public property. Above 
all still towered the Capitol, in its unas- 
sailed and awful majesty, with its fifty 
temples or shrines, bearing the most sa- 
cred names in the religious and civil an- 
nals of Rome, those of Jove, of Mars, of 
Janus, of Romulus, of Cesar, of Victory. 
Some years after the accession of Theo- 
dosius to the Eastern empire, the sacri- 
fices were still performed as national rites 
at the public cost; the pontiffs made their 
offerings in the name of the whole human 
race. The pagan orator ventures to as- 
sert that the emperor dared not to endan- 
ger the safety of the empire by their abo- 
lition.t ‘The emperor still bore the title 
and insignia of the supreme pontiff; the 
consuls, before they entered upon their 
functions, ascended the Capitol; the reli- 
gious processions passed along the crowd- 
ed streets, and the people thronged to the 
festivals and theatres, which still formed 
part of the pagan worship. 

But the edifice had begun to tremble to 
its foundations. The emperor 
had ceased to reside at Rome; 
his mind, as well that of Gra- 
tian and the younger Valentin- 
ian as of Theodosius, was free 
from those early-inculcated and 
daily-renewed impressions of the majesty 
of ihe ancient paganism which still en- 
thralled the minds of the Roman aristoc- 
racy. Of that aristocracy, the flower and 
the pride was Vettius Agorius Prxtexta- 
tus.{ In him the wisdom of pagan philos- 
ophy blended with the serious piety of pa- 
gan religion: he lived to witness the com- 


Gratian, em- 
peror, A.D. 
367. 
Valentinian 
II., A.D. 375. 
Theodosius, 
A.D. 379. 


* See the Descriptiones Urbis, which bear the 
names of Publicus Victor and Sextus Rofus Fes- 
tus. These works could not have been written be- 
fore or long after the reign of Valentinian.—Com- 
pare Beugnot, Histoire de la Destruction du Pagan- 
isme en Occident. M. Beugnot has made oul, on 
more or less satisfactory evidence, a list of the dei- 
ties still worshipped in Italy, t. i., J. viii, c. 9. St. 
Augustine, when young, was present at the rites of 
Cybele, about A.D. 374. 

+ Liban. pro Templis. ane 

t See on Pretextatus, Macrob., Saturn., 1. 2- 
Symmachi, Epistole, i., 40, 43, 45; li, 7, 34, 36, 53, 
59. Hieronym., Epistole, xxiii. 


382 


mencement of the last fatal change, which 
he had no power to avert; he died, and 
his death was deplored as a public calam- 
ity, in time to escape the final extinction, 
A.D. 376. 0% Tather, degradation of pagan- 
“ism. But eight years before the 
fatal accession of Gratian, and the year of 
his own death, he had publicly consecra- 
ted twelve statues in the Capitol, with all 
becoming splendour, to the Dii curantes, 
the great guardian deities of Rome.* It 
was not only the ancient religion of Rome 
which still maintained some part of its 
dignity ; all the other religions of the em- 
pire, which still publicly celebrated their 
rites and retained their temples in the me- 
tropolis, concentred all their honours on 
Pretextatus, and took refuge, as it were, 
under the protection of his blameless and 
venerable name. His titles in an extant 
inscription announce him as having attain- 
ed, besides the countless honours of Ro- 
man civil and religious dignity, the high- 
est rank in the Eleusinian, Phrygian, Syr- 
ian, and Mithraic mysteries t His wife 
boasted the same religious titles ; she was 
the priestess of the same mysteries, with 
the addition of some peculiar to the fe- 
male sex.t She celebrated the funeral, 
AD. 304, €Ven the apotheosis, of her noble 
ὃ husband with the utmost pomp: 
he was the last pagan, probably, who re- 
ceived the honours of deification. All 
Rome crowded in sorrow and profound 
reverence to the ceremony. In the lan- 
guage of the vehement Jerom there is a 
singular mixture of enforced respect and 
of aversion; he describes (to moralize at 
the awful change) the former triumphant 
ascent of the Capitol by Pretextatus amid 
the acclamations of the whole city ; he 
admits the popularity of his life, but con- 
demns him, without remorse, to eternal 
misery.) 


* This appears from an inscription.recently dis- 
covered (A.D, 1835), and published in the Bulletino 
of the Archzological Society of Rome.—Compare 

᾿ Bunsen, Roms Beschreibung, vol. iit., p. 9. 

+ Augur. Pontifex Veste, Pontifex Solis, Quin- 
decimvir, Curialis Hercnlis, sacratus Libero et 
Eleusiniis, Hierophanta, Neocorus, Tauroboliatus, 
Pater Patrum.—Grnter, p 1102, No. 2. 

t Sacrate apud Eleusinam Deo Baccho, Cereri, 
et Core, apud Lernam, Deo Libero, et Cereri, et 
Core, sacrate apud AZginam Deabus; Tauroboli- 
te, Isiace, Hierophantie Der Hecate, sacrata: 
Dez Cereris.—Gruter, 309. 

ᾧ Ὁ quanta rerum mutatio! Ille quem ante pau- 
cos dies digmitatum omnium culmina precedebant, 
qui quasi de subjectis hostibus triumpharet, Cap- 
itolinas ascendit arces; quem plausu quodam et 
tripudio populus Romanus excepit, ad cujus inten- 
tum urbs universa commota est : nunc desolatus et 
nudus, * * * non in lacteo ceeli palatio ut uxor 


. * Η 
‘HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. _ 


Ὁ 


“ἢ 


Up to the accession of Gratian, the 
Christian emperor had assumed, ALD. 287 
as a matter of course, the suprem- ©" * 
acy over the religion as well as the state 
of Rome. He had been formally augustus. 
arrayed in the robes of the sover- 4-)-37. 
eign pontiff. For the first few years of 
his reign, Gratian maintained the Gratian τος 
inaggressive policy of his father.* fuses the 
But the masculine mind of Am- Pomtificate. 
brose obtained, and indeed had deserved 
by his public services, the supremacy over 
the feeble youth; and his influence began 
to reveal itself in a succession of acts 
which plainly showed that the fate of pa- 
ganism drew near. When Gratian was in 
Gaul, the senate of Rome remembered 
that he had not been officially arrayed in 
the dignity of the supreme pontificate. A 
solemn deputation from Rome at- 4 yy 389 
tended to perform the customary ~~~ 
ceremonial. The idolatrous honour was 
disdainfully rejected. The event was 
heard in Rome with consternation; it was 
the first overt act of separation between 
the religious and the civil power of the 
empire.{ The next hostile measure was 
still more unexpected. Notwithstanding 
the manifest authority assumed by Chris- 
tianity, and by one of the Christian prel- 
ates best qualified by his own determined 
character to wield at his will the weak 
and irresolute Gratian; notwithstanding 
the long ill-suppressed murmurs, and now 
bold and _~ authoritative ‘remonstrances 


against all toleration, all connivance at 


heathen idolatry, it might have been 
thought that any other victim would have 
been chosen from the synod of gods; that 
all other statues would have been thrown 
prostrate, all other worship pro- Statue of 
scribed, before that of Victory. Vittory. 

Constantius, though he had calmly sur- 
veyed the other monuments of Roman su- 
perstition, admired their majesty, read the 
inscriptions over the porticoes of the tem- 
ples, had nevertheless given orders for the 
removal of this statue, and this alone: its 
removal, it may be suspected not without 
some superstitious reverence, to the rival 
eapital.{ Victory had been restored by 


* M. Beugnot considers that Gratian was toler- 
ant of paganism from his accession, A.D. 367 to 382, 
He was sixteen when he ascended the throne, and 
became the first Augustus on the death of Valens, 
A.D. 378. 

+ Zosimus, iv., 26. .The date of this transaction 
is conjectural. Tre opinion of La Bastie, Mém. 
des Inscrip,, xv., 141, is followed. 

+ Constantius (the whole account of this trans- 
action is vague and uncircumstantial), acting in the 
spirit of his father, who collected a number of the 


mentitur infelix, sed in sordentibus tenebris contin- | best statues to adorn the new capital, perhaps in- 


etur.-~Hieronym , Epist. xxiil., vol. 1., p. 135. 


tended to transplant Victory to Constantinople. 


aa 


oe 


<> 


᾽ Ὶ ᾿ 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Julian to the senate-house at Rome, where 


she had so long presided over the counsels 
of the conquering republic and of the em- 
pire. She had maintained her place du- 
ring the reign of Valentinian. The de- 
cree that the statue of Victory was to be 
ignominiously dragged from its pedestal 
in the senate-house, that the altar was to 
be removed, and the act of public worship, 
Ap. 332, With, which the senate had for 

“**" centuries of uninterrupted pros- 
perity and glory commenced and hallow- 
ed its proceedings, discontinued, fell like a 
thunderbolt among the partisans of the an- 
cient worship. Surprise yielded to indig- 
nation. By the advice of Pretextatus, a 
solemn deputation was sent to’ remon- 
strate with the emperor. ‘The Christian 
party in the senate were strong enough to 
forward, through the Bishop Damasus, a 
counter petition, declaring their resolution 
to abstain from attendance in the senate 
so long as it should be defiled by an idola- 
trous ceremonial. Gratian coldly dismiss- 
ed the deputation, though headed by the 
eloquent Symmachus, as not represent- 
ing the unanimous sentiments of the sen- 
ate.* 

This first open aggression on the pagan- 
ism of Rome was followed by a law which 
confiscated at once all the property of the 
temples, and swept away the privileges and 
immunities of the priesthood. The fate 


_. of the vestal virgins excited the strongest 


commiseration. They now passed unhon- 
oured through the streets. The violence 
- done to this institution, coeval with Rome 
itself, was aggravated by the bitter mock- 
ery of the Christians at the importance 
attached to those few and rare instances 
of chastity by the pagans. They scoffed 
at the small number of the sacred virgins ; 
at the occasional delinquencies (for it is 
singular that almost the last act of pagan 
pontifical authority was the capital punish- 
ment of an unchaste vestal); the privilege 
they possessed, and sometimes claimed, 
of marriage, after a certain period of ser- 
vice, when, according to the severer Chris- 
tians, such unholy desires should have been 


long extinct.t If the state is to reward vir- 
Pe 


* Tt is very singular that, even at this very time, 
severe laws seem to have been necessary to punish 
apostates from Christianity. In 381 Theodosius 
deprived such persons of the right of bequeathing 
their property. Similar laws were passed in 333 
and. 391 against those quiex Christianis pagani fac- 
ti sust; quid ad paganos rituscultusque migrarunt ; 
_ 41 venerabili religione neglecta ad aras et templa 
transierint.—Cod. Theodos., xvi, 7, 1,2, 4, 5. 

+ Prudentius, though he wrote later, expresses 
this sentiment : 


Nubit anus veterana, sacro perfuncta labore, 
Desertisque focis, quibus est famulata juventus, 


- 7 


988. 


ν 7 
ginity (said the vehement Ambrose), the 
claims of the Christians would exhaust 
the treasury. 

By this confiscation of the sacerdotal 
property, which had hitherto maintained 
the priesthood in opulence, the temples 
and the sacrificial rites in splendour, the 
pagan hierarchy became stipendiaries of 
the state, the immediate step to their total 
dissolution. ‘The public funds were still 
charged with a certain expenditure* for 
the maintenance of the public ceremonies. 
This was not abrogated till after Theodo- 
sius had again united the whole empire 
under his conquering sway, and shared 
with Christianity the subjugated world. 

In the interval, heathenism made per- 
haps more than one desperate though fee- 
ble struggle for the ascendancy. Gratian 
was murdered in the year 383. Valen- 
tinian II. succeeded to the sole empire οὗ. 
the West. The celebrated Symmachus 
became prefect of Rome. Symmachus 
commanded the respect, and even deserv- 
ed the common attachment, of all his 
countrymen; he ventured (a rare exam- 
ple in those days) to interfere between 
the tyranny of the sovereign and the men- 
aced welfare of the people. An uncor- 
rupt magistrate, he deprecated the in- 
creasing burdens of unnecessary taxes, 
which weighed down the people ; he dared 
to suggest that the eager petitions for of- 
fice should be at once rejected, and the 
worthiest chosen out of the unpretending 
multitude. Symmachus inseparably con- 
nected, in his pagan patriotism, the an- 
cient religion with the welfare of Rome. 
He mourned in bitter humiliation over 
the acts of Gratian; the removal of the. 
statue of Victory; the abrogation of the 
immunities of the pagan priesthood: he 
hoped to obtain from the justice, or per- 
haps the fears, of the young Valentinian, 
that which had been refused by Gratian. 
The senate met under his authority ; a pe- 
tition was drawn up and presented in the 
name of that venerable body to the em- 
peror. In this composition Symmachus 
lavished all his eloquence. His oration 
is written with vigour, with dignity, with 
elegance. It is in this respect, perhaps, 
superior to the reply of Saint Ambrose.t 


Transfert invitas ad fulcra jugalia rugas, 
Discit et in gelido nova nupta calescere lecto. _ 
Ady. Symm., lib. il. 

* This was called the Annona. 

t Heyne has expressed himself strongly on the 
superiority of Symmachvs. Argumentorum de- 
lectu, vi, pondere, acnleis, non minis admirabilis 
illa est quain prudentia, cautione, ac verecundia ; 
quam tanto magis sentias si verbossm et Inanein, 
interdum calumniosam et veteratoriam declama- 


4 Ἶ Ψ 
υ 884 ς 


oF ) PS RS a ν 
Apology of But in the feeble and apologetic | piety of individuals. 


Symmachus. tone, we perceive at once that it 
is the artful defence of an almost hopeless 
cause; it is cautious to timidity; dexter- 
ous; elaborately conciliatory; moderate 
from fear of offending rather than from 
tranquil dignity. Ambrose, on the other 
hand, writes with all the fervid and care- 
less energy of one confident in his cause, 
and who knows that he is appealing to an 
audience already pledged by their own 
passions to his side ; he has not to obvi- 
ate objections, to reconcile difficulties, to 
sue or to propitiate; his contemptuous 
and criminating language has only to in- 
flame zeal, to quicken resentment and 
scom. He is flowing down on the full tide 
of human passion, and his impulse but ac- 
celerates and strengthens the rapid current. 
The personification of Rome in the ad- 
dress of Symmachus is a bold stroke of 
artificial rhetoric, but it is artificial ; and 
Rome pleads instead of commanding ;: en- 
treats for indulgence rather than mena- 
ces for neglect. ‘Most excellent prin- 
ces, fathers of your country, respect my 
years, and permit me still to practise the 
religion of my ancestors, in which 1 have 
grown old. Grant me but the liberty of 
living according to my ancient usage. 
This religion has subdued the world to 
my dominion ; these rites repelled Han- 
nibal from my walls, the Gauls from_the 
Capitol, Have I lived thus long, to be 
rebuked in my old age for my religion? 
It is too late; it would be discreditable 
to amend in my old age. I entreat but 
peace for the gods of Rome, the tutelary 
gods of our country.” Rome condescends 
to that plea, which a prosperous religion 
neither uses nor admits, but to which a 
falling faith always clings with desperate 
energy. ‘Heaven is above us all; we 
cannot all follow the same path; there 
are many ways by which we arrive at the 
great secret... But we presume not to con- 
tend; we are humble suppliants!” The end 
of the third century had witnessed the 
“persecutions of Dioclesian: the fourth had 
not clapsed when this is the language of 
paganism, uttered in her strongest hold by 
the most earnest and eloquent of her par- 
tisans, Symmachus remonstrates against 
the miserable economy of saving the main- 
tenance of the vestal virgins ; the disgrace 
of enriching the imperial treasury by such 
gains ; he protests against the confiscation 
of all legacies bequeathed to them by the 


tionem Ambrosii compares.—Censur. ingen. et mor. 
Q. Δ. Symmachi, in Heyne, Opuscul. 

The relative position of the parties influenced no 
doubt the style, and will perhaps the judgment, of 
posterity on the merit of the compositions. 


“% hk ΕΣ 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


~ 
“Slaves may inher. 
it; the vestal virgins alone, and the min- 
isters of religion, are precluded from this 
common privilege.” The orator concludes 
by appealing to: the deified father of the 
emperor, who looks down with sorrow 
from the starry citadel, to see that tolera- 
tion violated which he had maintained with 
willing justice. 


But Ambrose was at hand to confront ἜΣ 


the eloquent pagan and to pro- reply of 
hibit the fatal concession. Far Ambrose. 
different is the tone and manner of the 
Archbishop of Milan. He asserts, in plain 
terms, the unquestionable obligation of a 
Christian sovereign to permit no part of 
the public revenue to be devoted to the 
maintenance of idolatry. Their Roman 
ancestors were to be treated with rever- 
ence; but in a question of religion they 
were to consider God alone. He who ad- 
vises such grants as those demanded by 
the suppliants is guilty of sacrifice. Grad- 
ually he rises to still more imperious lan- 
guage, and unveils all the terrors of the 
sacerdotal authority, ‘The emperor who 
shall be guilty of such concessions will 
find that the bishops will neither endure 
nor connive at his sin. If he enters:a 
church he will find no priest, or one who 
will defy his authority. The Church will 
indignantly reject the gifts of him who 
has shared them with Gentile temples. 
The altar disdains the offerings of him 
who has made offerings to images. It is 
written, ‘Man cannot serve two mas- 


ters.’ ? Ambrose, imboldetied, as it were, © 


by his success, ventures in his second let- 
ter to treat the venerable and holy tradi- 
tions of Roman glory with contempt.’ 
‘“* How long did Hannibal insult the gods 
of Rome? It was the goose, and not the 
Deity, that saved the Capitol. Did Jupi- 
ter speak in the goose? Where were the 
gods in all the defeats, some of them but 
recent, of the pagan emperors? Was not 
the altar of Victory then standing?” He 
insults the number, the weaknesses, the 
marriages of the vestal virgins. “If the 
same munificence were shown to Chris- 
tian virgins, the beggared treasury would 
be exhausted by the claims. Are not the 
baths, the porticoes, the streets, still crowd- 
ed with images? Must they still keep 
their place in the great couneil of the em- 
pire? You compel to worship if you re- 
store the altar. And who is this deity ? 
Victory is a gift, and not a power; she 


; depends on the courage of the legions, 


not on the influence of the religion: a 
mighty deity, who is bestowed by the 
numbers of an army, or the doubtful issue 


| of a battle !” 


4 


Accession of ON the throne. 


¥ 


Oe b ἐ ῳ 

Fc ‘an’ argument, paganism vainly 
Murder of grasped at other arms, which 
Valentinian. she had as little power to wield. 
A.D. 3%. On the murder of Valentinian, 
Arbogastes the Gaul, whose authority 
Over the troops was without competitor, 
hesitated to assume the purple, which 

_had never yet been polluted by a barba- 

rian. He placed Eugenius, a rhetorician, 

The elevation 


Eugenius. of Eugenius was an act of mil- 


itary violence; but the pagans of the 


᾿ 
7 
. 


_ West hailed his accession with the most 
“eager joy and the fondest hopes. The 


Christian writers denounce the apostacy of 


Eugenius not without justice, if Eugenius 
ever professed Christianity.* Through- 
out Italy the temples were reopened ; the 
smoke of sacrifice ascended from all quar- 
ters: the entrails of victims were ex- 
plored for the signs of victory. The 
frontiers were guarded by all the terrors 
of the old religion. The statue of Jupiter 
the Thunderer, sanctified by magic rites 
of the most awful significance, and placed 
on the fortifications amid the Julian Alps, 
looked defiance on the advance of the 
Christian emperor. The images of the 
gods were unrolied on the banners, and 
Hercules was borne in triumph at the 
head of the army. Ambrose fled from 
Milan, for the soldiery boasted that they 
would stable their horses in the churches, 
and press the clergy to fill their legions. 

In Rome Eugenius consented, without 
reluctance, to the restoration of the altar 
of Victory, but he had the wisdom to 
foresee the danger which his cause might 
incur by the resumption of the temple es- 
tates, many of which had been granted 
away: he yielded with undisguised un- 
willingness to the irresistible importuni- 
ties of Arbogastes and Flavianus. 

While this reaction was taking place in 
the West, perhaps irritated by the intelli- 
gence of this formidable conspiracy of 
paganism, with the usurpation of the 
throne, Theodosius published in the East 
the last and most peremptory of those 
edicts which, gradually rising in the stern- 
ness of their language, proclaimed the 
ancient worship a treasonable and capital 
crime. Inits minute and searching phra- 
ses it seemed eagerly to pursue paganism 
to its most secret and private lurking-pla- 
ees. Thenceforth no man of any station, 
rank, or dignity, in any place in any city, 
was to offer an innocent victim in sacri- 
fice ; the more harmless worship of the 


* Compare the letter of Ambrose to Eugenius. 
He addresses Eugenius apparently as a Christian, 
but one in the hands of more powerful pagans. 


* 

7 

* 
‘ 3 
pos . ott A # ᾿ » « 

> 
es HismoRY OF - ie - 
᾿ rr} +" ar »ὄ ἊΝ > 


385 


usehold gods, which lingered, probably, 
more deeply in the hearts of the pagans 
than any other part of their system, not 
merely by the smoke of victims, but by 
lamps, incense, and garlands, was equally 
forbidden. To sacrifice or to consult the 
entrails of victims was constituted high 
treason, and thereby a capital offence, al- 
though with no treasonable intention of 
calculating the days of the emperor. It 
was a crime of sufficient magnitude to in- 
fringe the laws of nature, to pry into the 
secrets of futurity, or to inquire concern- 
ing the death of any one. Whoever per- 
mitted any heathen rite—hanging a tree 
with chaplets, or raised an altar of turf— 
forfeited the estate on which the offence 
was committed. Any house profaned 
with the smoke of incense was confisca- 
ted to the imperial exchequer. 
Whoever violated this prohibition, 
and offered sacrifice either in a public 
temple or on the estate of another, was 
amerced in a fine of twenty-five pou 
of gold (a thousand pounds of our money), 
and whoever connived at the offence was 
liable to the same fine; the magistrate 
who neglected to enforce it to a still 
heavier penalty.* This law, stern and 
intolerant as it was, spoke, no doubt, the 
dominant sentiment of the Christian 
world ;f but its repetition by the suc- 
cessors of Theodosius, and the employ- 
ment of avowed pagans in many of the 
high offices of the state and army, may 
permit us charitably to doubt whether 
the exchequer was much enriched by 


A.D. 394, 


cutioner stained with the blood of con- 
scientious pagans. Polytheism boasted 
of no martyrs, and we may still hope 
that, if called upon to carry its own de- 
crees into effect, its native clemency— 
though, unhappily, Christian bigotry had 
already tasted of heretical blood—would 
have revolted from the sanguinary deed,t 
and yet have seen the inconsistency of 
these acts (which it justified in theory, on 
the authority of the Old Testament) with 
the vital principles of the Gospel. 


a - » 

* Cod. Theod., xvi, 10,12. 

+ Gibbon has quoted from Le Clerc a fearful sen- 
tence of St. Augustine, addressed to the Donatists. 
“ Quis nostrim, quis vestram non laudat leges ab 
Imperatoribus datas adversus sacrificia pagano- 
rum? -certé longé ibi peena severior constituta 
est; illius quippe impietatis capitale supplicium 
est.”—KEpist., xcili. But passages amiably incon- 
sistent with this fierce tone might be quoted on 
the other side.—Compare the editor’s note on Gib- 
bon, ii., p. 192. Ie 

1 Quis eorum comprehensus est in’ sacrificio 
(cum his legibus ista prohiberentur) et non negavit. 
—Augustine, in Psalm cxx., quoted by Gibbon from 
Lardner. ) 


ak 


ὃς 


> 


the forfeitures, or the sword of the exe- — 


. ν ΄ 
386 5 
The victory of hedaperns in the West 
dissipated at once the vain hopes of pagan- 
ism; the pageant vanished away. Rome 
heard of the triumph, perhaps witnessed 
the presence of the great conqueror, who, 
in the East, had already countenanced the 
most destructive attacks against the tem- 
ples of the gods. The Christian poet de- 
scribes a solemn debate of the senate on 
the claims of Jupiter and of Christ to the 
adoration of the Roman people. Accord- 
ing to his account, Jupiter was outvoted 
by a large number of suffrages; the de- 
cision was followed by a general desertion 
of their ancestral deities by the obsequious 
minority; the old hereditary names, the 
Annii and the Probi, the Anicii and Olybii, 
the Paulini and Bassi, the popular Gracchi, 
six hundred families, at once passed over 
to the Christian cause.* The pagan his- 
torian to a certain degree confirms the fact 
of the deliberate discussion, but differs as 


- tothe result. The senate, he states, firmly, 


but respectfully, adhered to their ancient 
deities.| But the last argument of the pa- 
gan advocates was fatal to their cause. 
Theodosius refused any longer to assign 
funds from the public revenue to maintain 
the charge of the idolatrous worship. The 
senate remonstrated, that if they ceased 
to be supported at the national cost, they 
would cease to be national rites. This 
argument was more likely to confirm than 
to shake the determination of the Christian 
emperor. From this time the temples were 
deserted; the priests and priestesses, de- 
prived of their maintenance, were scatter- 
ed abroad. The public temples still stood, 
ner was it forbidden to worship within 
them, without sacrifice; the private, and 
family, or Gentile, deities still preserved 
their influence. Theodosius died the year 
after the defeat of Eugenius. 
We pursue to its close the history of 
A.D. 395, Western paganism, which was 
buried at last in the ruins of the 
empire. Gratian had dissevered the su- 
premacy of the national religion from the 


“Imperial dignity; he had confiscated the 


property of the.temples; Theodosius had 
refused to defray the expense of public 
sacrifices from the public funds. Still, 
however, the outward form of paganism 


_ remained. Some priesthoods were still 


handed down in regular descent; the rites 


of various deities, even of Mithra and Cyb- 
 SSSFSSSSSSSSSMMSee 


x 
. * Sexcentas numerare domos de sanguine prisco 
‘Nobilium licet, ad Christi signacula versas, 
Turpis ab idolii vasto emersisse profundo. 
Prud. ad Symmach. 
Prudentius has probably amplified some consider- 
able desertion of the wavering and dubious beliey- 
ers. + Zosim., Hist., iv , 59, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ele, were celebrated without sacrifice, or 
with sacrifice furtively performed; the 
corporation of the aruspices was not abol- 
ished. There still likewise remained a 
special provision for certain festivals and 
public amusements.* The expense of the 
sacred banquets and of the games was de- 
frayed by the state: an early law of Ho- 
norius respected the common enjoyments 
of the people.t 

The poem of Prudentius} acknowledges 
that the enactments of Theodosius had 
been far from altogether successful τὺ his 
bold assertion of the universal adoption of 
Christianity by the whole senate is in some 
degree contradicted by his admission that 
the old pestilence of idolatry had again 
broken out in Rome.|| It implies that the 
restoration of the statue of Victory had 
again been urged, and by the indefatigable 
Symmachus, on the sons of Theodosius. J] 
The poem was written after the battle of 
Pollentia, as it triumphantly appeals to the 
glories of that day, against the ar- 
gument that Rome was indebted 
for the victories of former times to her 
ancient gods. It closes with an earnest 
admonition to the son of Theodosius to 
fulfil the task which was designedly left 
him by the piety of his father,** to suppress 
at once the vestal virgins, and, above all, 
the gladiatorial shows, which they were 
accustomed to countenance by their pres- 
ence. sig 
In the year 408 came forth the “edict 
which aimed at the direct and Law of Ha 
complete abolition of paganism norius. _ 
throughout the Western empire. The 
whole of this reserved provision for festi- 
vals was swept away; it was devoted to 


” 


A.D. 403. 


* It was called the vectigal templorum. 

+ Communis populi letitia. 

1 The poem of Prudentius is by no means a re- 
capitulation of the arguments of St. Ambrose ; it is 
original, and in some parts very vigorous. 

§ Inclitus ergo parens patriz, moderator et orbis, 
Nil egit prehibendo, vagas ne pristinus error 
Crederet esse Detim nigrante sub aere formas. 


|| Sed quoniam renovata lues turbare salutem 
Tentat Romulidum. 


41 Armorum dominos, vernantes flore juvente, 
Inter castra patris genitos, sub imagine avita 
Eductos, exempla domi congesta tenentes, 
Orator catus instigat. .. .. , 

Si vobis vel parta, viri, victoria cordi est, 
Vel parienda dehinc, templum Dea virgo sacra- 


ec ‘ 
Obtineat, vobis regnantibus. 
The orator catus is Symmachus ; the parta vic- 
toria that of Pollentia; the Dea virgo, Victory. 
** Quam tibi supplendam Deus, et genitoris amica 
Servavit pietas: solus ne premia tante 
is caperet “ partem, tibi, nate reservo,” 


ι 
, Disitvet integrum decus intactumque reliquit.— 
Subfin, = 7 *. 
ca” 


‘ τ ὃν ἦ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the more useful purpose, the pay of the 
loyal soldiery.* ‘The same edict proceed- 
ed to actual violence, to invade and take 
possession of the sanctuaries of religion. 
All images were to be thrown down; the 
e(ifices, now useless and deserted, to be 
occupied by the imperial officers, and ap- 
_ propriated to useful purposes.t The gov- 

ernment, wavering between demolition 
and desecration, devised this plan for the 
preservation of these great ornaments of 
the cities, which thus, taken under the pro- 
tection of the magistracy as public prop- 
erty, were secured from the destructive 
zeal of the more fanatical Christians. All 
sacrilegious rites, festivals, and ceremo- 
nies were prohibited. The bishops of the 
towns were invested with power to sup- 
press these forbidden usages, and the civil 
authorities, as though the government 
mistrusted their zeal, were bound under 
a heavy penalty to obey the summons, 
and to assist the prelates in the extirpa- 
tion of idolatry. Another edict excluded 
all enemies of the Christian faith from the 
great public offices in the state and in the 
army, and this, if fully carried into effect, 
would have transferred the whole power 
throughout the empire into the hands of 
the Christians. But the times were not 
yet ripe for this measure. Generides, a 
pagan in high command in the army, threw 
up his commission. The edict was re- 
pealed.t 

* Expensis devotissimorum militum profutura. 

_ ¢ Augustine (though not entirely consistent) dis- 
approved of the ible demolition of the temples. 
‘Let us first extirpate the idolatry of the hearts of 
the heathen, and they will either themselves invite 
us, or anticipate us in the execution of this good 
work.”—Tom. v., p. 62. 

1 Prudentius ventures to admire the tolerant im- 
partiality of Theodosius in admitting both parties 
alike to civil and military honours. He urges this 
argumentum ad hominem against Symmachus : 


Denique pro meritis terrestribus equa rependens 
Munera, sacricolis summos impertit honores 
Dux bonus, et certare sinit cum laude suorum. 
Nec pago implicitos per debita culmina mundi 
Tre vetat. 

Ipse magistratum tibi consulis, ipse tribunal 

Contulit. 

In the East, the pagan Themistius had been ap- 
pointed prefect of Constantinople by Theodosius. 
It is curious to read his flatteries of the orthodox 
Christian emperor; he praises his love of philoso- 
phy in the most fervent language. ᾿- 

The most remarkable instance of this inconsist- 
ency, at a much Jater period, occurs in the person 
of Merobaudes, a general and a pvet, who flourish- 
ed in the first half of the fifth century. A statue in 
honour of Merobaudes was placed in the Forum of 
Trajan, of which the inscription is still extant. 
Fragments of his poems have been discovered by 
the industry and sagacity of Niebuhr. In one pas- 
sage Merobaudes, in the genuine heathen spirit, at- 
tributes the ruin of the empire to the abolition of 


387 


Rome once more beheld the shadow of 
a pagan emperor, Attalus, while the Chris- 
tian emperor maintained his court at Ra- 
venna; and both stood trembling before 
the victorious Alaric. When that tri- 
umphant Goth formed the siege of Rome, 
paganism, as if grateful for the fidelity of 
the imperial city, made one last desperate 
effort to avert the common ruin. Pagan 
magic was the last refuge of conscious 
weakness. The Etrurian soothsayers 
were called forth from their obscurity, 
with the concurrence of the whole city (the 
pope himself is said to have assented to 
the idolatrous ceremony), to blast the bar- 
baric invader with the lightnings of Jupi- 
ter. The Christian historian saves the 
credit of his party by asserting that they 
kept away from the profane rite.* But 
it may be doubted, after all, whether the 
ceremony really took place ; both parties 
had more confidence in the power of a 
large sum of money, offered to arrest the 
career of the triumphant barbarian. 

The impartial fury of Alaric fell alike 
on church and temple, on Chris- Capture of 
tian and pagan. But the capture Rome by 
of Rome consummated the ruin 4!" 
of paganism. ‘The temples, indeed, were 
for the most part left standing, but their 
worshippers had fled. The Roman aris- 
tocracy, in whom alone paganism still re- 
tained its most powerful adherents, aban- 
doned the city, and, scattered in the prov- 
inces of the empire, were absorbed in the 
rapidly Christianizing population. The 
deserted buildings had now neither public 
authority nor private zeal and munificence 
to maintain them against the encroach- 
ments of time or accident, to support the 
tottering roofor repair the broken column. — 
There was neither public fund nor private 
contribution for their preservation, till at 
length the Christians, in many instances, 


A  Ὑ" 
paganism, and almost renews the old accusation of 
Atheism against Christianity. He impersonates 
some deity, probably Discord, who summons Bello- 
na to take arms for the destruction of Rome; and, 
in a strain of fierce irony, recommends to her, 
among other fatal measures, to extirpate the gods 
of Rome ; 


Roma, ipsique tremant furialia murmura reges. 
Jam superos terris, atqne hospita numina pelle: 
Romanos populare Deos, et nullus in aris 
Veste exorate, fotus strue, palleat ignis. 
His instructa dolis palatia celsa subibo, | 
Majorum mores, et pectora prisca fugabo > z 
Funditus, atque simul, nullo discrimine rerum, os 
Spernantur fortes, nec sit reverentia justis. eg 
Attica neglecto pereat facundia Pheebo, | 
Indignis contingat honos, et pondera rerum. 
Non virtus sed casus agat, tristisque cupido; 
Pectoribus sevi demens furor estuet evi; 
Ommniaque hec sine mente Jovis, sine numine summo. 
—Merobaudes, in Niebuhr’s edit. of the Byzantines. 
* Zosimus, v. Sozomen, ix., 6. 


ed it 


388 ᾿ oe 


took po sion of the abandoned edifice, 
converted it to their own use, and hallow- 


y a new consecration.* Thus, in 
many places, though marred and disfig- 
ured, the monuments of architecture sur- 
vived, with no great violation of the ground- 
plan, distribution, or general proportions.t 

Paganism was in fact left to die out by 
gradual dissolution.{ The worship of the 
heathen deities lingered in many temples 
till it was superseded by the new form of 
Christianity, which, at least in its outward 
appearance, approximated to Polytheism : 
the Virgin gradually supplanted many of 
the local deities. Jn Sicily, which long 
remained obstinately wedded to the an- 
cient faith, eight celebrated temples were 


dedicated to the Mother of God.§ It was 


not till the seventh century that the Pan- 
theon was dedicated by Pope Boniface IV. 
to the Holy Virgin. Of the public festi- 
vals, the last which clung with tenacious 
grasp to the habits of the Roman people 
was the Lupercalia. 
towards the close of the fifth cen- 
tury by Pope Gelasius. The-ru- 
ral districts were not completely Chris- 
tianized until the general introduction of 
monasticism. Heathenism was still prev- 


A.D. 493. 


It was suppressed | 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the neighbourhood of Turin, in the middle 
of the fifth century.* It was the mission- 
ary from the convent who wandered 
through the villages, or who, from his 
monastery, regularly discharged the duties 
of a village pastor. St. Benedict of. Nur- 
sia destroyed the worship of Apollo on 
Mount Casino. 

Everywhere the superstition survived 
the religion, and that which was unlaw- 
ful under paganism continued to be un- 


lawfully practised under Christianity. The- 


insatiable propensity of men to inquire 
into futurity, and to deal with secret and 
invisible agencies, which reason condemns, 
and often while it condemns consults, re- 
tained its old formularies, some religious, 
some pretending to be magical or theur- 
gic. Divination and witchcraft have nev- 
er been extinct in Italy, or, perhaps, in 
any part of Europe. The descendants of 
Canidia or Erictho, the seer and the ma- 
gician, have still practised their arts, to 
which the ignorant, including at times all 
mankind, have listened with unabated cre- 
dulity. 

We must resume our consideration of 
paganizing Christianity as the parent of 
Christian art and poetry, and, in fact, the 


alent in many parts of Italy, especially in|ruler of the human mind for many ages. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THEODOSIUS. TRIUMPH OF TRINITARIANISM. THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE EAST. _— 


Bur the unity, no less than the triumph 
of Christianity, occupied the vig- 
or'theds. orous mind of Theodosius. He 
sius. had been anticipated in this de- 
sign in the West by his feeble predeces- 
sors and colleagues Gratian and Valen- 
tinian the younger. The laws began to 


_* There are many churches in Rome, which, 
like the Pantheon, are ancient temples ; thirty-nine 
built on the foundations of temples. Four retain 
pagan names. 5, Maria sopra Minerva, S. Maria 
Aventina, S. Lorenzoin Matuta, S. Stefano in Cac- 
co. At Sienna thetemple of Quirinus became the 
church of S. Quirino.—Beugnot, ii., p. 266. See 
in Bingham, book viii., s. 4, references to several 
churches in the East converted to temples. But 
this passage must be read with caution. 

_t In some cases, by a more destructive appropri- 
ation, they converted the materials to their own 
use, and worked them up into their own barbarous 
churches. 

1 The fifth Council of Carthage (A.D. 398), caa. 
Xv., petitioned the most glorious emperors to de- 
stroy the remains of idolatry, not merely “in simu- 
lacris,” but in other places, groves, and trees, 

ὁ Beugnot, ii., 271; from Aprile, Chronologia 


᾿ Universale de Sicilia. 


speak the language of the exclusive es- 
tablishment of Christianity, and of Chris- 
tianity under one rigorous and unaccom- 
modating creed and discipline. Almost 
the first act of Theodosius was “i 

the edict for the universal ae- ΕΣ 
ceptance of the Catholic faith.t A-D. 380. 

It appeared under the name and with the 
conjoint authority of the three emperors, 
Gratian, Valentinian 11., and Theodosius. 
It was addressed to the inhabitants of 
Constantinople. ‘ We, the three emper- 
ors, will that all our subjects follow the 
religion taught by St. Peter to the Ro- 
mans, professed by those saintly prelates, 
Damasus, pontiff of Rome, and Peter, bish- 
op of Alexandrea; that we believe the one 
divinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spir- 
it, of majesty coequal, in the Holy ‘Trin- 
ity. We will ee hose who embrace this 
creed be called Catholic Christians; we 


* See the sermons of Maximus, bishop of Turin, 
quoted in Beugnot, ii., 253. 
t+ Codex Theodos., xvi., 1, 2. 


Ἄς, 


"All the more 


— 6 


ism. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ~ 


brand all the senseless followers of other 
religions by the infamous name of here- 
tics, and forbid their conventicles to as- 
sume the name of churches; we reserve 
their punishment to the vengeance of 
heaven, and to such measures as Divine 
inspiration shall dictate to us.”* ‘Thus 
the religion of the whole Roman world 
was enacted by two feeble boys and a 
rude Spanish soldier.t The next year 
witnessed: the condemnation of all here- 
ties, particularly the Photinians, Arians, 
and Eunomians, and the expulsion of the 
Arians from the churches of all the cities 
in the East,f and their surrender to the 
only lawful form of Christianity. On the 
assembling of the Council of Chalcedon, 
two severe laws were issued against apos- 
tates and Manicheans, prohibiting them 
from making wills. During its sitting, the 
emperor promulgated an edict prohibiting 
the Arians from building churches, either 
in the cities or in the country, under pain 
of the confiscation of the funds devoted 
to the purpose.§ 

The circumstances of the times happily 
coincided with the design of ‘I'he- 
powerful ec- Odosius to concentre the whole 
elesiastical Christian world into one vigor- 
writers fa- 3 - 
vourable to OUS and consistent system. The 
Trimtarian- more legitimate influence of ar- 
gument, and intellectual and re- 
ligious superiority, concurred with the 
stern mandates of the civil power. All 
the great and commanding minds of the 
age were on the same side as to the mo- 
mentous and strongly-agitated questions 
of the faith. The productive energies of 
Arianism seemed, as it were, exhausted ; 
its great defenders had passed away, and 
left, apparently, no heirs to their virtues 
or abilities. It was distracted with schisms, 
and had to bear the unpopularity of the 
sects which seemed to have sprung from 
it in the natural course, the Eunomians, 
Macedonians, and a still multiplying pro- 
geny of heresies. Everywhere the Trin- 
itarian prelates rose to ascendaney, not 
merely from the support of the govern- 
ment, but from their pre-eminent charac- 


ΙΑ Post etiam motus nostri, quem ex ccelesti ar- 
bitrio sumpserimus, ultione plectendos. Godefroy 
supposes these words not to mean “ coeleste oracu- 
lum,” but “ Dei arbitrium, regulam et formulam 
juris divini.” 

+ Baronius, and even Godefroy, call this law a 
golden, pious, and wholesome statute. Happily it 
was on the right side. : 

{¢ On the accession of Theodosius, according to 
Sozomen, the Arians possessed all the churches of 
the East except Jerusalem.—H. E., vii., 2. 

ὁ Sozomen mentions these severe laws, but as- 
serts that they were enacted merely in terrorem, 
and with no design of carrying them into execution. 
—H. E., vii., 12. 


_ Nyssa. 


389 


ter or intellectual powers. Tach prov- 
ince seemed to have produced some indi- 
vidual adapted to the particular period and 
circumstances of. the time, who devoted 
himself to the establishment of the Atha- 
nasian opinions. ‘The intractable Egypt, 
more particularly turbulent Alexandrea, 
was ruled by the strong arm of the bold 
and unprincipled Theophilus. The dreamy 
mysticism of Syria found a congenial rep- 
resentative in Ephrem. A more intellect+ 
ual, yet still somewhat imaginative, Orien- 
talism animates the writings of St. Basil; 
in a less degree those of Gregory of Na- 
zianzum ; still less those of Gregory of 


eloquence of Chrysostom swayed the pop- 
ular mind in Constantinople. Jerom, a 
link, as it were, between the East and the 
West, transplanted the monastic spirit and 
opinions of Syria into’ Rome, and brought 
into the East much of the severer thought 
and more prosaic reasoning of the Latin 
world. In Gaul, where Hilary of Poictiers 
had long- maintained the cause of Trinita- 
rianism on the borders of civilization, St. 


Martin of Tours acted the part of a bold . 


and enterprising missionary ; while in Mi- 
lan, the court capital of the West, the 
strong practical character of Ambrose, 
his sternly conscientious moraleneérgy, 
though hardening at times into rigid in- 
tolerance with the masculine strength of 
his style, confirmed the Latin Church in 
that creed to which Rome had adhered 
with almost unshaken fidelity. If not the 
greatest, the most permanently influential 
of all, Augustine,united the intense pas- 
sion of the African mind with the most 
comprehensive and systematic views, and 
intrepid dogmatism on the darkest sub- 
jects... United in one common cause, act- 
ing in their several quarters according to 
their peculiar temperaments and charac- 


ters, these strong-minded and influential 


ecclesiastics almost compelled the world 


‘into a temporary peace, till first Pelagian- 


ism and afterward Nestorianism unsettled 
again the restless elements; the contro- 
versies, first concerning grace, free-will, 
and predestination, then on the incarnation 
and two natures of Christ, succeeded to 
the silenced and exhausted feud concern- 
ing the trinity of persons in the Godhead. 
Theophilus of Alexandrea* performed 
his part in the complete subjec- Theophilus 
tion of the world by his energy Ses we 
rea, bishop, 
as a ruler, not by the slower and from 385 to 
more legitimate influence of 413. 
moral persuasion through his preaching 


ΔΤ have not placed these writers in their strict 


chronological order, but accoriing to the countries 
‘ 


in which they lived. 


The more powerful and Grecian | 


390 - 


or his writings.* He suppressed Arian- 
ism the same violent and coercive 
means with which he extirpated pagan- 
ism. The tone of this prelate’s epistles 
is invariably harsh and criminatory. He 
appears in the best light as opposing the 
vulgar anthropomorphism of the monks 
in the neighbourhood of Alexandrea, and 
insisting on the pure spiritual nature of 
the Deity. Yet he condescended to ap- 
pease these turbulent. adversaries by an 
unmanly artifice. He consented to con- 


demn the doctrines of Origen, who, hav- 


ing reposed quietly in his tomb for many 
years, in general respect, if not in the 
odour of sanctity, was exhumed, as it 
were, by the zeal of later times, as a dan- 
gerous heresiarch. The Oriental doc- 
trines with which Origen had impregna- 
ted his system were unpopular, and per- 
haps not clearly understood.+ The no- 
tion that the reign of Christ was finite 
was rather an inference from his wri- 
tings than a tenet of Origen. For if all 
bodies were to, be finally annihilated (ac- 
cording to his anti-materialist system), 
the humanity of Christ, and, consequent- 
ly, his personal reign, must cease. The 
possibility that the devil might, after long 
purification, be saved, and the corruptibil- 
ity of the body after the resurrection, 
grew out of the same Oriental cast of 
opinions. But the perfectly pure and im- 
material nature of the Deity was the tenet 
of Origen which was the most odious to 
the monks; and Theophilus, by anathe- 
matizing Origenism in the mass, while he 
himself held certainly the sublimest, but 
to his adversaries the most objectionable, 
part of the system, adopted a low and undig- 
nified deception. The persecution of Isi- 
dore, and the heads of the monasteries 
who befriended his cause (the tall breth- 
ren, as they were called), from personal 
motives of animosity, display the Alex- 
andrean prelate in his ordinary character. 
We shall again encounter Theophilus in 
the lamentable intrigues against the ad- 
vancement and influence of Chrysostom. 

The character of Ephrem,t the Syrian, 
5. Ephrem, Was the exact counterpart to 
ie, Eynian, that of the busy and worldly 
mc τῆν Theophilus. A native of Nisi- 
bis, or, rather, of its neighbourhood, 
Ephrem passed the greater part of his 
life at Edessa, and in the monastic estab- 
lishments which began to abound in Mes- 


= The Trinitarian doctrines had been maintained 
in Alexandrea by the virtues and abilities of Didy- 


_ mus the Blind. 


+ Socrates, vi., 10. Sozomen, viii., 13. » 
1 See the Life of Ephrem prefixed to his works; 
and in Tillemont. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


opotamia and Syria, as in Egypt. His 
genius was that of the people in whose 
language he wrote his numerous compo- 
sitions in prose and verse.* In Ephrem 
something of the poetic mysticism of the 
‘Gnostic was aliied with the most rigid 
orthodoxy of doctrine. But with his im- 
aginative turn were mingled a depth and 
intensity of feeling, which gave him his 
peculiar influence over the kindred minds 
of his countrymen. Tears were as natu- 
ral to him as perspiration ; day and night, 
in his devout seclusion, he wept for the 
sins of mankind and for his own; his 
very writings, it was said, weep; there 
is a deep and latent sorrow even in his 
panegyrics or festival homilies.t 

Ephrem was a poet, and his hymns, 
poured forth in the prodigality of his zeal, 
succeeded at length in entirely disenchant- 
ing the popular ear from the heretical 
strains of Bardesanes and his son Har- 
monius, which lingered after the general 
decay of Gnosticism.{ The hymns of 
Ephrem were sung on the festivals of the 
martyrs. His psalms, the constant occu- 
pation which he enjoins upon his monkish 
companions, were always of a sorrowful 
and contrite tone. Laughter was the 
souree and the indication of all wicked- 
ness, sorrow of all virtue. During the 
melancholy psalm, God was present with 


his angels; all more joyous strains belong= Ἂν 


ed to heathenism and idolatry. 

The monasticism as well as the Trini- 
tarianism of Syria received a strong im- 
pulse from Ephrem, and in Syria monas- 
ticism began to run into its utmost ex- 
travagance. There was one class of as- 
cetics who at certain periods forsook 
their cities, and retired to the mountains 
to browse on the herbage which they 
found, as their only food. The writings 
of Ephrem were the occupation and de- 
light of all these gentle and irreproachable 
fanatics; and, as Ephrem was rigidly 
Trinitarian, he contributed to fix the doc- 
trinal language of the various ccenobitic 
institutions and solitary hermitages. In 
fact, the quiescent intellect probably re- 
joiced in being relieved from these severe 
and ungrateful inquiries ; and full freedom 
being left to the imagination, and ample 
scope to the language, in vague and 

* According to Theodoret, he was unacquainted 
with Greek. Παιδείας yap οὐ γεγευμένος ἑλλη- 
νὶκῆς, τούς τε πολυσχιδεῖς τῶν Ἑλλήνων διή- 
λεγξε πλάνους, καὶ πάσης αἱρετικὴς κακοτεχ- 
νίας ἐγύμνωσε τὴν ἀσθένειαν. The refutation οἱ 
Greek heresy in Syriac must have been curious 

t See the two treatises in his works, vol. i., 104- 
107. Non esse ridendum sed lugendum potius at- 

ue plorandum ; and, Quod ludicris rebus abstinen- 
ues sit Christianis. 1 Theodoret, iv., 29. 


t 


wa 6 


ἐν 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ᾿ 


fervent expressions of Divine love, the 
Syrian mind felt not the restriction of the 
rigorous creed, and passively surrendered 
itself to ecclesiastical authority. Absorbed 
in its painful and melancholy struggles 
with the internal passions and appetites, 
it desired not to provoke, but rather to re- 
press, the dangerous activity of the reason. 
The orthodoxy of Ephrem himself savours 
perhaps of timidity and the disinclination 
to agitate such awful and appalling ques- 
tions. He would elude and escape them, 
and abandon himself altogether to the more 
edifying emotions which it is the chief ob- 
ject of his writings to excite and maintain. 
The dreamer must awake in order to rea- 
son, and he prefers the passive tranquillity 
of the half. waking state. 

Greece, properly so called, contributed 
none of the more distinguished names in 
Eastern Christianity. Even the Grecian 
part of Asia Minor was by no means fertile 
in names which survive in the annals of 
the Church. In Athens philosophy still 
lingered, and struggled to maintained its 
predominance. Many of the more emi- 
nent ecclesiastics had visited its schools 
in their youth, to obtain those lessons of 
rhetoric and profane knowledge which 
they were hereafter to dedicate to their 
own sacred uses. But they were foreign- 
ers, and, in the old language of Greece, 


Ἂ: would have been called barbarians. 


The rude and uncivilized Cappadocia 
gave birth to Basil and the two 
Gregories. The whole of the 
less dreamy, and still active and commer- 
cial, part of Asia was influenced by Basil, 
on whose character and writings his own 
age lavished the most unbounded praise. 
The name of Basil is constantly united 
with those of the two Gregories. One, 
Gregory of Nyssa, was his brother; the 
other; named from his native town of 
Nazianzum, of which his father was bish- 
op, was the intimate friend of his boyhood 
and of his later years. The language, the 
eloquence, the opinions of these writers 
retain, in different degrees, some tinge of 
Asiatic colouring. Far more intelligible 
and practical than the mystic strains and 
passionate homilies of Ephrem, they de- 
light in agitating, though in a more modest 
spirit, the questions which had inflamed 
the imagination of the Gnostics. But with 
them, likewise, inquiry proceeds with cau- 
tious and reverent steps. On these sub- 
jects they are rigorously orthodox, and 
assert the exclusive doctrines of Atha- 
nasius with the most distinct and uncom- 
promising energy. Basil maintained the 
cause of Trinitarianism with unshaken 
fidelity during its days of depression and 


Cappadocia. 


391 


adversity. His friend Gregory of Nazian- 
zum lived to witness and bear a great part 
in its triumph. Both Basil and Gregory 
were ardent admirers, and in themselves 
transcendent models of the more monastic 
Christianity. The influence of Basil crowd- 
ed that part of Asia with ccenobitic insti- 
tutions ; but in his monasteries labour and 
useful industry prevailed to a greater ex- 
tent than in the Syrian deserts. 

Basil was a native of the Cappadocian 
Cesarea.* He was an hereditary , 
Christian. His grandfather had re- 
tired during the Dioclesian persecution to 
a mountain forest in Pontus. His father 
was a man of estimation as a lawyer, pos- 
sessed considerable property, and was re- 
markable for his personal beauty. His 
mother, in person and character, was wor- 
thy of her husband. The son of such 
parents received the best education which 
could be bestowed on a Christian youth. 
Having exhausted the instruction to be 
obtained in his native city of Cesarea, he 
went to Constantinople, where he is re- 
puted to have studied the art of rhetoric 
under the celebrated Libanius. But Athens 
was still the centre of liberal education, 
and, with other promising youths from the 
Eastern provinces, Basil and his friend 
Gregory resided for some time in that 
city. But, with all his taste for letters and 
eloquence (and Basil always spoke even 
of profane learning with generous respect, 
far different from the tone of contempt 
and animosity expressed by some writers), 
Christianity was too deeply rooted in his 
heart to be endangered either by the stud- 
ies or the society of Athens. On his re- 
turn to Cesarea,.he embraced the ascetic 
faith of the times with more than ordinary 
fervour. He abandoned his property, he 
practised such severe austerities as to in- 
jure his health, and to reduce his bodily 
form to the extreme of meagerness and 
weakness. He was “ without wife, with- 
out property, without flesh, almost with- 
out blood.” He fied into the desert; his 
fame collected, as it were, a city around 
him; he built a monastery, and monas- 
teries sprang up on every side. Yet the 
opinions of Basil concerning the monastic 
life were far more moderate and practical 
than the wilder and more dreamy asceti- 
cism which prevailed in Egypt and in 
Syria. .He admired and persuaded his fol- 
lowers to ccenobitic, not to eremitical, life. 
It was the life of the industrious religious 
community, not of the indolent and soli- 
tary anchorite, which to Basil was the 
TF 

* Life of Basil, prefixed to his works, and Tille- 
mont, Vie de S. Basile. 


Ss. Basil. 


ὸ 


= 


κ 
392 


” 
perfection of Christianity. All ties of 
kindred were indeed to give place to that 
of spiritual association. He that loves a 
brother in blood more than a brother in 
the religious community is still a.slave to 
his carnal nature.* ‘The indiscriminate 
charity of these institutions was to re- 
ceive orphans of all classes for education 
and maintenance, but other children only 
with the consent, or at the request, of 
parents, certified before witnesses; and 
vows of virginity were by no means to 
be enforced upon these youthful pupils.t 
Slaves who fied to the monasteries were 
to be admonished and sent back to their 
Owners. There is one reservation, that 
slaves were not bound to obey their mas- 
ter, if he should order what is contrary to 
the laws of God.{ Industry was to be 
the animating principle of these settle- 
ments. Prayer and psalmody were to 
have their appointed hours, but by no 
means to intrude upon those devoted to 
useful labour. These labours were strict- 
ly defined, such as were of real use to the 
community, not those which might con- 
tribute to vice and luxury. Agriculture 
was especially recommended. The life 
was in no respect to be absorbed in a per- 
petual mystic communion ‘with the Deity. 
Basil lived in his monastic retirement 
AD. 366, during a great part of the tri- 
See ch. viii, uMphant period of Arianism in 
Lat the East; but during the reign 
of Valens he was recalled to Cesarea, to 
AD. 370, De the champion of Trinitarianism 
.1), ὁ, . ἃ Fi . 
against the emperor and his Arian 
partisans. The firmness of Basil, as we 
have seen, commanded the respect even 
of his adversaries. In the midst of the 
raging controversy he was raised to the 
archepiscopal throne of Czsarea. He 
governed the see with activity and dili- 
gence: not only the influence of his wri- 
tings, but his acthal authority (his pious 
ambition of usefulness induced him per- 
haps to overstep the limits of his diocese), 
extended beyond Cappadocia into Arme- 
nia and parts of Asia Minor. He was the 
firm supporter of the Nicene Trinitarian- 
AD.379, 18m, but did not live to behold its 
; ‘ final triumph. His decease fol- 
lowed immediately upon the defeat and 
death of Valens. ᾿ 
The style of Basil did no discredit’ to 
his Athenian education; in purity and 
perspicuity he surpasses most of the hea- 
then, as well as the Christian writers of 
his age. | 
Gregory of Nazianzum, as he shared 


* Basil, Opera, ii., 325. 
+ Ib., ii., 355. 


Sermo Asceticus. 
t Ib., 1i., 357. 


* 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, © Π ᾿ 


the friendship, so ἤν CON- Gregory of 
stantly participated in the fame Nazianzum. 
of Basil. He was born in a village, Ari- 
anza, within the district of Nazianzum; 
his father was bishop of that city.* With 
Basil he passed a part of his youth at Ath- 
ens, and predicted, according to his own ac- 
count, the apostacy of Julian, from the ob- 
servation of his character, and even of his 
person. Gregory is his own biographer; 
one, or rather two poems, the first con- 
sisting of above two thousand iambics, the 
second of hexameters, describe the whole 
course of his early life. But Grecian po- 
etry was not to be awakened 
from its long. slumber by the 
voice of a Christian poet. It was faithful to 
its ancient source of inspiration. Chris- 
tian thoughts and images will not blend 
with the language of Homer and the tra- 
gedians. Yet the autobiographical poems 
of Gregory illustrate a remarkable pecu- 
liarity, which distinguishes modern and 
Christian from the older, more particu- 
larly the Grecian, poetry. In the Grecian 
poetry, as in Grecian life, the public ab- 
sorbed the individual character. ‘The per- 
son of the poet rarely appears, unless oc- 
casionally as the poet; as the objective au- 
thor or reciter, not as the subject of the 
poem. The elegiac poets of Character- 
Greece, if we may. judge from istic differ- 
the few surviving fragments, ¢7cepeween: 
and the amatory writers of Christian 
Rome, speak in their proper Po'ry- 
persons, utter their individual thoughts, 
and imbody their peculiar feelings. In 
the shrewd common-life view of Horace, 
and, indeed, in some of his higher lyric 
poetry, the poet is more prominent ; and 
the fate of Ovid, one day basking in the 
imperial favour, the next, for some mys- 
terious offence, banished to the bleak 
shores of the Euxine, seemed to give him 
the privilege of dwelling upon his own 
sorrows; his strange fate invested his life 
in peculiar interest. But by the Chris- 
tian scheme, the individual man has as- 
sumed a higher importance; his actions, 
his opinions, the emotions of his mind, as 
connected with his immortal state, have 
acquired a new and commanding interest, 
not only to himself, but to others. The 
poet profoundly scrutinizes and elabo- 
rately reveals the depths of his moral be- 
ing. The psychological history of the 
man, in all its minute particulars, be- 


His poems. 


* Tillemont is grievously embarrassed by the time 
of Gregory’s birth. The:stubborn dates insist upon — 
his having been born after his father had attained 
the episcopate. He is forced to acknowledge the 
laxity of ecclesiastical discipline on this head. at 
this period of the church, Σ 


Me .« 


. * 
©. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


5 
. 


comes the a oem matter of the po- 
em. In this respect, these autobiograph- 
Vaine of ical poems of Gregory, loose as 
Gregory's. they are in numbers, and spun 
out with a wearisome and garrulous me- 
diocrity, and wanting that depth and pas- 
sion of religion which has made the Con- 
fessions of Augustine one of the most per- 
manently popular of Christian writings, 
possess, nevertheless, some interest, as in- 
dicating the transition state in poetry, as 
well as illustrating the thought and feeling 
prevalent among the Christian youth of 
the period. The one great absorbing ques- 
tion was the comparative excellence of the 
secular and the monastic life, the state of 
marriage or of virginity. The enthusiasm 
of the East scarcely deigned to submit this 
point to discussion. In one of Gregory’s 
poems, Marriage and Virginity each plead 
their cause; but there can be no doubt, 
from the first, to which will be assigned 
the victory. The Saviour gives to Virgin- 
ity the place of honour on his right hand. 
Gregory had never entangled himself with 
marriage, that fatal tie which inthrals the 
soul in the bonds of matter. For him, silk- 
en robes, gorgeous banquets, splendid pal- 
aces, music and perfumes, had no charm. 
. He disregarded wealth, and feasted con- 
tentedly on bread with a little salt, and wa- 
ter for his only drink. The desire of sup- 
porting the declining age of his parents 
thwarted his holy ambition of withdraw- 
ing from all worldly-intercourse: but this 
became a snare. He was embarrassed 
by refractory servants, by public and pri- 
vate business. ‘The death of his brother in- 
volved him still more inextricably in affairs 
arising out of his contested property. But 
the faithless friendship of Basil, which he 
deplores in the one touching passage of 
his whole poem,* still farther endanger- 
ed his peace. In the zeal of. Basil to fill 
aie the bishoprics of his metropolitan 
bishop of diocese, calculating perhaps that 
Sasima. Gregory, like- himself, would gen- 
A.D.372. erously sacrifice the luxury of re- 
ligious quietude for the more useful duties 
of a difficult active position, he imposed 
upon his reluctant friend the charge of the 


* Gibbon’s selection of this passage, and his hap- 
py illustration from Shakspeare, do great credit to 
Is poetical taste: 
Πόνοι κοΐνοι λόγων 
Ὁμύόστεγός τε, καὶ συνέστιος βίος, 
Νοῦς εἶν ἐν ἁμφον ὃ᾽΄ * * * 
, Διεσκέδασται πάντα, καῤῥίπται χαμαὶ, 
Αὖραι φέρουσι τὰς παλαιὰς ἔλπιδας. 
Is all the counse! that we two have shared, 
The sisters’ vows, &c.—Helena, in the Mid- 
summer Night’s Dream. See Gibbon, c. xxvii., 
vol. ii, p. 158. 
3 


@e 


393 


newly-created see of Sasima. This was 


a small and miserable town, at the meet- 
ing of three roads, in a country at once 
arid, marshy, and unwholesome, noisy and 
dusty from the constant passage of travel- 
lers, the disputes with extortionate cus- 
tom-house officers, and all the tumult and 
drunkenness belonging to ἃ town inhabit- 
ed by loose and passing strangers. With 
Basil, Gregory had passed the tranquil 
days of his youth, the contemplative pe- 
riod of his manhood; together they had 
studied at Athens, together they had twice 
retired to monastic solitude; and this was 
the return for his long and tried attach- 
ment! Gregory, in the bitterness of his 
remonstrance, at one time assumes the 
language of an Indian faquir. Instead of 
rejoicing in the sphere opened to his ac 
tivity, he boldly asserts his supreme feli- 
city to be total inaction.* He submitted 
with the strongest repugnance to the of- 


fice, and abandoned it almost immediate- 


ly, on the first opposition. He afterwar 

administered the see of Nazianzum un- 
der his father, and even after his father’s 
decease, without assuming the episcopal 
title. 

But Gregory was soon compelled, by his 
own fame for eloquence and for Gregory, 
orthodoxy, to move in a more ar- bishop of 
duous and tumultuous sphere. For Constan- 
forty years Arianism had been >” 
dominant in Constantinople. The Arians 
mocked at the small number From Α.Ὁ. 
which still lingered in the’single 389 to 379. 
religious assemblage of the Athanasian 
party.t Gregory is constrained to admit 
this humiliating fact, and indignantly in- 
quires whether the sands are more pre- 
cious than the stars of heaven, or the 
pebbles than pearls, because they are 
more numerous?{ But the accession of 
Theodosius opened a new era to the 
Trinitarians. The religion of the emper- 
or would no longer condescend to this 
humble and secondary station. Gregory 
was invited to take charge of the small 
community which was still faithful to the 
doctrines of Athanasius. Gregory was 
already bowed with age and infirmity; 
his bald head stooped to his bosom ; his 
countenance was worn by his austerities 
and his inward spiritual conflicts when 
he reluctantly sacrificed his peace for this 
great purpose.§ The Catholics had no 
church ; they met in a small house, on 
the site of which afterward arose the cel- 


Ἐμοὶ δὲ μεγίστη πρᾶξις ἔστιν ἡ dxpagia.— 
Epist. xxxiii., p. 797. 
t In the reign of Valentinian, they met ἐν μικρῷ 
oikioKw.—Socrates, iv., 1. ; 
1 Orat. xxv., p. 431. § Tillemont, art. xlvi. 

. 


5 


394 


ebrated Church of St. Anastasia. The 
eloquence of Gregory wrought wonders 
im the busy and versatile capital. ‘The 
Arians themselves crowded to hear him. 
His adversaries were reduced to violence ; 
the Anastasia was attacked; the Arian 
monks, and even the virgins, mingled in 
the fray: many lives were lost, and Greg- 
ory was accused as the cause of the tu- 
mult. His innocence, and the known fa- 
vour of the emperor, secured his acquit- 
tal; his eloquence was seconded by the 
imperial edicts. The law had been pro- 
mulgated which denounced as heretics all 
who rejected the Nicene Creed. 

The influence of Gregory was thwart- 
ed, and his peace disturbed, by the strange 
intrigues of one Maximus to possess him- 
self of the episcopal throne of Constanti- 
nople. Maximus was called the Cynic, 
from his attempt to blend the rude man- 
ners, the coarse white dress, his enemies 
added the vices, of that sect with the pro- 
fession of Christianity. His memory is 
loaded with every kind cf infamy ; yet, 
by dexterous flattery and assiduous at- 
tendance on the sermons of Gregory, he 
had stolen into his unsuspecting confi- 
dence, and received-his public commenda- 
tions in a studied oration.* Constantino- 
ple and Gregory himself were suddenly 
amazed with the intelligence that Maxi- 
mus had been consecrated the Catholic 
bishop of the city. This extraordinary 
measure had been taken by seven Alex- 
andreans of low birth and character,j with 
some bishops deputed by Peter, the or- 
thodox Archbishop of Alexandrea.{ A 
number of mariners, probably belonging 
to the corn fleet, had assisted at the cere- 
mony, and raised the customary acclama- 
tions. A great tumult of all orders arose ; 
all rushed to the church, from which Max- 
imus and his party withdrew, and hastily 
completed a kind of tonsure (for the cynic 
prided himself on his long hair) in the 
private dwelling of a flute-player. Maxi- 
mus seems to have been rejected with in- 
dignation by the Athanasians of Constan- 
tinople, who adhered with unshaken fidel- 
ity to Gregory ; he fled to the court of 


* The panegyric on the philosopher Heron. 

+ Some of their names were whimsically con- 
nected with the Egyptian mythology, Ammon, 
Anubis, and Hermanubis. 

1 The interference of the Egyptians is altogether 
remarkable. Could there be a design to establish 
the primacy of Alexandrea over Constantinople, 
and so over the East? It is observable that in his 
law Theodosius names as the examples of doctrine, 
the Bishop of Rome in the West, of Alexandrea in 
the East. The intrigues of Theophilus against 
Chrysostom rather confirm this notion of an at- 
tempt to erect an Eastern papacy. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Theodosius, but the earliest measure 
adopted by the emperor to restore strength 
tc the erthodox party was the rejection 
of the intrusive prelate. 

The first act of Theodosius on his arri- 
val at Constantinople was to issue 24th Nov. 
an edict, expelling the Arians from 4-D. 350. 
the churches, and summoning Demophilus, 
the Arian bishop, to conform to the Ni- 
cene doctrine. Demophilus refused. The 
emperor commanded that those who 
would not unite to establish Christian 
peace should retire from: the houses of 
Christian prayer. Demophilus assembled 
his followers, and quoting the words of the 
Gospel, “ If you are persecuted in one city, 
flee unto another,” retired before the irre- 
sistible authority of the emperor. ‘The 
next step was the appointment of the re- 
luctant Gregory to the see, and his enthro- 
nization in the principal church of the 
metropolis. Environed by the armed le- 
gionaries, in military pomp, accompanied 
by the emperor himself, Gregory, amazed 
and bewildered, and perhaps sensible of 
the incongruity of the scene with the true 
Christian character, headed the triumphal 
procession. Ail around he saw the sullen 
and menacing faces of the Arian multi- 
tude, and his ear might catch their sup- 
pressed murmurs ; even the heavens, for 
the morning was bleak and cloudy, seem- 
ed to look down with cold indifference 
on the scene. No sooner, however, had 


Gregory, with the emperor, passed the — 


rails which divided the sanctuary from thi 
nave of the church, than the sun burst 
forth in his splendour, the clouds were 


dissipated, and the glorious light came — 


streaming in upon Hea appbeadine congre- 
gation. At once a shout 
demanded the enthronization of Gregory. 
But Gregory, commanding only in his 
eloquence from the pulpit, seems to have 
wanted the firmness and vigour necessary 
for the prelate of a great metropolis. 
Theodosius summoned the council of 
Constantinople ; and Gregory, embarrass- 
ed by the multiplicity of affairs ; harassed 
by objections to the validity of his own 
election; entangled in the feuds which 
arose out of the contested election to the 
see of Antioch, entreated, and obtained, 
apparently ‘the unreluctant, assent ef the 
bishops and the emperor to abdicate his 
dignity, and to retire to his beloved priva- 
cy. His retreat, in some degree disturbed 
by the interest which he still took in the 
see of Nazianzum, gradually became more 
complete, till at length he withdrew into 
solitude, and ended his days in that peace 
which perhaps was not less sincerely en- 
joyed from his experience of the cares 


of acclamation — 


ws 


oe 


ΟΝ sos €Y for a great capital.* 
tom. 


᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


and vexations of worldly dignity. Arian- 
za, his native village, was the place of his 
seclusion; the gardens, the trees, the foun- 
tain, familiar to his youth, welcomed his 
old age. But Gregory had not exhausted 
the fears, the dangers, or the passions of 
life. The desires of youth still burned in 
his withered body, and demanded the se- 
verest macerations. The sight or even 
the neighbourhood of females afflicted his 
sensitive conscience; and, instead of al- 
lowing ease or repose to his aged frame, 
his bed was a hard mat, his coverlid sack- 
cloth, his dress one thin tunic; his feet 
were bare; he allowed himself no fire, 
and here, in the company of the wild 
beasts, he prayed with bitter tears, he fast- 
ed, and devoted his hours to the composi- 
tion of poetry, which, from its extreme 
difficulty, he considered as an act. of pen- 
itence. His painful existence was pro- 
tracted to the age of ninety. 

The complete restoration of Constanti- 
nople to the orthodox communion de- 
manded even more powerful eloquence, 
and far more vigorous authority, than that 
of Gregory. If it was not finally achiev- 
ed, its success was secured, by the most 
splendid orator who had ever adorned the 
Eastern Church. Sixteen years after the 
retirement of Gregory, the fame of Chry- 
sostom designated him as the successer to 
that important dignity. 

Chrysostom was the model of a preach- 
Clear 


_ Tather than profound, his dogmatic 


"is essentially moulded up with his moral 


“teaching. He is the champion, not so ex- 
clusively of any system of doctrines, as 
of Christian holiness against the vices, the 
‘dissolute mamers, the engrossing love of 
amusement, which prevailed in the new 
Rome of the East. His doctrines flow 
naturally from his subject, or from the 
passage of Scripture under discussion ; 
his illustrations are copious and happy ; 
his style free and fluent ; while he is an 
unrivalled master in that rapid and forei. 
ble application of incidental occurrences, 
which gives such life and reality to elo- 
quence. He is, at times, in the highest 
sense, dramatic in his manner. 
Chrysostom, like all the more ardent 
spirits of his age, was enamoured in his 
early youth of monasticism. But this he 
had gradually thrown off, even while he re- 
mainedat Antioch. Though by no means 
formally abandoning these principles or 
lowering his admiration of this imaginary 


Eee EEE 

* Compare the several lives of Chrysostom by 
Palladius, that in the Benedictine edition of his 
works, and in Tillemont. I have only the first vol- 
ume of Neander’s Joannes Chrysostomus. 


395 


perfection of religion, in his later works 

he is more free, popular, and practical. 

His ambition is not so much to elevate a 

few. enthusiastic spirits to a high-toned 

and mystic piety, as to impregnate the — 
whole population of a great capital with 

Christian virtue and self-denial. 

John, who obtained the name of Chry 
sostom, the golden-mouthed, was Life of 
born at Antioch about the year 347. Chrysos: 
He was brought up by his mother '™ 
in the Christian faith; he studied rhetoric 
under the celebrated Libanius, who used 
his utmost arts, and displayed all that is 
captivating in Grecian poetry ahd philoso- 
phy, to inthral the imagination of his 
promising pupil. Libanius, in an extant 
epistle, rejoices at the success of Chry- 
sostom at the barin Antioch. He is said 
to have lamented on his deathbed the sac- 
rilegious seduction of the young orator by 
the Christians; for to him he had intend- 
ed to bequeath his school, and the office of 
maintaining the dignity of paganism. 

But the eloquence of Chrysostom was 
not to waste itself in the barren litigations 
of the courts of justice in Antioch, or in 
the vain attempt to infuse new life into the 
dead philosophy and religion of Greece. 
He felt himself summoned to a nobler 
field. At the age of eighteen, Chrysos- 
tom began to study that one source of el- 
oquence, to which the human heart re- 
sponded, the sacred writings of the Chris- 
tians. The Church was not slow in rec- 
ognising the value of such a proselyte. 
He received the strongest encouragement 
from Meletius, bishop of Antioch; he 
was appointed a reader in the Church. 
But the soul of Chrysostom was not like- 
ly to embrace these stirring tenets with 
coolness or moderation. _ A zealous friend 
inflamed, by precept and emulation, the 
fervour of his piety: they proposed to re- 
tire to one of the most remote hermita- 
ges in Syria; and the great Christian ora- 
tor was almost self-doomed to silence, or 
to exhaust his power of language in pray- 
ers and ejaculations heard by no human 
ear. The mother of Chrysostom saved 
the Christian Church from this fatal loss. 
There is something exquisitely touching 
in the traits of domestic affection which 
sometimes. gleam through the busy pages 
of history. His mother had become a 
widow at the age of twenty; to the gen- 
eral admiration, she had remained faithful 
to the memory of her husband and to her 
maternal duties. As soon as she heard 
the determination of her son to retire to a 
distant region (Chrysostom himself re- 
lates the incident), she took him by the 
hand, she led him to her chamber, she 


396 


made him sit by her on the bed in which 
she had borne him, and burst out into 
tears, and into language more sad than 
_ tears. She spoke of the cares and troub- 
les of widowhood; grievous as they had 
been, she had ever one consolation, the 
gazing on his face, and beholding in him 
the image of his departed father. Before 
he could speak, he had thus been her 
comfort and her joy. She reminded him 
of the fidelity with which she had admin- 
istered the paternal property. ‘Think 
not that I would reproach you with these 
things. I have but one favour to entreat: 
make me not a second time a widow; 
awaken not again my slumbering sorrows. 
Wait at least for my death; perhaps I 
shall depart before long. When you have 
laid me in the earth and reunited my 
bones to those of your father, then travel 
wherever thou wilt, even beyond the sea; 
but, as long as I live, endure to dwell in 
my house, and offend not God by afilict- 
ing your mother, who is at least blameless 
towards thee.”’* 

Whether released by the death of his 
mother, or hurried away by the irresistible 
impulse which would not allow him to 
withhold himself from what he calls “ the 
true philosophy,” Chrysostom some years 
afterward entered into one of the monas- 
teries in the neighbourhood of Antioch. 
He had hardly escaped the episcopal dig- 
nity, which was almost forced upon him 
by the admirers of his early piety. Wheth- 
er he considered this gentle violence law- 
ful to compel devout Christians to assume 
awful dignity, he did not hesitate to prac- 
tise a pious fraud on his friend Basilius, 
with whom he promised to submit to con- 
secration. Basilius found himself a bish- 
op, but looked in vain for his treacherous 
friend, who had deceived him into this mo- 
mentous step, but deserted him at the ap- 
pointed hour. 

But the voice of Chrysostom was not 
doomed to silence even in his seclusion. 
The secession of so many of the leading 
youths from the duties of civil life, from 
the municipal offices and the service of 
the army, had awakened the jealousy of 
the government. Valens issued his edict 
against those *‘ followers of idleness.”t 
The monks were in some instances as- 
sailed by popular outrage ; parents, against 
whose approbation their children had de- 
serted their homes and retired into the 
desert, appealed to the imperial authority 


* M. Villemain, in his Essai sur Eloquence 
Chrétienne dans le Quatriéme Siécle, has pointed 
out the exquisite simplicity and tenderness of this 
passage. De Sacerdotio,.1. 

Τ᾽ Ignavie sectatores. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


to maintain theirown. Chrysostom came 
forward as the zealous, the vehement ad- 
vocate of the “true philosophy.”* He 
threatened misery in this life, and all the 
pains of hell (of which he is prodigal in 
his early writings), against the unnatural, 
the soul-slaying fathers, who forced their 
sons to expose themselves to the guilt and 
danger of the world, and forbade them to 
enter into the earthly society of angels ; 
thus he describes the monasteries near 
Antioch. He relates with triumph the 
clandestine conversion of a noble youth, 
through the connivance of his mother, 
whom the father, himself a soldier, had 
destined to serve in the armies of the em- 
pire. 

But Chrysostom himself, whether he 
considered that the deep devotion of the 
monastery for some years had braced 
his soul to encounter the more perilous 
duties of the priesthood, appeared again 
in Antioch. His return was hailed by Fla- 
vianus, the bishop who had succeeded to 
Meletius. He was ordained deacon, and 
then presbyter, and at once took his sta- 
tion in that office, which was sometimes 
reserved for the bishop, as the principal 
preacher in that voluptuous and effeminate 
city. 

The fervid imagination and glowing elo- 
quence of Chrysostom, which had been 
lavished on the angelic immunity of the 
ccenobite or the hermit from the passions, 
ambition, and avarice inseparable from a 
secular life, now arrayed his new office in 
a dignity and saintly perfection which 
might awake the purest ambition of the 
Christian. Chrysostom has the most ex- 
alted notion of the majesty, at the same 
time of the severity, of the sacerdotal 
character. His views of the office, of its 
mission and authority, are the most sub- 
lime; his demands upon their purity, 
blamelessness, and superiority to the rest 
of mankind, proportionably rigorous. 

Nor in the loftiness of his tone as a 
preacher or his sanctity as a man did he 
fall below his own standard of the Chris- 
tian priesthood. His preaching already 
took its peculiar character. It was not 
so much addressed to the opinions as to 
the conscience of man: He threw aside 
the subtleties of speculative theology, and 
repudiated, in general, the fine-drawn alle- 
gory in which the interpreters of Scrip- 
ture had displayed their ingenuity, and 
amazed and fruitlessly wearied their un- 
improved audience. His scope was plain, 
severe, practical. Rigidly orthodox in his 
doctrine, he seemed to dwell more on the 


* Adversus Oppugnatores Vite Monastice. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


fruits of a pure theology (though at times 
he could not keep aloof from controversy) 
than on theology itself. 

If, in her ordinary course of voluptuous 
amusement, of constant theatrical excite- 
ment, Antioch could not but listen to the 
commanding voice of the Christian ora- 
tor, it is no wonder that in her hour of 
danger, possibly of impending ruin, the 
whole city stood trembling and awe-struck 
beneath his pulpit. Soon after he assu- 
med the sacerdotal office, Chrysostom was 
placed in an extraordinary position as the 
representative of the bishop. 

In one of those sudden tumultuous insur- 
AD. 387, rections which take place among 

the populace of large cities, Anti- 
och had resisted the exorbitant demands 
of a new taxation, maltreated the impe- 
rial officers, and thrown down and drag- 
ged about, with every kindof insult, the 
statues of Theodosius, his empress, and 
their two sons.* ‘The stupor of fear suc- 
ceeded to this momentary outbreak of 
mutiny, which had been quelled by a sin- 
gle troop of archers. For days the whole 
people awaited in shuddering agitation the 
sentence of the emperor. The anger of 
Theodosius was terrible ; he had not yet, 
it is true, ordered the massacre of the 
whole population of Thessalonica, but his 
stern and relentless character was. too 
wellknown. Dark rumours spread abroad 
that he had threatened to burn Antioch, to 
exterminate its inhabitants, and to pass 
the ploughshare over its ruins. Multi- 
tudes fled destitute from the city; others 
remained shut up in their houses, for fear 
of being seized. Instead of the Forum 
crowded with thousands, one or two per- 
sons were seen timidly wandering about. 
The gay and busy Antioch had the ap- 
pearance of a captured and depopulated 
city. The theatres, the circus, were clo- 
sed ; no marriage song was heard ; even 
the schools were shut πρ. In the mean 
time, the government resumed its unlimit- 
ed and unresisted authority, which it ad- 
ministered with the sternest severity, and 
rigorous inquisition into the guilt of indi- 
viduals. The prisons were thronged with 


* Jt is curious to observe the similarity between 
the pagan and Christian accounts of this incident 
which we have the good fortune to possess. Both 
ascribe the guilt to a few strangers, under the in- 
stigation of diabolical agency. Τοιούτοις ὑπηρέ- 
‘oe κακὸς χρόμενος δαίμον, ἔπραξεν, ἅ σιωπᾶν 
εθουλόμην. ‘This is a sentence of Libanius (ad 
Theodos., iv., p. 638), not of Chrysostom. Flavian 
exhorts Theodosius to pardon Antioch, in order 
that he may disappoint the malice of the devils, to 
whom he ascribes the guilt—Chrys., Hom., xvi., 

~ ad Antioch. 

+ Liban. ad Theod., in fin. 


397 


criminals of every rank and station; con- 
fiscation swept away their wealth, pun- 
ishments of every degree were inflicted 
on their persons. 


those who confessed their guilt were put 
to the sword, burned alive, or thrown to 
the wild beasts.* Chrysostom’s descrip- 
tion of the agony of those days is in the 
highest style of dramatic oratory. Women 
of the highest rank, brought up with the 
utmost delicacy, and accustomed to every 
luxury, were seen crowding around the 
gates or in the outer judgment-hall, un- 
attended, repelled by the rude soldiery, 
but still clinging to the doors or prostrate 
on the ground, listening to the clash of 
the scourges, the shrieks of the tortured 
victims, and the shouts of the execution- 
ers; One minute supposing that they rec- 
ognised the familiar voices of fathers, 
husbands, or brothers; or trembling lest 
those who were undergoing torture should 
denounce their relatives and _ friends. 
Chrysostom passes from this scene, by a 
bold but natural transition, to the terrors 
of the final judgment, and the greater ag- 
ony of that day. ; 

Now was the time to put to the test the 
power of Christianity, and to ascertain 
whether the orthodox opinions of Theo- 
dosius were altogether independent of 
that humanity which is the essence of the 
Gospel. Would the Christian emperor 
listen to the persuasive supplications of . 
the Christian prelate—that prelate for 
whose. character he had expressed the 
highest respect ? : 

While Flavianus, the aged and feeble 
bishop, quitting the bedside Of pyayianus 
his dying sister, sets forth on sets forth to. 
his pious mission to the West, \Hercede for 
on Chrysostom devolved the du.” 
ty of assuaging the fears, of administer- 
ing consolation, and of profiting by this 
state of stupor and dejection to correct 
the vices and enforce serious thoughts 
upon the light and dissolute people. Day 
after day he ascended the pulpit; the 
whole population, deserting the Forum, 
forgetting the theatre and the cireus, 
thronged the churches. ‘There was even 
an attendance (an unusual circumstance) 
after the hour of dinner., The whole city 
became a church, There is wonderful 
skill and judgment in the art with which 
the orator employs the circumstances of 
the time for his purpose ; in the manner 


* Chrysostom asserts this in a fine passage, in 
which he reminds his hearers of their greater of- 
fences against God., Καὶ οἱ μὲν σιδὴρῳ, οἱ δὲ 
πυρὶ, οἱ δὲ ϑηρίοις παραδοθέντες ἀπώλοντο --- 
Hom, iii., 6, p. 45. 


Citizens of the high= _ 
est rank were ignominiously scourged; | 


᾿ 


398 
in which he allays the terror, without too 
highly encouraging the hopes, of the peo- 

pie : “ The clemency of the emperor may 
orgive their guilt, but the Christians ought 
to be superior to the fear of death; they 
cannot be secure of pardon in this world, 
but they may be secure of immortality in 
the world to come.” 

Long before the success of the bishop’s 
Sentence of intercession could be known, 
Theodosius, the delegates of the emperor, 
Hellabichus and Cesarius, arrived with 
the sentence of Theodosius, which was 
merciful, if compared with what they had 
feared, the destruction of the city and 
the massacre of,its inhabitants. But it 
was fatal to the pleasures, the comforts, 
the pride of Antioch. The theatres and 
the circus were to be closed; Antioch 
was no longer to enjoy theatrical repre- 
sentations of any kind; the baths, in an 
Eastern city not objects of luxury alone, 
but of cleanliness and health, were to be 
shut ; and Antioch was degraded from the 
rank of a metropolitan city to a town un- 
der the jurisdiction of Laodicea. Ἶ 

The city was in the deepest depression, 
but Chrysostom maintained his lofty tone 
of consolation. Antioch ought to rejoice 
at the prohibition of those scenes of vice 
and dissipation which disgraced the thea- 
tres: the baths tended to effeminacy and 
luxury ; they were disdained by true phi- 
losophy—the monastic system; the dig- 
nity of the city did not depend on its rank 
in the empire, but on the virtue of its citi- 
zens ; it might be a heavenly, if no longer 
an earthly, metropolis. 

The inquisition into the guilt of those 
who had actually assisted, or had looked 
on in treasonable indifference while the 
statues of the emperor and his family 
were treated with such unseemly contu- 
mely, had commenced under the regular 
authorities; it was now carried on with 
sternand indiscriminate impartiality. The 
prisoners were crowded together in a 
great open enclosure, in one close and 
agonizing troop, which comprehended the 
whole senate of the city. The third day 
of the inquiry was to witness the execu- 
tion of the guilty, and no one, not the rel- 
atives or kindred of the wealthiest, the 
noblest, or the highest in station, knew 
whether the doom had not fallen on their 
fathers or husbands. 

- But Hellabichus and Cesarius were men 


᾿ of humanity, and ventured to suspend the 


execution of the sentence. They listen- 
ed to the supplications of the people. 
One mother especially seized and clung 
to the reins of the horse of Hellabichus. 
The monks, who, while the philosophers, 


- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


as Chrysostom asserts, had fied the city, 
had poured down from their mountain 
solitudes, and during the whole time had 
endeavoured to assuage the fear of the 
people and to awaken the compassion of 
the government, renewed, not without ef- 
fect, their pious exertions.* They crowd- 
ed round the tribunal, and one, named Ma- 


cedonius, was 50. courageous as boldly to 


remonstrate against the crime of aven- 
ging the destruction of a few images of 
brass by the destruction of the image of 
God in so many human beings. Cesar- 
ius himself undertook a journey to Con- 
stantinople for farther instructions. 

At length Chrysostom had the satisfac- 
tion to announce to the people the return 
of the bishop with an act of unlimited am- 
nesty. He described the inter- 


“= 
ἧς 
view of Flavianus with the em- 5508 of the 


. 5 Ξ interview οὐ 
peror: his silence, his shame, Fjavianus 
his tears, when Theodosius gen- with the em 
tly reminded him of his benefac- °°" 
tions to the city, which enhanced their 
heinous ingratitude. The reply of Flavi- 
anus, though the orator professes to re- 
late it on the authority of one present at 
the interview, is no doubt coloured by 
the eloquence of Chrysostom. The bish- 
op acknowledged the guilt of the city in 
the most humiliating language. But he 
urged, that the greater that guilt, the great- 
er would be the magnanimity of the em- 
peror if he should pardon it. He would 
raise statues, not of perishable materials, 
in the hearts of all mankind. It is not 
the glory of Theodosius, he proceeded, but 
Christianity itself, which is put to the test 
before the world. 'The Jews and Greeks, 
even. the most remote barbarians, are anx- 
iously watching whether this sentence will 
be that of Christian clemency. H 
they all glorify the Christian’s God if he 
shall restrain the wrath of the master οὐ 


the world, and subdue him to that human- ὁ 
ity which would be magnanimous ev an 
a private man. Inexorable. punish y" 


ὁ 


might awe other cities into obedience, | 
stronger bonds of love. It would be an — 
imperishable example of clemency, and all 
future acts of other sovereigns would be 
but the fruit of this, and would reflect their 
glory on Theodosius. What glory to con- 
cede that to a single aged priest, from the 
fear of God, which he had refused to all 
other suppliants. For himself, Flavianus 
could never bear to return to his native 
city ; he would remain an exile until that 
city was reconciled with the emperor. 
Theodosius, it is said, called to mind the 


* Chrysostom, Hom., xvii., vol. ii., p. 172. 


How will — 


ῳ 


ὃν 


but mercy would attach mankind by the | 


᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


prayer of the Saviour for his enemies, and 
satisfied his wounded pride that in his 
mercy he imitated his Redeemer. He was 
even anxious that Flavianus should return 
to announce the full pardon before the 
festival of Easter. ‘“ Let the Gentiles,” 
exclaims the ardent preacher, “ be con- 
‘founded; or, rather, let them be instructed 
by this unexampled instance of imperial 
clemency and episcopal influence.”* 

- Theodosius had ceased to reign many 
ΑὉ. 308. years before Chrysostom was sum- 

Chrysos- moned to the pontifical throne_of 

wert Constantinopie. The East was 

Consian- governed by women and eunuchs. 

tinopie. jn assuming the episcopal throne 

of the metropolis, to which he is said to 
have been transported almost by force, 
Chrysostom, who could not but be con- 
scious of his power over the minds of men, 
might entertain visions of the noblest and 
purest ambition. His views of the dig- 
nity of the sacerdotal character were as 
lofty as those of his contemporaries in the 

West; while he asserted their authority, 
which set them apart and far above the 
rest of mankind, he demanded a moral 
superiority and entire devotion to their 
calling, which could not but rivet their 
authority upon the minds of men. The 
clergy, such as his glowing imagination 
conceived them, would unite the strongest 
corporate spirit with the highest individ- 
ual zeal and purity. The influence of the 
bishop in Antioch, the deference which 
Theodosius had shown to the intercession 
of Flavianus, might encourage Chrysos- 
tom in the fallacious hope of restoring 
peace, virtue, and piety, as well as ortho- 
doxy, in the imperial city. 

But in the Kast, more particularly in 
Difference the metropolis, the sacerdotal 
of the sacer- Character never -assumed the 
By hee ἐμ τ ἡ sanctity, the awful 
Sa inviola ity, which it attained 

“nople. in the West. The religion of 

vonstantinople was that of the emperor. 


2 


al , 
ΤῈ ome, first to independence, afterward to 
sovereignty, the presence of the imperial 
_ government overawed and obscured the 
religious supremacy. In Rome, the pope 
was subject at times to the rebellious con- 
trol of the aristocracy, or exposed to the 
irreverent fury of the populace; but he 
constantly emerged from his transient ob- 
security and resumed his power. In Con- 
stantinople, a voluptuous court, a savage 
populace, at this period multitudes of con- 
Y 


* Chrysostom had ventured to assert, “Amep dv- 
devi ἑτέρῳ, ταῦτα χαριεῖται τοῖς iepeiot.—Hom., 
xxi., 


Instead ‘of growing up like the Bishop of | 


399 


cealed Arians, and heretics of countless 
shades and hues at all periods, thwarted 
the plans, debased the dignity, and dese- 
erated the person of the Patriarch of Con-_ 
stantinople. 

In some respects Chrysostom’s char- 
acter wanted the peculiar, and perhaps 
inconsistent qualifications requisite for his 
position. He was the preacher, but not 
the man of the world. A great capital is 
apt to demand that magnificence in its 
prelate at which it murmurs. It will not 
respect less than splendid state and the 
show of authority, while at the same time 
it would have the severest austerity and 
the strongest display of humility ; ‘the 
pomp of the pontiff with the poverty and 
lowliness of the apostle. - Chrysostom 
carried the asceticism of the monk not 
merely into his private chamber, but into 
his palace and his hall. ‘The great prel- 
ates of the West, when it. was expedient, 
could throw off the monk, and appear as 
statesmen. or. as nobles in their public 
transactions ; though this, indeed, was 
much less necessary than in Constantino- 
ple. But Chrysostom cherished all these 
habits with zealous, perhaps with osten- 
tatious fidelity. Instead of munificent 
hospitality, he took his scanty meal in his 
solitary chamber. His rigid economy en- 
dured none of that episcopal sumptuous- 
ness with which his predecessor Necta- 
rius had dazzled the public eye : he pro- 
scribed all the carpets, all silken dresses ; 
he sold the costly furniture and the rich 
vessels of his residence; he was said 
even to have retrenched from the Church. 
some of its gorgeous plate, and to have 
sold some rich marbles and furniture de-_ 
signed for the Anastasia. He was lavish, 
on the other hand, in his expenditure on ~ 
the hospitals and charitable institutions. 
But even the use to which they were ap- 
plied did not justify to-the general feeling 
the alienation of those, ornaments from 
the service of the Church. The populace, 
who, no doubt, in their hours of discon- 
tent, had contrasted the magnificence of 
Nectarius with apostolical poverty, were 
now offended by the apostolical poverty 
of Chrysostom, which seemed unworthy 
of his lofty station. 

But the Bishop of Constantinople had 
even amore difficult task in pre- political gif- 
scribing to himself the limits of ficuities of 
his interference with secular Chryseste™ 
affairs. It is easy to imagine, in the clergy, 
a high and serene indifference to the polit- 
ical tumults of society. ‘This is _ 
perpetually demanded by those 
who find the sacerdotal influence 
adverse to their own views ; but 


ν - 


Interference 
of the clergy 
in secular © 

affairs. 


? 


- 


. ἃ. 


¥ 


400 


to the calm inquirer, this simple question 
becomes the most difficult and intricate 
problem in religious history. If religion 
consisted solely in the intercourse be- 


‘tween man and his Creator; if the Chris- 


tian minister were merely the officiating 
functionary in the ceremonial of the 
Church; the human mediator between 
the devotion of man and the providence 
of Ged; the voice which expresses the 
common adoration; the herald who an- 
nounces the general message of revelation 
to mankind, nothing could be more clear 
than the line which might exclude him 
from all political, or even all worldly 
affairs. But Christianity is likewise a 
moral power ; and as that moral power or 
guide, religion, and the minister of reli- 
gion, cannot refrain from interposing in 
all questions of human conduct; as the 
interpreter of the Divine law to the per- 
plexed and doubting conscience, it cannot 
but spread its dominion.over the whole 
field of human action. In this character 
religion embraced the whole life of man, 
public as well as private. How was the 
minister of that religion to pause and dis- 
criminate as to the extent of his powers, 
particularly since the public acts of the 
most eminent in station possessed such 
unlimited influence over the happiness of 


society, and even the eternal welfare of | 


the whole community ? What public mis- 
conduct was not, at the same time, an un- 
christian act? Were the clergy, by con- 
nivance, to become accomplices in vices 
which they did not endeavour to coun- 
teract? Christianity, on the throne as 
in the cottage, was equally bound to sub- 
mit on every point in which religious mo- 
tive or principle ought to operate, in every 
act, therefore, of life, to the admitted re- 
straints of the Gospel; and the general 
feeling of Christianity at this period had 
invested the clergy with the right, ΟΥ̓́, 
rather, the duty of enforcing the precepts 
of the Gospel on every professed believer. 
How, then, were the clergy to distinguish 
between the individual and political capa- 
city of the.man; to respect the prince, 
yet to advise the Christian ; to look with 
indifference on one set of actions as secu- 
lar, to admonish on the danger of another 
as affairs of conscience ? 

Nor at. this early period of its still ag- 
gressive, still consciously beneficial influ- 
ence, could the hierarchy be expected. to 
anticipate with coldly prophetic prudence 
the fatal consequence of some of its own 
encroachments on worldly authority. ‘The 
bishop of a great capital was the conductor, 
the representative of the moral power of 
the Gospel, which was perpetually striving 


pe 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


to obtain its ascendancy over brute force, 
violence, and vice; and of necessity, per- 
haps, was not always cautious or discreet 
in the means to which it resorted. It be- 
came contaminated in the incessant strife, 
and forgot its end, or, rather, sought for the 
mastery as its end rather than as the le- 
gitimate means of promoting its beneficial 
objects. Under the full, and, no doubt, at 
first, warrantable persuasion that it was 
advancing the happiness and virtue of man- 
kind, where should it arrest its own course, 
or set limits to. its own humanizing and 
improving. interpositions? ‘Thus, under 
the constant temptation of assuming, as 
far’ as possible, the management of af- 


fairs which were notoriously mismanaged 


through the vices of public men, the ad- 
ministration even of public matters by the 
clergy might seem, to them at least, to en- 
sure justice, disinterestedness, and clem- 


ency: till, tried by the possession of power, ἡ 


they would be the last to discern the dan- 
ger of being invested in that power. 

The first signal interposition of Chrysos- 
tom in the political affairs of Con- Eutropius 
stantinople was an act not mere-, the eunuch. 
ly of humanity, but of gratitude. Eutropius 
the eunuch, minister of the feeble Arcadi- 
us, is condemned to immortal infamy by 
the vigorous satire of Claudian. Among 
his few good deeds had been the advance- 
ment of Chrysostom to the see of Con- 


| stantinople. Eutropius had found it neces- 


sary to restrict the right of asylum, which 
began to be generally claimed by all the 
Christian churches, little foreseeing that 
to the bold assertion of that right he would 
owe his life. 

There is something sublime in the first 
notion of the right of asylum.. It Right of 
is one of those institutions based in @sy!um. 
the universal religious sentiment of man; 
it is found in almost all religions. In the 


Greek, as in the Jewish, man took refuge 


from the vengeance, often from the injus- 
tice, of his fellow-men, in the presence of 
the gods. Not merely private revenge, 
but the retributive severity of the law, 
stands rebuked before the dignity of the 
Divine court in which the criminal has 
lodged his appeal. ‘The lustrations in the 
older religions, the rites of expiation and 
reconciliation performed in many of the 
temples, the appellations of certain deities, 
as the reconcilers or pacifiers of man,* 
were enwoven with their mythology, and 
imbodied in their poetry. But Christian- 
ity, in a still higher and more universal 
sense, might assume to take under its pro- 
tection, in order te amend and purify, the 
as: ee eae 


* The drorporatot, or averruncatores.. Ἂ 
« εὖ “ae 


ae 8 
“Ὁ Μὰ) 


# bs 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 401 


outcast of society, whom human justice 


᾿ “followed with relentless vengeance. As 


the representative of the God of mercy, it 


Ps excluded no human being from the pale of 


repentance, and would protect them, when 
disposed to that salutary change, if it 
could possibly be made consistent with 
the public peace and safety. The merciful 
intervention of the clergy between the 
criminal and his sentence, at ἃ period 
when the laws were so implacable and 
Sanguinary, was at once consistent with 
Christian charity, and tended to some 
mitigation of the ferocious manners of the 
age. It gave time at least for exasperated 
justice to reconsider its sentence, and 
checked that vindictive impulse, which, if 
it did not outrun the law, turned it into in- 
stantaneous and irrevocable execution.* 
But that which commenced in pure beney- 
olence had already, it should seem, begun 
to degenerate into a source of power. ‘The 
course of justice was impeded, but not by 
a wise discrimination between the more 
or less heinous delinquents, or a salutary 
penitential system, which might reclaim 
the- guilty, and safely restore him to so- 
ciety. 
Like other favourites of arbitrary sov- 
A.D. 399, reigns, Eutropius was suddenly 
precipitated from the height of 
power; the army forced the sentence of 
his dismissal from the timid emperor, and 
the furious populace, as usual, thirsted for 
the blood of him to whose unbounded sway 
they had so long submitted in humble obe- 
dience. LEutropius fled in haste to that 
asylum, the sanctity of which had been 
limited by his own decree ; and the cour- 
age and influence of Chrysostom protected 
that most forlorn of human beings, the 
discarded favourite ofadespot. The arm- 
ed soldiery and the raging populace were 
met at the door of the church by the de- 
fenceless ecclesiastic ; his demeanour and 
the sanctity of the place arrested the blind 
fury of the assailants ; Chrysostom before 
the emperor pleaded the cause of Eutro- 
pius with the same fearless freedom, and 


* In a law which is extant in Greek, there is an 
elaborate argument, that if the right of asylum had 
been granted by the heathen to their altars, and to 
the statues of the emperors, it ought to belong to 
the temples of God. 

See the laws which defined the right of asylum, 
Cod. Thevdos., ix , 45, 3, et seqq. ‘The sacred space 
extended to the outer gates of the church. But 
those who took refuge in the church were on no 
account to be permitted to profane the holy build- 
ing itself by eating or sleeping within it. ‘* Quibus 
si perfaga non adnuit, neque consentit, preferenda 
humanitati religio est.” ‘There was a strong pro- 
hibition against introducing arms into the churches ; 
a prohibition which the empcrors themselves did 
not scruple to violate on more than one occasion. 

aig 38 


* & " 


+. 


‘nation of their amusements. 


for once the life of a fallen min- ΠΟ 
ister was spared; his sentence saves the 
was commuted for banishment. !/eof Eutro- 
His fate, indeed, was only 16- ”"* 
layed; he was afterward brought back 
from Cyprus, his place of exile, and be- 
headed at Chalcedon. ‘ 
But, with all his courage, his eloquence, 
his moral dignity, Chrysostom, instead of 
establishing a firm and permanent author- 
ity over Constantinople, became himself 
the victim of intrigue and jealousy. Be- 
sides his personal habits and manners, the 
character of Chrysostom, firm on great 
occasions, and eminently persuasive when 
making a general address to the multitude, 
was less commanding and authoritative in 
his constant daily intercourse with the va- 
rious orders : calm and self-possessed as 
an orator, he was accused of being pas- 
sionate and overbearing in ordinary busi- 
ness: the irritability of feeble health may 
have caused ‘some part of this infirmity. 
Men whose minds, like [η΄ οἵ Chrysos- 
tom, are centred on one engrossing ob- 
ject, are apt to’ abandon the details of busi- 
ness to others, who thus become necessary 
to them, and at length, if artful and dex- 
terous, rule them with inextricable sway : 
they have much knowledge of mankind, 
little practical acquaintance with individ- 
ual men. Thus Chrysostom was com- 
pletely governed by his deacon @prysostom 
Serapion, who managed his af- governed by 
fairs, and, like all men of address fuls deacon 
Ξ 2 A erapion. 
in such stations, while he exer- 
cised all the power and secured the solid 
advantages, left the odium and responsi- 
bility upon bis master. On the whole, the 
character of Chrysostom retained some- 
thing of the unworldly monastic enthusi- 
asny, and wanted decisive practical wis- 
dom, when: compared, for instance, with 
Ambrose in the West, and thus his echar- 
acter powerfully contributed to his fall.* 
But the circumstances of his situation 
might have embarrassed even Ambrose 
himself. All orders and interests con- 
spired against him. The court would not 
endure the grave and severe censor; the 
clergy rebelled against the rigour of the 
prelate’s discipline ; the populace, though, 
when under-the spell of his eloquence, 
fondly attached to his person no doubt, in 
general resented his implacable condem- 
The Arians, 
to whom, in his uncompromising zeal, he 
had persuaded the emperor to refuse a 


* The unfavourable view of Chrysostom’s char- 
acter is brought out. perhaps, with more than impar- 
tiality by the ecclesiastical historian Sozomen, who 
wrote at Constantinople, and may have preserved 
inuch of the hostile tradition relating to him. 


Be 


" 


402. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


most powerful subject of the empire, 
Gainas the Goth, were still, no doubt, se- 
cretly powerful. A pagan prefect, Opta- 
tus, seized the opportunity of wreaking his 
animosity towards Christianity itself upon 
its powerful advocate. Some wealthy fe- 
males are named as resenting the severe 
condemnation of their dress and manners.* 

Of all these adversaries, the most dan- 
gerous, the most persevering, and the most 
implacable were those of his own order 
and his own rank.t The sacerdotal au- 
thority in the East was undermined by its 
owndivisions. The imperial power, which, 
in the hands of a violent and not irre- 
proachable woman, the Empress Eudoxia, 
might perhaps have quailed before the en- 
ergy of a blameless and courageous prel- 
ate, allied itself with one section of the 
Church, and so secured its triumph over 
the whole. The more Chrysostom en- 
deavoured to carry out- by episcopal au- 
thority those exalted notions of the sacer- 
dotal character which he had developed 


ἴῃ his work upon the priesthood, the more 


he estranged many of his natural support- 
ers. He visited the whole of Asia Minor; 
degraded bishops; exposed with unsparing 
indignation, the vices and venality of the 
clergy, and involved them all in one indis- 
criminate charge of simony and licentious- 
ness. The assumption of this authority 
was somewhat questionable ; the severity 
with which it was exercised did not recon- 
cile the reluctant province to submission. 
Among the malecontent clergy, four bish- 
ops took the lead; but the head of this unre- 
Theophilus of lenting faction was Theophilus, 
Alexandrea. the violent and unscrupulous 
prelate of Alexandrea. The apparently 
trivial causes which inflamed the hostility 
of Theophilus confirm a suspicion, previ- 
ously suggested, that the rivalry of the two 
principal sees\in the East mingled with the 
personal animosity of Theophilus against 
the Bishop of Constantinople. Chrysos- 
tom had been accused of extending his ju- 
risdiction beyond its legitimate bounds. 
Certain monks of Nitria had fled from the 
persecutions of Theophilus, and taken 
refuge in Constantinople; and Chrysos- 
tom had extended his countenance, if not 
his protection, to these revolted subjects 
of the Alexandrean prelate; but he had 
declined to take legal cognizance of the 
dispute as a superior prelate or as the 
head of a council; partly, he states.f out 


* Tillemont, p. 180. 


+ The good Tillemont confesses this humiliating 
ruth with shame and reluctance.—Vie de Chrysos- 


tome, p. 181. ) 
Ὁ Epist. ad Innocentium Papam, vol. iji., p. 516. 


wH so 
2,% «* . C4 
fic churzh, though demanded by the 
he was unwilling to interfere in the affai 


* 


of respect for Theophilus, partly becaus 


of another province. But Theophilus wa 
not so scrupulous; he revenged himse¢ 
for the supposed invasion of his own prov- 
ince by a most daring inroad on that of his 
rival. He assumed for the Patriarch of 
Alexandrea the right of presiding over the 
Eastern bishops, and of summoning the 
Bishop of Constantinople before this irreg- 
ular tribunal. Theophilus, with the sanc- 
tion, ifnot by the invitation, of the empress, 
landed at Constantinople. He was ac- 
companied by a band of Alexandrean mar- 
iners, as a protection against the popu- 


lace of the city. 


The council was held, not in Constan- 


tinople, but at a place called the Council of 


Oak, in the suburbs of Chalce- the Oak. 


don. It consisted for the most part of 


Egyptian bishops, under the direct influ- 


ence of Theophilus, and of Asiatic prelates, 
the personal enemies of Chrysostom.® For 
fourteen days it held its sessions, and re- 
ceived informations, which gradually grew 
into twenty-nine grave and specific char- 
ges. Four times, was Chrysostom sum- 
moned to appear before this self-appointed 
tribunal, of which it was impossible for 
him to recognise the legal authority. In 
the mean time, he was not inactive in his 
peculiar sphere, the pulpit. Unfortunate- 
ly, the authenticity of the sermon ascribed 
to him at this period is not altogether cer- 
tain, nor the time at which some extant 
discourses, if genuine, were delivered, 
conclusively settled. One, however, bears 
strong indications of the manner and sen- 
timents of Chrysostom; and it is gener- 
ally acknowledged that he either did bold- 
ly use, or was accused of using, language 
full of contumelious. allusion to the em- 
press. This sermon, therefore, if not an 
accurate report of his expressions, may 
convey the sense of what he actually ut- 


tered, or which was attributed to him by 


his adversaries.t ‘ The billows,” said the 


* It is contested whether there were thirty or 
forty-six bishops. Ν 4s 

+ It is singularly characteristic of the Christian- 
ity of the times to observe the charges against 
which Chrysostom protests with the greatest ve- 
hemence ; and this part of the oration in question 
is confirmed by one of his letters to Cyriacus. 
Against that of personal impurity with a female, 
he calmly offers the most unquestionable evidence. 
But he was likewise accused of having administer- 
ed baptism after he had eaten. On this he breaks 
out: “If I-have done this, Anathema upon me, 
may I be no longer counted among bishops, nor 
he admitted among the angels accepted of God.” 
He was said to have administered the sacrament 
to those who had in Jike manner broken their fast. 
“Tf | have done so, may I be rejected of Christ.” 
He then justifies himself, even if guilty, by the 


ΕΣ 


“not death. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


storm furious; but we fear not to be 


wrecked, for we are founded on a rock. 


“What can I fear? Death? To me to live 
is Christ, and to die is gain. Exilet The 
earth is the Lord’s, and the fulness thereof. 
Confiscation? We brought nothing into 
this world, and it is certain we can carry no- 
thing out of it. 1 scorn the terrors, and 
smile at the advantages, of life. I fear 

I desire to live only for your 
profit. The Church against which you 

‘strive dashes away your assaults into idle 
foam. It is fixed by God, who shall re- 
voke it? 
Heaven itself! Heaven and earth shall 
pass away, but my words shall not pass 
away. ** * But you know, my brethren, 
the true cause of my ruin. Because [ 
have not strewn rich carpets on my floors, 
nor clothed myself in silken robes ; be- 
cause I have discountenanced the sensu- 
ality of certain persons. The seed of 
the serpent is still alive, but grace is still 
on the side of Elijah.” Then follows, in 
obscure and embarrassed language, as 
though, if genuine, the preacher was start- 
led at his own boldness, an allusion to the 
fate of John the Baptist and to the hos- 
tility of Herodias: “ {[t is a time of wail- 
ing: lo, all things tend to disgrace ; but 
time judgeth all things.” ‘The fatal word 
“ disgrace” (ἀδοξία) was supposed to be an 
allusion to Eudoxia, the empress. 

There was a secret understariding be- 
Condemna- tween the court and the council. 
tion of Chry- The court urged the procéed- 
festom. ings of the council, and the 
council pronounced the sentence of dep- 
osition, but left to the court to take cogni- 
zance of the darker charge of high treason, 
of which they asserted Chrysostom to be 
guilty, but which was beyond their juris- 
diction. The alleged treason was the 
personal insult to the Empress Eudoxia, 
which was construed into exciting the 
people to rebellion. But the execution 
of this sentence embarrassed the council 
and the irresolute government. Chry- 
sostom now again ruled the popular mind 
with unbounded sway. It would have 
been dangerous to have seized him in the 
church, environed, as he constantly was, 
by crowds of admiring hearers, whom a 
few fervent words might have maddened 
into insurrection. 

Chrysostom, however, shrunk, whether 
Chrysostom from timidity or Christian peace- 
Jeaves Con- fulness of disposition, from be- 
stantinople: ing the cause, even innocently, 
example of Paul, and even of Christ himself, but 


still seems to look on this breach of discipline with 
the utmost horror. 


¥ 
7 


- 


υὰ energetic prelate, “are mighty, and the 
4 


The Church is stronger than 


; 403 


| Ate 
| of tumult and bloodshed. He had neither 
the ambition, the desperate recklessness, 
nor perhaps the resolution, of a dema- 
gogue. He would not be the Christian 
tribune of the people. He seized the first 
opportunity of the absence of his hearers 
quietly to surrender himself to the imperi- 
al officers. He was cautiously transport- 
ed by night, though the jealous populace 
crowded the streets in order to release 
their prelate from the hands of his ene- 
mies, to the opposite side of the Bospho- 
rus, and confined in a villa on the Bithyn- 
ian shore. 

The triumph of Chrysostom’s enemies 
was complete. Theophilus entered the 
city, and proceeded to wreak his ven- 
geance on the partisans of his adversary ; 
the empress rejoiced in the conscious as- 
surance of her power; the people were 
overawed into gloomy and sullen silence. 

The night of the following day, strange 
and awful sounds were heard po nouake 
throughout the city. The pal- ee 
ace, the whole of Constantinople, shook 
with an earthquake. The empress, as su- 
perstitious as: she was violent, when she 
felt her chamber rock beneath her, shud- 
dering at the manifest wrath of Heaven, 
fell on her knees, and entreated the em- 
peror to revoke the fatal sentence. She 
wrote a hasty letter disclaiming all hostil- 
ity to the banished prelate, and protesting 
that she was “innocent of his blood.” 
The next day the palace was surrounded 
by clamorous multitudes, impatiently de- 
manding his recall. The voice of the 
people and the voice of God seemed to join 
in the vindication. of Chrysostom. The 
edict of recall was issued ; the Return of 
Bosphorus swarmed with barks, Chrysostom. 
eager to communicate the first intelligence, 
and to obtain the honour of bringing back 
the guardian and the pride of the city. 
He was met on his arrival by the whole 
population, men, women, and children; all 
who could bore torches in their hands, 
and hymns of thanksgiving, composed for 
the occasion, were chanted before him as 
he proceeded to the great church. His 
enemies fled on all sides. ‘Soon after, 
Theophilus, on the demand of a free coun- 
cil, left Constantinople at. the dead of 
night, and embarked for Alexandrea. 

There is again some doubt as to the au- 
thenticity of the first discourse delivered 
by Chrysostom on this oecasion, none of 
the second. But the first was an extem- 
poraneous address, to which the extant 
speech appears to correspond. . “ What 
shall I say? Blessed be God! These 
were my last words on my departure, 
these the first on my return. Blessed be 


ν᾿, 


-of his followers. 


404 


God! because he permitted the storm to 
Tage; blessed be God! because he has 
allayed it. Let my enemies behold how 
their conspiracy has advanced my peace 
and redounded to my glory. Before, the 
church alone was crowded, now the whole 
forum is become a church. ‘The games 
are celebrating in the circus, but the whole 
people pour like a torrent to the church. 
Your prayers in my behalf are more glo- 
rious than a diadem—the prayers both of 
men and women; for in Christ there is 
neither male nor female.” 

In the second oration he draws an elab- 
orate comparison between the situation 
of Abraham in Egypt and his own. The 
barbarous Egyptian (this struck, no doubt, 
at Theophilus) had endeavoured to defile 
his Sarah, the Church of Constantinople ; 
but the faithful Church had remained, by 
the power of God, uncontaminated by this 
rebuked Abimelech. He dwelt with par- 
donable pride on. the faithful attachment 
They had conquered ; 
but how? by prayerand submission, The 
enemy had brought arms into the sanctu- 
ary ; they had prayed; like a spider’s web 
the enemy had been scattered, they re- 


‘mained firm as arock. The empress her- 


self had joined the triumphal procession, 


‘when the sea became, as the city, covered 


with all ranks, all ages, and both sexes.* 

But the peace and triumph of Chrysos- 
tom were not lasting. As the fears of the 
empress were allayed, the old feeling of 
hatred to the bishop, imbittered by the 
shame of defeat, and the constant suspi- 
cion that either the preacher or his audi- 
ence pointed at her his most vigorous dec- 
lamation, rankled in the mind of Eudoxia. 
It had become a strife for ascendancy, and 
neither could recede with safety and hon- 
our. Opportunities could not but. oc- 
cur to enrage and exasperate ; nor would 
ill-disposed persons be wanting to inflame 
the passions of the empress, by misrepre- 
senting and personally applying the bold 
and indignant language of the prelate. 

A statue of the empress was about to 
Statue of the be erected; and on these occa- 
empress. sions of public festival the peo- 
ple were wont to be indulged in dances, 
pantomimes, and every kind of theatrical 
amusement. The zeal of Chrysostom 


_was always especially directed against 


these idolatrous amusements, which often, 
he confesses, drained \the church of his 
hearers. This, now ill-timed, zeal was es- 
pecially awakened because the statue was 
to be erected, and the rejoicings to take 

* Chrysostom, in both these discourses, states a 


curious circumstance, that the Jews of Constanti- 
nople took great interest in his cause. bu 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


place, in front of the entrance to the great 


church, the St. Sophia. His denunciations 


were construed into personal insults to the 
empress ; she threatened a new-council. 
The prelate threw off the remaining re- 
straints of prudence: repeated more ex- 
plicitly ‘the allusion which he had before 
but covertly hinted: He thundered out a 
homily, with the memorable exordium, 
‘“‘Herodias is maddening, Herodias is dan- 
cing, Herodias demands the head of John.” 
If Chrysostom could even be suspected of 
such daring outrage against the temporal 
sovereign; if he ventured on Gopaieee 
approaching to such unmeasured hostility, 
it was manifest that either the imperial au- 


thority must quail and submit to the sa- 


cerdotal domination, or employ without 
scruple its power to crush the bold usur- 
pation. : 

An edict of the emperor suspended 
the prelate from his functions. second con- 
Though forty-two bishops ad- demnation of 
hered with inflexible fidelity to Chsestom. 
his cause, he was condemned by a second 
hostile council, not on any new charge, 
but for contumacy in resisting the decrees 
of the former assembly, and for a breach 
of the ecclesiastical laws in resuming his 
authority while under the condemnation 
of-a council. -- ὯΝ 

The soldiers of the emperor were more 
dangerous enemies than the prel- 4p, 404. 
ates. In the midst of the sol- Tumults in 
emn celebration of Good Friday, ®C're™ 
in the great Church of Santa Sophia, the 
military forced their way, not merely into 
the nave, but up to the altar, on which 
were placed the consecrated elements. 
Many were trodden under foot; many 
wounded by the swords of the soldiers ; 
the clergy were dragged to prison; some 
females, who were about to be baptized, 
were obliged to fly with their disordered 
apparel: the waters of the font were 
stained with blood; the soldiers pressed 
up to the altar; seized the sacred vessels 
as their plunder: the sacred elements 
were scattered around; their garments 
were bedewed with the blood of the Re- 
deemer.* Constantinople for several days 
had the appearance of a city which had 
been stormed. Wherever the partisans 
of Chrysostom were assembled, they were 
assaulted and dispersed by the soldiery ; 
females were exposed to insult, and one 
frantic attempt was made to assassinate 
the prelate.f 


* Chrysostom, Epist. ad Innocentium, e. iii., v. 
iii, p. 519. Chrysostom exempts the emperor 
from all share in this outrage, but attributes it to 
the hostile bishops 

+ See Letter to Olympias, p. 548. 


: 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Chrysostom at length withdrew from 
Chrysostom the contest ; he escaped from the 
surrenders. friendly custody of his adherents, 
and surrendered himself to the imperial 
officers. He was immediately conveyed 
by night to the Asiatic shore. At the in- 
stant of his departure, another fearful ca- 
lamity agitated the public mind. The 
chureh which he left burst into flames, 
and the conflagration, said to have first 
broken out in the episcopal throne, reach- 
ed. the roof of the building, and spread 
from: thence: to the senate-house. ‘These 
two magnificent edifices, the latter of 


__ which contained some noble specimens 


of ancient art, became-in a few hours a 
mass of ruins. The partisans of Chry- 
sostom, and Chrysostom himself, were, of 
course, accused of this act, the author of 
which was never discovered, and in which 
no life was lost. But the bishop was 
charged with the horrible design of de- 
stroying his enemies in the church; his 
followers were charged with the guilt of 
incendiarism with a less atrocious object, 
that no bishop after Chrysostom might be 
seated in his pontifical throne.* 

The prelate was not permitted to choose 
his place of exile. ‘The peaceful spots 
which might have been found in the more 
genial climate of Bithynia or the adjacent 
provinces, would have been too near the 
capital. He was transported to Cucusus, 
a small town in the mountainous and sav- 
age district of Armenia. On his journey 
thither of several days, he suffered much 
from fever and disquiet of mind, and from 
the cruelty of the officer who commanded 
the guard. | 

Yet his influence was not extinguished 
by his absence, The Eastern 
Church was almost governed 
from the solitary cell of Chrysostom. 
He corresponded with all quarters; wom- 
en of rank and opulence sought his soli- 
tude in disguise. ‘The bishops of many 
distant sees sent him assistance, and cov- 
eted his advice. The Bishop of Rome 
received his letters with respect, and 
wrote back ardent commendations of his 
patience. The exile of Cucusus exer- 
cised, perhaps, more extensive authority 
than the Patriarch of Constantinople. 


His retreat. 


* There are three laws in the Theodosian Code 
against unlawful and seditious meetings (conventi- 
cula), directed against the followers of Chrysos- 
tom: the Joannite, as they were called, “ qui sac- 
rilego animo auctoritatem nostri numinis ausi fue- 
rint expugnare.” The deity is the usual term, but 
the deity of the feeble Arcadius and the passionate 
Eudoxia reads strangely. 

+ Among his letters may be remarked those 
written to the celebrated Olympias. This wealthy 
widow, who had refused the solicitations or com- 


-and of Chrysostoin. 


405 

He was not, however, permitted to re- 
main in peace in this miserable seclue 
sion: sometimes his life was endangered 
by the invasions of the Isaurian marau- 
ders; and he was obliged to take refuge 
in a neighbouring fortress named Ardissa. 
He encouraged his ardent disciples with 
the hope, the assurance, of his speedy re- 
turn; but he miscalculated the obstinate 
and implacable resentment of his perse- 
cutors. At length an order came to re- 
move him to Pityus, on the. Muxine, a still 
more savage place on the verge of the 
empire. He died on the journey, near 
Comana, in Pontus. 

Some years afterward, the remains of 
Chrysostom were transported to της remains 
Constantinople with the utmost transported 
reverence, and received with fate υν 
solemn pomp. | Constantinople τος 
and the imperial family submitted with 
eager zeal to worship as a saint him whom 
they would not endure as a prelate. Z 

The remarkable part in the whole o 
this persecution of Chrysostom is, that it 
arose not out of difference of doctrine or 
polemic hostility. No charge of heresy 
darkened the pure fame of the great Chris- 
tian orator. His persecution had not the 
dignity of conscientious bigotry ; it was 
a struggle for power between the tempo- 
ral and ecclesiastical supremacy ; but the 
passions and the personal animosities of 
ecclesiastics, the ambition, and perhaps 
the jealousy of the Alexandrean patri- 
arch as to jurisdiction, lent themselves to 
the degradation of the episcopal authority 
in Constantinople, from which it never 
rose. No doubt the choleric temper, the 
overstrained severity, the monastic hab- 
its, the ambition to extend his authority, 
perhaps, beyond its legitimate bounds, and 
the indiscreet zeal of Chrysostom, laid 
him open to his adversaries ; but in any 
other: station, in the episcopate of any 
other city, these infirmities would have 
been lost in the splendour of his talents 
and his virtues. Though he might not 
have weaned the general mass of the peo- 
ple from their vices or their amusements, 
which he proscribed with equal severity, 
yet he would have commanded general 
respect ; and nothing less than a schism 


mands of Theodosius to marry one of his favourites, 
had almost washed away, by her austerities and 
virtues, the-stain of her nuptials, and might rank 
in Christian estimation with those unsullied vir- 
gins who had never been contaminated by mar- 
riage. She was the friend of all the distinguishea 
and orthedox clergy; of Gregory of Nazianzum, 
Chrysostom records to her 
praise, that by her austerities she had brought on 
painful diseases, which baffled the art of medicine, 
—Chrysost., Epist., viii, p. 540. 


7 


‘\ 


Υ- 


406 


Π 

arising out of religious difference would 
have shaken or impaired his authority. 

At all events, the fall of Chrysostom 
was an inauspicious omen, and a warning 
which might repress the energy of future 
prelates ; and, doubtless, the issue of this 
conflict materially tended to degrade the 
office of the-chief bishop in the Kastern 
empire. It may be questioned whether 
the proximity of the court, and such a 
court as that of the East, would under 
any circumstances have allowed the epis- 
copate to assume its legitimate power, 
far less to have encroached on the tem- 
poral sovereignty. But after this time 
the Bishop of Constantinople almost sank 
into a high officer of state ; appointed by 
the influence, if not directly nominated by 
the emperor, his gratitude was bound to 
reverence or his prudence to dread that 
arbitrary power which had raised him 
from nothing, and might dismiss him to his 
former insignificance. Except on some 
rare occasions, he bowed with the rest of 
the empire before the capricious will of 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ἊΨ 


the sovereign or the ruling favourite; he 
was content if the emperor respected the 
outward ceremonial of the Church, and 
did not openly espouse any heretical doc- 
trine. 
Christianity thus remained in some re- 
spects an antagonist principle, counter- 
acting by its perpetual remonstrance, and 
rivalling by its attractive ceremonial, the 
vices and licentious diversions of the cap- 
ital; but its moral authority was not al- 
lied with power; it quailed under the uni- 
versal despotism, and was entirely ineffi- 
cient as a corrective of imperial tyranny. 
It thus escaped the evils inseparable from 
the undue elevation of the sacerdotal char- 
acter, and the temptations to encroach be- 
yond its proper limits on the civil power; 
but it likewise gradually sank far below 
that uncompromising independence, that 
venerable majesty, which might impose 
some restraint on the worst excesses of 
violence, and infuse justice and humanity 


into the manners of the court and of the 


people. 


CHAPTER X , δ 


THE GREAT PRELATES OF THE WEST. 


Tue character and the fate of Ambrose 
offer the strongest contrast with 
Archbishop that of Chrysostom. Ambrose 
of Milan. was nodreaming solitary, brought 
up in the seclusion of the desert, or among 
a fraternity of religious husbandmen. He 
had been versed in civil business from his 
youth; he had already obtained a high sta- 
tion in the imperial service. _ His elo- 
quence had little of the richness, imagina- 
tive variety, or dramatic power of the Gre- 
cian orator; hard but vigorous, it was. Ro- 
man, forensic, practical; we mean where 
it related to affairs of business or address- 
ed men in general; it has, as we shall 
hereafter observe, a very different charac- 
ter in some of his theological writings. 

In Ambrose the sacerdotal character 
assumed a dignity and an influence as yet 
unknown; it first began to confront the 
throne, not only on terms of equality, but 
of superior authority, and to exercise a 
spiritual dictatorship over the supreme 
magistrate. The resistance of Athana- 
sius to the imperial authority had been 
firm but deferential, passive rather than 
aggressive. In his public addresses he 
had respected the majesty of the empire ; 
at all events, the hierarchy of that period 
only questioned the authority of the sov- 


Ambrose, 


ereign in matters of faith. But m Am- 
brose the episcopal power acknowledged 
no limits to its moral dominion, and ad- 
mitted no distinction of persons. While 
the bishops of Rome were comparatively 
without authority, and still partially ob- 
scured by the concentration of paganism 
in ‘the aristocracy of the Capitol, the 
Archbishop of Milan began to develop pa- 
pal power and papal imperiousness. Am- 
brose was the spiritual ancestor of the Hil- 
debrands and the Innocents. Like Chry- 
sostom, Ambrose had to strive against the 
passionate animosity of an empress, not 
merely exasperated against him by his sus- 
pected disrespect and disobedience, but by 
the bitterness of religious difference. Yet 
how opposite the result! And Ambrose 
had to assert his religious authority, not 
against the feeble Arcadius, but against his 
father, the great Theodosius. We cannot, 
indeed, but recognise something of the un- 
degraded Roman of the West in Ambrose ; 
Chrysostom has something of the feeble- 
ness and degeneracy of the Byzantine. 
The father of Ambrose, who bore the 
same name, had administered the youth of 
province of Gaul as pretorian pre- Ambrose, 
fect. The younger Ambrose, while pur- 
suing his studies at Rome, had attracted 


λ 


in Theodoret, iv., 7. 


ra HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


i, , 
the notice of Probus, pretorian prefect of 
Italy. Ambrose, through his influence, 
was appointed to the administration of the 
provinces of Aimilia and Liguria.* Pro- 
bus was a Christian, and his parting ad- 
monition to the young civilian was couch- 
ed in these prophetic words: ‘“ Rule the 
province, not as a judge, but as a bishop.” 
Milan was within the department assigned 
to Ambrose. This city had now begun al- 


_ most to rival or eclipse Rome, as the capi- 


tal of the Occidental empire, and from the 
celebrity of its schools it, was called the 
Athens of the West. The Church of Mi- 
lan was rent with divisions. On avacan- 
cy caused by the death of Auxentius, the 
celebrated Arian, the two parties, the Ari- 
an and the Athanasian, violently contested 
the appointment of the bishop. 

Ambrose appeared in his civil character, 
Ambrose 0 allay the tumult by the awe of 
bishop, his presence and by the persua- 
A.D. 374. sive force of his eloquence. He 
spoke so wisely, and in.such a Christian 
spirit, that a general acclamation suddenly 
broke forth, “ Ambrose, be bishop—Am- 
brose, be bishop.” Aibrose was yet only 
by assuming a severe character as a ma- 
᾿ gistrate, and by flight, to elude the unex- 
pected honour.{ ‘Ihe ardour of the peo- 
ple and the approbation of the emperor} 
compelled him to assume the office. Am- 
brose cast off at once the pomp and maj- 
esty of his civil state; but that which was 
in some degree disadvantageous to Chry- 
sostom, his severe simplicity of life, only 
increased the admiration and attachment 
of the less luxurious, or, at least, less ef- 
feminate West to their pious prelate: for 
Ambrose assumed only the austerity, 
nothing of the inactive and contemplative 
seclusion, of the monastie system. - The 
Ambrosetne ON!y Eastern influence which 
advocate of fettered his strong mind was his 
celibacy. earnest admiration of celibacy ; 
in all other respects he was a Roman 
statesman, not a meditative Oriental or 
rhetorical Greek. ‘The strong contrast of 
this doctrine with the dissolute manners 
of Rome, which no doubt extended to Mi- 
lan, made it the more impressive: it was 
received with all the ardour of novelty, 
and the impetuosity of the Italian charac- 
ter; it captivated all ranks and all orders. 


Εν -catechumen ; he attempted in every way, 


* Chiefly from the life of Ambrose affixed to the 
Benedictine edition of his works; the life by Pauli- 
nus, and Tillemont, 

+ Paul,, Vit. Ambros., 8. 

+ De Offic. Vita 5. Ambros., p. xxxiv. 
xxi, p. 865. Epist. Ixiii. 

Compare the account of Valentinian’s conduct 


Epist. 


“΄ 


Mothers shut up their daughters, lest theyre 


should be exposed to the chaste seduction 
of the bishop’s eloquence ; and, binding 
themselves by rash vows of virginity, for- 
feit the hope of becoming Roman matrons, 
Ambrose, immediately on his appointment 
under Valentinian 1., asserted that eccle- 
siastical power which he confirmed under 
the feeble reign of Gratian and Valentinian 
II. ;* he maintained it when he was con- 
fronted by a nobler antagonist, the great 
Theodosius. He assumed the office of 
director of the royal conscience, and he 
administered it wi atthe uncompromi- 
sing moral dignity which had no indul- 
gence for unchristian vices, for injustice or 
cruelty, even in an emperor, and with all 
the stern and conscientious intolerance of 
one with whom hatred of paganism and of 
heresy were articles of his creed. The 
Old and the. New Testament met in the 
person of Ambrose : the implacable hos- 
tility to idolatry, the abhorrence of every 
deviation from the established formulary 
of belief; the wise and courageous benev- 
olence, the generous and unselfish devo- 
tion to the great interests of humanity. 

If Christianity assumed a haughtier and 
more rigid tone in the conduet and wri- 


tings of Ambrose, it was by no means for- — 


getful of its gentler duties, in allaying hu- 
man misery, and extending its beneficent 
care to the utmost bounds of society. 
With Ambrose it began its high office of 
mitigating the horrors of slavery, which, 
now that war raged in turn on every fron- 
tier, might seem to threaten individually 
the whole free population of the empire. 
Rome, which had drawn new supplies of 


slaves from almost every frontier of her — 


dominions, now suffered fearful reprisals ; 
her free citizens were sent into captivity 
and sold in the markets by the barbarians, 
whose ancestors had been bought and bar- 
tered by her insatiable slave-trade. The 
splendid offerings of piety, the Redemption 
ornaments,even the. consecrated of captives 

vessels of the churches, were >Y Ambrose. 
prodigally expended by the Bishop of Mi- 
lan in the redemption of captives.t “ The 
Church possesses gold, not to treasure up, 
but to distribute it for the welfare and hap- 
piness of men. We are ransoming the 
souls of men from eternal perdition. It is 
not merely the lives of men and the hon- 
our of women which are endangered in 
captivity, but the faith of their children. 
The blood of redemption which has gleam- 
ed in those golden cups has sanctified 


* Theodoret, iv., 7. a : ν 
+ Numerent quos redemerint templa captivos. 
So Ambrose appeals in excusable pride to a hea- 


‘| then orator.—Ambros., Epist. ii., in Symmachum. 


7 


Bory. 


* 


“’ 


408 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


᾿ them, not for the service alone, but for the 


redemption of man.”* ‘These arguments 
may be considered as a generous repudia- 
tion of the ecclesiastical spirit for the no- 
bler ends of beneficence ; and no doubt, in 
that mediation of the Church between 
mankind and the miseries of slavery, 
which was one of her most constant and 
useful ministrations during the darker pe- 
riod of human society, the example and 
authority of Ambrose perpetually encour- 
aged the generosity of the more. liberal, 
and repressed the narrow views of those 
who considered the consecrated treasures 
of the Church inviolable, eyen for these 
more sacred objects. 

The ecclesiastical:zeal of Ambrose, like 
that of Chrysostom, scorned the limits of 
his own diocese. The see of Sirmium 
was vacant; Ambrose appeared in that 
city to prevent the election of an Arian, 
and to secure the appointment of an ortho- 
dox bishop. The strength of the opposite 
A.D.379, Party lay in the zeal and influence 
’ of the Empress Justina. Ambrose 
defied both, and made himself a powerful 
and irreconcilable enemy. 

But for a time Justina was constrained 
to suppress her resentment. Ina 
few years Ambrose appears in a 
new position for a Christian bishop, as the 
mediator between rival competitors for the 
empire. The ambassador sent to Maxi- 
mus (who had assumed the purple in Gaul, 
and, after the murder of Gratian, might 
be reasonably suspected of hostile designs 
on Italy) was no distinguished warrior or 
influential civilian; the difficult negotia- 
tion was forced upon the Bishop of Milan. 
The character and weight of Ambrose ap-, 
peared the best protection of the young 
Valentinian. Ambrose is said:to have re- 

fused to communicate with Maxi- 
‘mus, the murderer of his sover- 
eign. The interests of his earthly mon- 
arch or of the empire would not induce 
him to sacrifice for an instant those of his 
heavenly Master; he would have no fel- 
lowship with the man of blood.{ Yet so 
completely, either. by his ability as a ne- 
gotiator, or his dignity and sanctity asa 
prelate, did he overawe the usurper as to 
avert the evils of war, and to arrest. the 
hostile invasion of his diocese and of Italy. 
He succeeded in establishing peace. 

But the gratitude of Justina for this es- 
sential service could not avert the collision 
of hostile religious creeds. The empress 


* Offic., c. 15, c. 28. 
’ + Even Fleury aigues that these could not be 
consecrated vessels, 

{ The seventeenth Epistle of Ambrose relates 
the whole transaction, p. 852. 


A.D. 383. 


A.D. 375 


demanded one of the churches Dispate with 
in Milan for the celebration of the Empress 
the Arian service. The first 74st”. 
and more modest request named the Por- 
cian Basilica without the gates, but these 
demands rose to the new and largest edi- 
fice within the walls.* The answer of 
Ambrose was firm and distinct ; it assert- 
ed the inviolability of all property in the 
possession of the Church: * A bishop can- 
not alienate that which is dedicated to 
God.” After some fruitless negotiation, 
the officers of the emperor proceeded to 
take possession of the Porcian Basilica. 
Where these buildings had belonged to the 
State, the emperor might still, perhaps, 
assert the right of property. ‘Tumults 
arose: an Arian priest was severely han- 
dled, and only rescued from the hands of 
the populace by the influence of Ambrose. 
Many wealthy persons were thrown into 
prison by the government, and ce fines” 


exacted, on account of these seditions. — 
But the inflexible Ambrose persisted in. — 


his refusal to acknowledge the imperial’ 
authority over things dedicated to God. 
When he was commanded to allay the 
populace, “ It is im my power,” he answer- 
ed, “ to refrain from exciting their violence, 


but it is for God to appease it when — 


excited.”+ The soldiers surrounded the 
building ; they threatened to violate the 
sanctity of the church in which Ambrose 
was performing the usual solemnities. 
The bishop calmly continued his fune- 
tions, and his undisturbed countenance 
seemed as if his whole mind was absorbed 
in its devotion. The soldiers entered the 
church; the affrighted females began to 
fly ; but the rude and armed men fell on 
their knees, and assured Ambrose that they 
came to pray, and not to fight.{| Ambrose 
ascended the pulpit; his sermon was on 
the Book of Job; he enlarged on the con- 
duct of the wife of the patriarch, who com- 
manded him to blaspheme God; he com- 
pared the empress with this example of 
impiety ; he went on to compare her with 
Eve, with Jezebel, with Herodias. ‘The 


emperor demands a church: what has the | 


emperor to do with the adulteress, the 
church of the heretics?” Intelligence ar- 
rived that the populace were tearing down 


* Panl., Vit. Ambrose. Ambros., Epist. xx. 

+ Referebam in meo jure esse, ut non excitarem, 
in Dei manu, uti mitagaret. 

t It would be curious if we could ascertain the 
different constitution of the troops employed in the’ 
irreverent scenes in the churches of Alexandrea 
and Constantinople, and here at Milan. Were the 
one raised from the vicious population of the East-— 
ern cities, the other partly composed of barbarians'® 


of the prelate ? ee 


How much is justly to be attributed to the character a 
; 


“ 


Hits: 
JY Meus 7 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the hangings of the church, on which was 
the sacred image of the sovereign, and 
which had been suspended in the Porcian 
Basilica as a sign that the church had 
been taken into the possession of the em- 
peror. Ambrose sent some of his priests 
to allay the tumult, but went not himself. 
He looked triumphantly around on his 
armed devotees: “lhe Gentiles have en- 
tered into the inheritance of the Lord, but 
the armed Gentiles have become Chris- 
tians and coheirs of God. My enemies 
are now my defenders.” 

A confidential secretary of the emperor 
appeared, not to expel or degrade the re- 
fractory prelate, but to deprecate his tyr- 
anny. ‘Why do ye.hesitate to strike 
down the tyrant,” replied Ambrose ; ‘* my 
only defence is in my power of exposing 
my life for the honour of God.” -He pro- 
ceeded with proud humility, “Under the 
anes law, priests have bestowed, they 
vaye not condescended to assume, empire ; 


kings have desired the priesthood rather 


’ 


wre 


lan priests the royal power.” He ap- 
pealed to his influence over Maximus, 
which had averted the invasion of Italy. 
Theemperor The imperial authority quailed 
yieldstoAm- before the resolute prelate; the 
tapes soldiers were withdrawn, the 
prisoners released, and the fines annulled.* 
When the emperor himself was urged to 
confront Ambrose in the church, the timid 
or prudent youth replied, ‘‘ His eloquence 
would compel yourselves.to lay me bound 
hand and foot before his throne.” Τὸ 
such a height had the sacerdotal power 
attained in the West, when wielded by a 
man of the energy and determination of 
Ambrose.t 

Bat the pertinacious animosity of the 
empress was not yet exhausted. A law 
was passed authorizing the assemblies of 
the Arians. A second struggle took place : 
anew triumph for Ambrose ; a new defeat 
for the imperial power. From his inviola- 
ble citadel, his church, Ambrose uttered, 
in courageous security, his defiance. An 
emphatic sentence expressed the prelate’s 
notion of the relation of the civil and re- 

ligious power, and proclaimed the subor- 
dination of the emperor within the mys- 
ig Senta 
* Certatim hoc nuntiare milites, irruentes in al- 
‘taria, osculis significare pacis insigne. Ambrose 
perceived that God had stricken Lucifer, the great 
dragon (vermem antelucanum). 

+ Ambrose relates that one of the officers of the 
court, more daring than the rest, presumed toresent 
this outrage, as he considered it, on the emperor. 
‘While I live, dost thou thus treat Valentinian with 

contempt? I will strike off thy head.” Ambrose 


5 ied, “Θοὐ grant that thou mayst fulfil thy men- 


409 


terious circle of sacerdotal authority : 
‘The emperor is of the Church, and in 
the Church, but not above the Church.” 

Was it to be supposed that the remon- 
strances of expiring paganism would make 
any impression upon a court thus under 
subjection to one who, by exercising the 
office of protector in the time of peril, as- 
sumed the right to dictate on subjects 
which appeared more completely within 
his sphere of jurisdiction? If Arianism 
in the person of the empress was com- 
pelled to bow, paganism could scarcely 
hope to obtain even a patient hearing. 

We have already related the contest be- 


‘tween expiring Polytheism and ascendant 


Christianity in the persons of Symmachus 
and of Ambrose. ‘The more polished pe- 
riods and the gentle dignity of Symma- 
chus might delight the old aristocracy of 
Rome. But the full flow of the more ve- 
hement eloquence of Ambrose, falling into 
the current of popular opinion at Milan, 
swept all before it.* By this time the Old 
Testament language and sentiment with 
regard to idolatry were completely incor- 
porated with the Christian feeling; and 
when Ambrose enforced on a Christian 
emperor the sacred duty of intolerance 
against opinions and practices, which 
scarcely a century before had been the es- 


tablished religion of the empire, his zeal — 


was supported almost by the unanimous 
applause of the Christian world. 

Ambrose did not rely on his eloquence 
alone, or on the awfulness of his sacerdo- 
tal character, to contro] the public mind. 
The champion of the Church was invested 
by popular belief, perhaps by his own ar- 
dent faith, with miraculous power, and 
the high state of religious excitement was 
maintained in Milan by the increasing dig- 
nity and splendour of the ceremonial, and 
by the pompous installation of the relics 
of saints within the principal church. 

It cannot escape the observation of a 


* The most curious fact relating to Ambrose is 
the extraordinary contrast between his vigorous, 
practical, and statesmanlike character as a man, as 
well as that of such among his writings as may be 
called public and popular, and the mystic subtlety 
which fills most of his theological works. He treats 
the Scripture as one vast allegory, and propounds 
his own fanciful interpretation or corollaries witl. 
as much authority as if they were the plain sense o. 
the sacred writer. No retired schoolman follows 
out the fantastic analogies and recondite significa- 
tions which he perceives in almost every word, with 
the vain ingenuity of Ambrose’: every word or num- 
ber reminds him of every other place in the Scrip- 
ture In which the same word or number occurs ; 
and, stringing them together with this loose con ~ 
nexion, he works out some latent mystic significa- 
tion which he would suppose to have been within 


_ Ishall suffer the fate of a bishop; thou wilt | the intention of the inspired writer.—See particu 


y 
ae 
xs 9 
“ες 


ἂς, 


Fd 


do the act of a eunuch” (tu facies, quod spadones). | larly the Hexaemeron. 
F 


er 
rs 


Ne rs - 


410 


calm inquirer into the history of man, or 
be disguised by an admirer of a rational, 
pious, and instructive Christian ministry, 
that whenever, from this period, the cler- 
gy possessed a full and dominant power, 
the claim to supernatural power is more 
frequently and ostentatiously made, while, 
where they possess a less complete as- 
cendancy, miracles cease. While Am- 
brose was at least availing himself of, if 
not encouraging, this religious credulity, 
‘Chrysostom, partly, no doubt, from his 
own good sense, partly from respect for 
the colder and more inquisitive character 
of his audience, not merely distinctly dis- 
avows miraculous powers in his own per- 
son, but asserts that long ago they had 
come to an end.* But in Milan the arch- 
bishop asserts his own belief in, and the 
eager enthusiasm of the people did not 


hesitate to embrace as unquestionable 


truth, the public display of preternatural 
power in the streets of the city. A dream 
revealed to the pious prelate the spot 
where rested the relics of the martyrs St. 
Gervaise and Protadius. As they ap- 
proached the spot, a man possessed by a 
demon was seized with a paroxysm, which 
betrayed his trembling consciousness of 
the presence of the holy remains. 
‘bones of two men of great stature were 
-found, with much blood.{ ‘The bodies 


ἢ 

* Διὰ τοῦτο παρὰ μὲν τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ ἀναξίοις 
χαρίσματα ἐδίδοτο: χρείαν. γὰρ εἶχε τὸ παλαιόν, 
τῆς πίστεως ἕνεκα, ταύτης τῆς βοηθείας" νῦν δὲ 
οὐδὲ ἀξίοις δίδοται.---Τὰ Act., vol. iii., 65. Μὴ τοί- 
νυν τὸ μὴ γένεσθαι νῦν σημεῖα, τεκμήριον ποιοῦ 
τοῦ μὴ γεγενῆσθαι τοτε, καὶ γὰρ δὴ τότε χρησίμως 
ἐγίνετο, καὶ νῦν χρησίμως οὐ yiveTat.—See the 
whole passage in Cor., Hom. vi., χὶ., 45. On Psalm 
cx., indeed, vol. v, p. 271, he seems to assert the 
continuance of miracles, particularly during the 
reign of Julian and of Maximin. But he gives the 
death of Julian as one of those miracles. Καὶ yap 
kal διὰ τοῦτο, καὶ δι’ ἕτερον τὰ σημεῖα ἔπαυσεν 
ὁ Θεός, in Matt., vii, 375. Compare also vol. i., p. 
411; xi., 397, in Coloss., on Psalm exlii., vol. v., p. 
455. Middleton has dwelt at length on this -sub- 
ject.— Works, vol. i., p. 102. 

Augustine denies the continuance of miracles 
with equal distinctness. Cum enim Ecclesia Ca- 
tholica per totum orbem diffusa atque fundata sit, 
nec miracula illa in nostra tempora durare permis- 
sa sunt, ne animus semper visibilia quereret, et 
eorum consuetudine frigesceret genus humanum, 
quorum novitate flagravit—De Vera Relig., c. 47. 
Oper., 1., 765. Yet Fleury appeals, and not without 
ground, to the repeated testimony of St. Augustine 
as eyewitness of this miracle ; and the reader of St. 
Augustine’s works, even his noblest (see lib. xx., 
c. 8), t 
petual instances of miraculous occurrences related 
with unhesitating faith. It is singular how often 
we hear at one time the strong intellect of Augus- 
He, at another the age of Augustine, speaking in his 
works. ᾿ yo 

+ The Arians denied this miracle-—Ambrose, 


“ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Jemnity and magnificence. 


The. 


City of God, cannot but call to mind per- | 


3 


“ἢ ΗΠ 
were disinterred, and conveyed in solemn 
pomp to the Ambrosian Church. ‘They 


were reinterred under the altar ; they be- 
came the tutelary saints of the spot.* , A 


blind butcher, named Severus, recovered — ; 


his eyesight by the application of a hand- 


1 


kerchief which had touched the relics, and 


this was but one of many wonders whic! 
were universally supposed to have been 
wrought by the smallest article of dress 
which had imbibed the miraculous virtue 
of these sacred bones. 

The awe-struck mind was never per- 
mitted to repose; more legitimate means 
were employed to maintain the ardent be- 
lief thus enforced upon the multitude. 
The whole ceremonial of the Church was 
conducted by Ambrose with unrivalled so- 
Music was 
cultivated with the utmost care; some of 
the noblest hymns of the Latin Church 
are attributed to Ambrose himself, and the 
Ambrosian service for a long period dis- 
tinguished the Church of Milan by the 
grave dignity and simple fulness of its 
harmony.t 

But the sacerdotal dignity of Ambrose 
might command a feeble boy: he had now 
to confront the imperial majesty in the 
person of one of the greatest men who 
had ever worn the Roman purple. Even 
in the midst of his irreconcilable feud with 
the heretical empress, Ambrose had been 
again entreated to spread the shield of his 
protection over the youthfulemperor. He 
had undertaken a second em- second 
bassy to the usurper Maximus. embassy to 
Maximus, as if he feared the aw- "*™!™S: 
ful influence of Ambrose over his mind, 
refused to admit the priestly ambassador 
except to a public audience. Ambrose 
was considered as condescending from 
his dignity in approaching the throne of 
the emperor. ‘he usurper reproached 
him for his former interference, by which 
he had been arrested in his invasion of It- 
aly, and had lost the opportunity of becom- 
ing master of the unresisting province. 
Epist. xxii, Invenimus mire magnitudinis viros 
duos, ut prisca etas ferebat. Did Ambrose suppose 
that the race of men had degenerated in the last 
two or three centuries? or that the heroes of the 
faith had been gifted with heroic stature? The 
sermon of Ambrose is a strange rhapsody, which 
would only suit a highly-excited audience. He 
acknowledges that these martyrs were unknown, 
ane that the Church of Milan was before barren of 
relics. 

* « Succedunt victime triumphales in locum ubi 
Christus natus est; sed ille super altare qui pro 
omnibus passus est ; isti sub altari qui illius reveriti 
sunt passionem ;” but Ambrose calls them the guar- 
dians and defenders of the Church. 

+ This subject will recur at a later part of this 
volume, 


. a 


“ 


re 


¢ 
Wc 
= 4 
Ambrose answered with pardonable pride 
that he accepted the honourable accusa- 
tion of having saved the orphan emperor. 
te the yed himself, as it were, in his 
priestly inviolability, reproached Maximus 
ith the murder of Gratian, and demand- 
ed his remains. He again refused all 
spiritual communion with one guilty of in- 
oe which, as yet, he had sub- 
mitted to no ecclesiastical penance. Max- 
imus, as might have been expected, drove 
from his ecurt the daring prelate who had 
thus stretched to the utmost the sanctity 
of person attributed to an ambassador and 
a bishop. Ambrose, however, returned; 
not merely safe, but without insult or out- 
rage, to his Italian diocese.* — 

The arms of Theodosius decided the 
Accession of COntest, and secured the trem- 
Theodosius. bling throne of Valentinian the 
A.D. 388. Younger. But the accession of 
Theodosius, instead of obscuring the ri- 
val pretensions of the Church to power 
and influence, seemed to confirm and 
strengthen them. That such a mind as 
that of Theodosius should submit with 
‘humility to ecclesiastical remonstrance 
and discipline, tended, no doubt, beyond 
all other events, to overawe mankind. 
Everywhere else throughout the Roman 
world, the state, and even the Church, 
bowed at the feet of Theodosius ; in Mi- 
lan alone, in the height of his power, he 
was confronted and subdued by the more 
commanding mind and religious majesty 
of Ambrose. His justice as well as his 
dignity quailed beneath the ascendancy 
of the prelate. A synagogue of the Jews 
Jewish syn. at Callinicum, in Osroene, had 
agogue de- been burned by the Christians, 
stroyed. ἢ was said, at the instigation, if 
not under the actual sanction, of the bish- 
op. The church ofthe Valentinian Gnos- 
tics had likewise been destroyed and plun- 
dered by the zeal of some monks. Theo- 
dosius commanded the restoration of the 
synagogue at the expense of the Chris- 
tians, and a fair compensation to the he- 
retical Valentinians for their losses. 

The pious indignation of Ambrose was 
not restrained either by the remoteness 
of these transactions from the scene of 
his own labours, or by the undeniable vi- 
Conduct of Olence of the Christian party. 
Ambrose. He stood forward, designated, it 
might seem, by his situation and charac- 
ter, as the acknowledged champion of the 
whole of Christianity; the sacerdotal 
power was imbodied in his person. In a 
letter to the emperor, he boldly vindicated 


the bishop; he declared himself, as far as 


* Epist. xxiv. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


~“ 


411 


his approbation could make him so, an ac- 
complice in the glorious and holy crime. 
If martyrdom was the consequence, he 
claimed the honour of that martyrdom ; 
declared it to be utterly irreconcilable 
with Christianity that it should in any 
way contribute to the restoration of Jew- 
ish or heretical worship.* If the bish- 
op should comply with the mandate, he 
would be an apostate, and the emperor 
would be answerable for his apostacy. 
This act was but a slight and insufficient 
retaliation for the deeds of plunder and de- 
struction perpetrated by the Jews and here- 
tics against orthodox Christians. The let- 
ter of Ambrose did not produce the desired 
effect ; but the bishop renewed his address 
in public in the church, and at length ex- 
torted from the emperor the impunity of 
the offenders. Then, and not fill then, he 
condescended to approach the altar, and 
to proceed with the service of God. 

Ambrose felt his strength; he feared 
not to assert that superiority of the altar 
over the throne which was a fundamental 
maxim of his Christianity. There is no 
reason to ascribe to ostentation, or to sa- 
cerdotal ambition rather than to the pro- 
found conviction of his mind, the dignity 
which he vindicated for the priesthood, the 
authority supreme and without appeal in 
all things which related to the ceremonial 
of religion. ‘Theodosius endured, and the 
people applauded, his public exclusion of 
the emperor from within the impassable 
rails which fenced off the officiating 
priesthood from the profane laity. An 
exemption had usually been made for 
the sacred person of the emperor, and, 
according to this usage, Theodosius ven- 
tured within the forbidden precincts. Am- 
brose, with lofty courtesy, pointed to the 
seat or throne reserved for the emperor 
at the head of the laity. Theodosius sub- 
mitted to the rebuke, and withdrew to the 
lowlier station. 

But if these acts of Ambrose might to 
some appear unwise or unwarrantable ag- 
gressions on the dignity of the civil ma- 


gistrate, or if to the prophetic sagacity 


* Hac proposita conditione, puto dicturum epis- 
copum, quod ipse ignes sparserit, turbas compu- 
lerit, populos concluserit, ne amittat occasionem 
martyrii, ut pro invalidis subjiciat validiorem. Ὁ 
beatum mendacium quo adquiritur sibi aliorum 
absolutio, sui gratia. Hoe est, Imperator, quod 
poposci et ego, ut in me magis vindicares, et hoc 
si crimen putares mihi adscriberes. Quid mandas 
in absentes judicium? Habes presentem, habes 
confitentem reum. Proclamo, quod ego synago- 
gam incenderim, certé quod ego illis mandaverim, 
ne esset locus, in quo Christus negaretur. Si 
objiciatur mihi, cur hic non incenderim? Divino 
jam ccepit cremari judicio ; meum cessavit opus.— 
Epist. xxiv., p. 561. 


᾿ 4 
Pad 


" 
5 


fh 
ΟΝ 


412 


of others they might foreshow the growth 
of an enormous and irresponsible authori- 
ty, and awaken well-grounded apprehen- 
sion or jealousy, the Roman World could 
not withhold its admiration from another 
act of the Milanese prelate: it could not 
but hail the appearance of a new moral 
power, enlisted on the side of humanity 
and justice; a power which could bow 
the loftiest, as well as the meanest, under 
its dominion. For the first time since 
the establishment of the imperial despot- 
ism, the voice of a subject was heard in 
deliberate, public, and authoritative con- 
demnation of a deed of atrocious tyranny 
and sanguinary vengeance ; for the first 
time anemperor of Rome trembled before 
public opinion, and humbled himself to a 
contrite confession of guilt and cruelty. 

With all his wisdom and virtue, Theo- 
Massacre of Gosius was liable to paroxysms 
Thessalonica. Of furious and ungovernable an- 
A.D. 390. “ger. A dispute had arisen in 
Thessalonica about a favourite charioteer 
in the cireus; out of the dispute a sedi- 
tion, in which some lives were lost. The 
imperial officers, who interfered to sup- 
press the fray, were wounded or slain, and 
Botheric, the representative of the em- 
peror, treated with indignity.. Notwith- 
standing every attempt on the part of the 
clergy to allay the furious resentment of 
Theodosius, the counsels of the more vi- 
olent advisers prevailed. Secret. orders 
were issued; the circus, filled with the 
whole population of the city, was sur- 
rounded by troops, and a general and in- 
discriminate massacre of all ages and 
sexes, the guilty and the innocent, re- 
venged the insult on the imperial dignity. 
Seven thousand lives were sacrificed in 
this remorseless carnage. 


On the first intelligence of this atrocity, 


Ambrose, with prudent self-command, kept 
aloof from the exasperated emperor. He 
retired into the country, and a letter from 
his own hand was delivered to the sover- 
eign. The letter expressed the horror of 
Ambrose and his brother bishops at this 
inhuman deed, in which he should consid- 
er himself an accomplice if he could re- 
frain from expressing his detestation of 
its guilt; if he should not refuse to com- 
municate with a man stained with the in- 
nocent blood, not of one, but of thousands. 
He exhorts him to penitence ; he promis- 
es his prayers in his behalf. 
up to his declaration; the emperor of 
the world found the doors of the Chureh 
closed against him. For eight months 
he endured this ignominious exclusion. 
Even on the sacred day of the Nativity, 
he implored in vain to be admitted within 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


He acted. 


those precincts which were open to the 
slave and to the beggar; those precincts 
which were the vestibule to heaven, for 
through the Church alone was heaven to 
be approached. Submission and remon- 
strance were alike in vain; to an urgent 
minister of the sovereign, Ambrose calm- 
ly replied that the emperor might kill him, 
and pass over his body into the sanctuary, 

At length Ambrose consented to admit 
the emperor to an audience; with difficul- 
ty he was persuaded to permit him to en- 
ter, not into the church itself, but into the 
outer porch, the place of the public peni- 
tents. At length the interdict was re- 
moved on two conditions: that the em- 
peror should issue an edict prohibiting the 
execution of capital punishments for thir- 
ty days after conviction, and that he should 
submit to public penance. Stripped of 
his imperial ornaments, prostrate on the 
pavement, beating his breast, tearing his 


hair, watering the ground with his tears, 


the master of the Roman empire, the con- 
queror in so many victories, the legislator 
of the world, at length received the hard- 
wrung absolution. 

‘This was the culminating point of pure 
Christian influence. Christianity appear- 
ed before the world as the champion and 
vindicator of outraged humanity ; as hav- 
ing founded a tribunal of justice which 
extended its protective authority over the 
meanest, and suspended its retributive 
penalties over the mightiest of mankind. 

Nearly at the same time (about four 
years before) had been revealed μοι capital 
the latent danger from this new punishment 
unlimited sovereignty over the ἴον το ξιοπ, 
human mind. The first blood ~~~ 
was judicially shed for religious opinion. 
Far, however, from apprehending the fatal 


consequences which might arise out of — 


their own exclusive and intolerant senti- 
ments, or foreseeing that the sacerdotal 
authority, which they fondly and sincere- 
ly supposed they were strengthening for 
the unalloyed welfare of mankind, would 
seize and wield the’sword of persecution 
with such remorseless and unscrupulous 
severity, this first fatal libation of Christian 
blood, which was the act of a usurping 
emperor and a few foreign bishops, was 
solemnly disclaimed by all the more influ- 
ential dignitaries of the Western Church. 
Priscillian, a noble and eloquent pyiscinian 
Spaniard, had embraced some and his fol- 
Manichean or rather Gnostic !°W*'s- 
opinions. ‘The same contradictory accu- 
sations of the severest asceticism and of 
licentious habits, which were so perpet- 
ually adduced against the Manicheans, 


formed the chief charge against Priscil- 


iis 


> 
τὰ a 


‘ 
%,s , HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. . 413 


lian and his followers. The leaders of | such a man to Italy and to Christendom, 
the sect had taken refuge from the perse- | urged the principal inhabitants of Milan to 
cutions of their countrymen in Gaul, and | entreat the effective prayers of the bishop» 
propagated their opinions to some extent | for his own recovery. “TI have not so 
in Aquitaine. They were pursued with | lived among you,” replied Ambrose, *“ as 
unwearied animosity by the Spanish bish- | to be ashamed to live; I have so good a 
ops Ithacius and Idacius. Maximus, the | Master that [am not afraid to 416. Am- 
usurping emperor of Gaul, who then re-|brose expired in the attitude and in the 
sided at Treves, took cognizance of the | act of prayer. 

case. In vain the celebrated Martin of While Ambrose was thus assuming an 
Martin of Tours, whose life was almost an| unprecedented supremacy over his own 
Tours. wunwearied campaign against idol- | age, and deepening and strengthening the 
atry, and whose unrelenting hand had de- | foundation of the ecclesiastical power, Au- 
molished every religious edifice within his | gustine was beginning gradually to con- 
reach; a ‘prelate whose dread of heresy | summate that total change in human opin- 
was almost as sensitive as of paganism, | ion which was to influence the Christian- 
urged his protest against these proceed- | ity of the remotest ages. 


ings with all the vehemence/of his char-| Of all Christian writers since the apos- 
acter. During his absence, a capital sen-|tles, Augustine has maintained neater 
tence was extorted from the emperor ;/the most permanent and exten- ae oe κα 


Priscillian and some of his followers were | sive influence. That influence, indeed, 
put to death by the civil authority for the | was unfelt, or scarcely felt, inthe Kast; 
crime of religious error. The fatal pre-| but as the East gradual ly became more 
cedent was disowned by the general voice | estranged. till it was little more than a 
of Christianity. It required another con- | blank in Christian history, the dominion 
siderable period of ignorance and bigotry | of Augustine over the) opinions of the 
to deaden the fine moral sense of Chris- | Western world was eventually over the 
tianity to the total abandonment of its | whole of Christendom. Basil and Chry- 
Conduct of Spirit of love. When Ambrose | sostom spoke a languasea ae reign or dead 
Ambrose. reproached the usurper with the | to the greater part of the ‘hristian world. ὁ 
murder of his sovereign Gratian, he re- | The Greek empire, after the reign of Jus- 
minded him likewise of the unjust execu- | tinian, gradually contracting its limits and 
tion of the Priscillianists ; he refused to | sinking into abject superstition, forgot its 
communicate with the bishops who had |; own great writers on the more momentous 
any concern in that sanguinary and un- | subjects of religion and morality, for new 
christian transaction.* controversialists on frivolous and insignifi- ~ 
Ambrose witnessed and lamented the} cant points of difference. The more im- | 
A.D. 392, death of the young Valentinian, ; portant feuds, as of Nestorianism, made _ 
Deathof over whom he pronounced ἃ | little progress in the West; the West re- _ 
yen funeral oration. On the usur- | pndiated almost with one voice the icon-, 
j "pation of the pagan Eugenius | oclastic opinions; and at length Moham- 
he fled from Milan, but returned to behold | medanism swept away its fairest provin- 
and to applaud the triumph of Theodosius. | ces, and limited the Greek Church to a still Ly 
_ The conquering emperor gave a new proof | narrowing circle. The Latin language mM ot 
of his homage to Christianity and to its | thus became almost that of Christi: uity ; 
representative. Under the influence of | Latin writers the sole authority to which 
Ambrose, he refrained for a time from | men appealed, or from which they imper- 
conimunicating in the Christian myste- | ceptibly imbibed the tone of religious doe. 
ries, because his hands &vere stained with | trine or sentiment. Of these, Augustine 
blood, though that blood had been shed in| was the most universal, the most com- 
a just and necessary war.t ‘lo Ambrose | manding, the most influential. 
the dying emperor conmended The earliest Christian writers had not 
Theodosius. his sons, and the Bishop of Mi- | been able or willing altogether to decline 
A.D. 335 Jan pronounced the funeral ora- | some of the more obvious and prominent 
tion over the last great emperor of the; points of the Augustinian theology ; but 
world. in his works they were first wrought up 
He did not long survive his imperial) into a regular system. Abstriise topics, 
Death or ftiend. It is related that, when; which had been but slightly touched or 
Ambrose, Ambrose was on his. deathbed,|dimly hinted in the apostolic writings, a 
\.).39 Stilicho, apprehending the loss of} and of which the older creeds had been 
ὙΣ Ambros. Fpist. xxiv. ‘The whole transaction entirely silent, became the prominent and 
in Sulpicius Sever., ἢ. H., and Life of St. Martin. Maas oidable tenets of Christian doctrine. 


Death of 


+ Orativ de Obitu Theodos ΡΥ Augustinianism has constantly revived, in 
γ 
‘a 
al ah 
ΠῚ » a 
, “- Υ 


εὐ». 


* 


Frew 


414 


all its strongest and most peremptory 
statements, in every period of religious 
excitement. In later days it formed much 
of the doctrinal system of Luther; it was 
worked up into a still more rigid and un- 
compromising system by the severe intel- 
lect of Calvin; it was remoulded into the 
Roman Catholic doctrine by Jansenius ; 
the popular theology of most of the Prot- 
estant sects is but a modified Augustin- 
ianism. 

Christianity had now accomplished its 
Augustinian Divine mission, so far as impreg- 
theology. nating the Roman world with its 
first principles, the unity of God, the im- 
mortality of the soul, and future retribu- 
tion. These vital questions between the 
old paganism and the new religion had 
been decided by their almost general adop- 
tion into the common sentiments of man- 
kind. And now questions naturally and 
necessarily arising out of the providential 
government of that Supreme Deity, out of 
that conscious immortality, and out of that 
acknowledged retribution, had begun pro- 
foundly to agitate the human heart. The 
nature of man had been stirred in its in- 
most depths. ‘The hopes and fears, now 
centred on another state of being, were 
ever restlessly hovering over the abyss 
into which they were forced to gaze. As 
men were not merely convinced, but deep- 
ly penetrated, with the belief that they had 
souls to be saved, the means, the process, 
the degree of attainable assurance con- 
cerning salvation became subjects of anx- 
ious inquiry. Every kind of information 
on these momentous topics was demand- 
ed with importunity and hailed with ea- 
gerness. With the ancient philosophy, 
the moral condition of man was a much 
simpler and calmer subject of considera- 
tion. It could coldly analyze every emo- 
tion, trace the workings of every passion, 
and present its results ; if in eloquent lan- 
guage, kindling the mind of the hearer 
rather by that language than by the ex- 
citement of the inquiry. It was the at- 
tractive form of the philosophy, the ad- 
ventitious emotion produced by bold para- 
dox, happy invention, acute dialectics, 
which amused and partially enlightened 
the inguisitive mind. But now, mingled 
up with religion, every sensation, every 
feeling, every propensity, every thought, 
had become, not nerely a symptom of the 
moral condition, but an element in that 
state of spiritual advancement or deteri- 
oration which was to be weighed and ex- 
amined in the day of judgment. ‘The ul- 
timate and avowed object of philosophy, 
the swummum bonum, the greatest attaina- 
ble happiness, shrunk into an unimportant 


_ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ν 


‘= 


consideraiion. These were questions of 
spiritual life and death, and the solution 
was therefore embraced rather by the will 
and the passions than by the cool and so- 
ber reason. The solution of these diffi- 
culties was the more acceptable in pro- 
portion as it was peremptory and dogmat- 
ic; anything could be endured rather than 
uncertainty ; and Augustine himself was 
doubtless urged more by the desire of 
peace to his own anxious spirit than by 
the ambition of dictating to Christianity 
on these abstruse topics. ‘The influence 
of Augustine thus concentred the Chris- 
tian mind on subjects to which Christian- 
ity led, but did not answer with fulness 
or precision. The Gospels and apostol- 
ic writings paused within the border of 
attainable human knowledge; Augustine 
fearlessly rushed forward, or was driven 
by his antagonists; and partly from the 
reasonings of a new religious philosophy, 
partly by general inferences from limited 
and particular phrases in the sacred wri- 
tings, framed a complete, it must be ac- 
knowledged, and, as far as its own con- 
sistency, a harmonious system; but of 
which’ it was the inevitable tendency to 
give an overpowering importance to prob- 
lems on which Christianity, wisely meas- 
uring, it should seem, the capacity of the 
human mind, had declined to utter any 
final or authoritative decrees. Almost up 
to this period in Christian history,* on 
these mysterious topics, all was unques- 
tioned and undefined; and though they 
could not but cross the path of Christian 
reasoning, could not but be incidentally 
noticed, they had as yet undergone no 
full or direct investigation. Nothing but 
the calmest and firmest philosophy could 
have avoided or eluded these points, on 
which, though the human mind could not 
attain to knowledge, it-was impatient of 
ignorance. The immediate or more re- 
mote, the direct or indirect, the sensible 
or the imperceptible, influence of the Di- 
vine agency (grace) on the human soul, 
with the inseparable consequences of ne- 
cessity and free-will, thus became the 
absorbing and agitating points of Chris- 
tian doctrine. From many causes, these 
inevitable questions have forced them- 
selves at this period on the general atten- 
tion; Manicheism on one hand, Pelagian- 
ism on the other, stirred up their darkest 


~In the Historia Pelagiana of Vossius may be 
found quotations expressive of the sentiments of 
the earlier fathers on many of these points. ae 6 
whole subject is far better handled in Walch’s Ket- 
zerhistorie, vol. iv., p.519, &c.; Muuscher’s Handb 
der Dogmengesch., vol. iv., p. 170, ἄς. ; and in 
G. F. Wiggers’ Hist. of Augustinianism and Pelagi- 
anism, translated by Prof. Emerson]. 


depths. The Christian mind demanded 
on all these topics at once excitement and 
rest. Nothing could be more acceptable 
than the unhesitating and peremptory de- 
cisions of Augustine; and his profound 
piety ministered perpetual emotion ; his 
glowing and perspicuous language, his con- 
fident dogmatism, and the apparent com- 
pleteness of his system, offered repose. 
But the primary principle of the Au- 
gustinian theology was already deeply 
rooted in the awe-struck piety of the 
Christian world. In this state of the gen- 
eral mind, that which brought the Deity 
more directly and more perpetually in 
contact with the soul, at once enlisted all 
minds which were under the shadow of 
religious fears, or softened by any milder 
religious feeling. It was not a remote 
supremacy, a government through unseen 
and untraceable influences, a general rev- 
erential trust in the Divine protection, 
which gave satisfaction to the agitated 
spirit; but an actually felt and immediate 
presence, operating on each particular and 
most minute part of the creation; not a 
regular and unvarying emanation of the 
Divine will, but a special and peculiar in- 
tervention in each separate case. The 
whole course of human events, and. the 
moral condition of each individual, were 
alike under the acknowledged, or con- 
scious and direct, operation of the Deity. 
But, the more distinct and unquestioned 
this principle, the more the problem which, 
in a different form, had agitated the East- 
ern world—the origin of evil—forced it- 
self on the consideration. There it had 
taken a kind of speculative or theogonical 
turn, and allied itself with physical no- 
tions ; here it became a moral and prac- 
tical, and almost every-day question, in- 
volving the prescience of God and the free. 
dom of the human soul. Augustine had 
rejected Manicheism ; the antagonist and 
equally conflicting powers of that system 


had offended his high conception of the, 


supremacy of God. Still his earlier Man- 
icheism lent an unconscious colouring to 
his maturer opinions.* In another form, 
he divided the world into regions of cloud- 
less light and total darkness. But he did 
not mingle the Deity in any way in the 
darkness which enveloped the whole of 
mankind, a chosen portion of which alone 
were rescued, by the gracious interven- 
ton ofthe Redeemer and the Holy Spirit. 
The rest were separated by an insupera- 
q ebapiets Heat of hereditary evil; they 
‘bore within the fatal and inevitable pro- 
-[* This derivation of the peculiarities of Augus- 
tine’s theory to his early Manicheism is ingenious, 


"a but is it capable of proof ?] 


a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Ἵ 


= 


scription. Within the pale of Election 
was the world of Light; without, the world 
of Perdition ; and the human soul was so 
reduced to a subordinate agent before the 
mysterious and inscrutable power which, 
by the infusion of faith, rescued it from 
its inveterate hereditary propensity, as to 
become entirely passive, altogether anni- 
hilated, in overleaping the profound though 
narrow gulf which divided the two king- 
doms οἵ Grace and of Perdition. 

Thus, that system which assigned the 
most unbounded and universal influence 
to the Deity, was seized upon by devout 
piety as the truth which it would be an 
impious limitation of Omnipotence to™ 
question. Man offered his free agency 
on the altar of his religion, and forgot 
that he thereby degraded the most won- 
derful work of Omnipotence, a being en- 
dowed with free agency. While the in- 
ternal consciousness was not received as 
sufficient evidence of the freedom of tne 
will, it was considered as unquestionable 
testimony to the operations of Divine 
grace. 

At all events, these questions now be- 


came unavoidable articles of the Christian _ 


faith; from this time the simpler Apos- 
tolic Creed, and the splendid amplifica- 
tions of the Divine attributes of the Trin- 
ity, were enlarged, if not by stern defini- 
tions, by dictatorial axioms on original 
sin, on grace, predestination, the total de- 
pravity of mankind, election to everlast- 
ing life, and final reprobation. To the 
appellations which awoke what was con- 
sidered righteous and legitimate hatred in 


all true believers, Arianism and Maniche- —_ 
ism, was now added, as a term of equal 


obloquy, Pelagianism.* 


* The doctrines of Pelagius have been repre- 
sented as arising out of the monastic spirit, or, at 
least, out of one form of its influence. ‘The high 
ideal of moral perfection which the monk set be- 
fore himself, the conscious strength of will which 
was necessary to aspire to that height, the proud 
impatience and disdain of the ordinary excuse for 
infirmity, the inherent weakness and depravity of 
human nature, induced the colder and more severe 
Pelagius to embrace his peculiar tenets: the rejec- 
tion of original sin; the assertion of the entire 
freedom of the will; the denial or limitation of the 
influence of Divine grace. Of the personal history 
of Pelagius little is known except that he was a 
British or French monk (his name is said, in one 
tradition, to have been Morgan); but neither he 
nor his colleague Czlestius appears to have been a 
secluded ascetic; they dwelt in Rome for some 
time, where they propagated their doctrines. Of 
his character perhaps still less is known, unless 
from his tenets, and some fragments of his wri- 
tings preserved by his adversaries. excepting that 
the blamelessness of his manners is admitted by 
his adversaries (the term egregié Christianus 15 
the expression of St. Augustine); and even the vio- 
lent Jerome bears testimony to his innocence of life. 


415° 


— 


416 


Augustine, by the extraordinary adapta- 
tion of his genius to his own age, the com- 
prehensive grandeur of his views, the in- 
tense earnestness of his character, his in- 
exhaustible activity, the vigour, warmth, 
and perspicuity of his style, had a right to 
command the homage of Western Chris- 
tendom. He wasat once the first universal, 
and the purest and most powerful of the 
Latin Christian writers. It is singular 
that almost all the earlier Christian authors 
in the West were provincials, chiefly of 
Africa. But the works of Tertullian were 
in general brief treatises on temporary 
subjects of controversy: if enlivened by 
the natural vehemence and strength of the 
man, disfigured by the worst barbarisms 
of style. ‘Ihe writings of Cyprian were 
chiefly short epistles or treatises On sub- 
jects of immediate or local interest. Au- 
gustine retained the fervour and energy of 
the African style, with much purer and 
more perspicuous Latinity. His ardent 
imagination was tempered by reasoning 


But the tenets of Augustine appear to flow more 
directly from the monastic system. His doctrines 
(in his controversy with Pelagius, for in his other 
writings he holds another tone) are tinged with the 
Encratite or Manichean notion that there was a 
physical transmission of sin in the propagation of 
children, even in lawful marriage.—-(See, ainong 
other writers, Jer. Taylor’s Vindication of his Deus 
Justificatus.) Even this concupiscentia carnis pec. 
catum est, quia inest illi inobedientia contra domi- 
naturn inentis.—De Pecc. Remis., i, 3. This is 
the old doctrine of the inherent evil of matter 
We are astonished that Augustine, who had been a 
father, and a fond father, though of an illegitimate 
son, could be driven by the stern logic of polemics 
to the damnation of unbaptized infants, a milder 
damnation, it is true, to eternal fire. ‘This was the 
more genuine doctrine of men in whose hearts all 
the sweet charities of life had been long seared up 
by monastic discipline; men like Fulgentius, to 
whose name the title of saint is prefixed, and who 
lays down tbis benignant and Christian axiom : 
κε firmissimé tene et nullatenus dubites, parvulos, 
Sive In uteris matram vivere incipiunt, et ibi mori- 
untur, sive cum de matribus nati, sine sacramento 
sancto baptismatis de hoc seculo transeunt, ignis 
@lerni sempiterno supplicio puniendos.”—Fulgentius, 
de itide, quoted in Vossius, Hist. Pelag., p. 257. 

‘The assertion of the entire freedoin of the will, 
and the restricred sense in which Pelagius seems 
to have received the doctrine of Divine grace, con- 
fining ἢν to the influences of the Divine revelation, 
appear to arise out of philosophical reasonings 
rather than ont of the monastic spirit. ‘he se- 
vere monastic discipline was more likely to infuse 
the sense of the slavery of the will; and the brood- 
ing over bodily and: mental emotions, the general 
catise and result of the monastic spirit, would tend 
to exaggerate rather than to question or limit the 
actual, and even sensible workings of the Divine 
spirit within the soul. ‘The calmer temperament, 
indeed, and probably more peaceful religious de- 
velopment of Pelagius, may have disposed him to 
his system ; as the more vehement character and 
agitated religious life of Augustine, to his vindica- 
tion, founded on his internel experience of the con- 
stant Divine agency upon the heart and the soul. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Ἐ ᾿ 
powers which boldly grappled with every 
subject. He possessed and was uneim- 
barrassed by the possession of all the 
knowledge which had been accumulated 
in the Roman world. He commanded the 
whole range of Latin literature, and per- 
haps his influence over his own hemi- 
sphere was not diminished by his igno- 
rance, Or, at best, imperfect and late-ac- 
quired acquaintance with Greek.* But all 
his knowledge and all his acquirements 
fell into the train of his absorbing religious 
sentiments or passions. On the subjects 
with which he was conversant, a calm 
and dispassionate philosophy would have 
been indignantly repudiated by the Chris- 
tian mind, and Augustine’s temperament 
was too much in harmony with that of the 
time to offend by deficiency in fervour. It 
was profound religious agitation, not cold 
and abstract truth, which the age required ; 
the emotions of piety rather than the con- 
victions of severe logical inquiry; and in 
Augustine, the depth or abstruseness of the 
matter never extinguished or allayed the 
passion, or, in one sense, the popularity of 
his style. At different periods of his life, 
Augustine aspired to and succeeded in en- 
thralling all the various powers and facul- 
ties of the human mind. That life was 
the type of his theology: and as it passed 
through its various changes of age, of cir- 
cumstance, and of opinion, it left its own 
impressions strongly and permanently 
stamped upon the whole Latin Christian- 
ity. The gentleness of his childhood, the 
passions of his youth, the studies of his 
adolescence, the wilder dreams of his im- 
mature Christianity, the Manicheisim, the 
intermediate stage of Platonism, through 
which he passed into orthodoxy, the fer- 
vour with which he embraced, the vigour 
with which he developed, the unhesitating 
confidence with which he enforced his 
final creed, all affected more or less the 
general mind. His Confessions became 
the manual of all those who were forced 
by their temperament or inclined by their 
disposition to brood over the inward sen- 
sations of their own minds; to trace within 
themselves all the trepidations, the mis- 
givings, the agonies, the exultations of 
the religious conscience ; the gradual for- 
mation of opinions till they harden into 
dogmas, or warm into objects of ardent 
passion. Since Augustine, this internal 
autobiography of the soul has always had 
the deepest interest for those of strong re- 
ligious convictions; it was what multi- 


* On St. Augustine’s knowledge of Greek, com- 
vare Tillemont, in his Life, p. 7. Punte was still 
spoken by the common people in the neighbour- 
hood of Carthage. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tudes had felt, but no one had yet imbodied 
in words; it was the appalling yet attract- 
ive manner in which men beheld all the 
conflicts and adventures of their own 
spiritual life reflected with bold and speak- 
ing truth. Men shrunk from the Divine 
and unapproachable image of Christian 
rfection in the life of the Redeemer, to 
the more earthly, more familiar picture of 
the development of the Christian charac- 
ter, crossed with the light and shade of 
human weakness and human passion. ° 

The religious was. more eventful than 
the civil life of St. Augustine. He was 
born A.D, 354, in Tagasta, an episcopal 
city of Numidia. His parents were Chris- 
tians of respectable rank. In his child- 
hood he was attacked by a dangerous ill- 
ness; he entreated to be baptized; his 
mother Monica took the alarm; all was 
prepared for that solemn ceremony ; but 
on his recovery it was deferred, and Au- 
gustine remained for some years.in the 
humbler rank of catechumen. He received 
the best education in grammar and rhet- 
oric which the neighbouring city of Ma- 

daura could afford.. At seventeen 
A-D-371- he was sent to Carthage to finish 
his studies. Augustine has, perhaps, high- 
ly coloured both the idleness of his period 
of study in Madaura, and the licentious 
habits to which he abandoned-himself in 
the dissolute city of Carthage. His ardent 
mind plunged into the intoxicating enjoy- 
ments of the theatre, and his excited pas- 
sions demanded every kind of gratification. 
He had a natural son, called by the some- 
what inappropriate name A-deo-datus.. He 
was first arrested in his sensual course, 
not by the solemn voice of religion, but by 
the gentler remonstrances of pagan litera- 
ture. He learned from Cicero, not from 
the Gospel, the higher dignity of intellect- 
ual attainments. From his brilliant suc- 
cess in his studies, it is clear that his life, 
if yielding at times to the temptations of 
youth, was not a course of indolence or 
total abandonment to pleasure. It. was 
the Hortensius of Cicero which awoke his 
mind to nobler aspirations and the con- 
tempt of worldly enjoyments. 

But philosophy could not satisfy the 
lofty desires which it had awakened: he 
panted for some better hopes and more 
satisfactory objects of study. He turned 
to the religion of his parents, but his mind 
was not subdued to a feeling for the in- 
imitable beauty of the New Testament. 
Its simplicity of style appeared rude after 
the stately march of Tully’s eloquence. 


But Manicheism seized at once upon his. 


kindled imagination: For nine years, from 
the age of nineteen to twenty-eight, the 
ar 


@ 


- 
> 


417 


mind of Augustine wandered among the 
vague and fantastic reveries of Oriental 
theology. The virtuous and holy Monica, 
with the anxious apprehensions and pre- 
scient hopes of a mother’s heart, watched 
over the irregular development of his 
powerful mind. Her distress at his Man- 
ichean errors was consoled by. an aged 
bishop, who had himself been involved in 


the same opinions, ‘“ Be of good cheer, 


the child of so many tears cannot perish.” 


| The step against which she remonstrated 


most strongly led to that result which 
she scarcely dared to hope. Augustine 
grew discontented with the wild Mani- 
chean doctrines, which neither satisfied 
the religious yearnings of his heart, nor the 
philosophical demands of his understand- 
ing. He was in danger of falling into a 
desperate. Pyrrhonism, -or, at best, the 
proud indifference of an Academic. He 
determined to seek a more distinguished 
sphere for his talents as a teacher of rhet- 
oric; and, notwithstanding his mother’s 
tears, he left Carthage for Rome. κα. Ὁ. 488. 
The fame of his talents obtained #tat. 29. 
him an invitation to teach at Milan. He 
was there within the magic circle of the 
great ecclesiastic of the West., But 
we cannot pause to.trace the throes ee 
and pangs of his. final conversion. The 
writings of St..Paul accomplished what 
the eloquence of Ambrose-had begun. In 
one of the paroxysms of his religious 
agony, he seemed to hear ‘a voice from 
heaven, “ Take and read, take and read.” 
Till now he had rejected the writings of 
the apostles; he opened on the passage 
which contains the awful denunciations of 
Paul against the dissolute morals of the 
heathen. The conscience. of Augustine 
recognised.“ in the chambering and wan- 
tonness” the fearful picture of his own 
life; for, though he had abandoned the 
looser indulgences of his youth (he had 
lived in strict fidelity, not to a lawful wife 
indeed, but to a concubine), even his 
mother was anxious to disengage him, by 
an honourable marriage, from the bonds 
of a less legitimate connexion. But he 
burst at once his thraldom; shook his old 
nature from his. heart;.renounced forever 
all, even lawful indulgences, of the carnal 
desires ; forswore the world, and with- 
drew himself, though without exciting any 
unnecessary astonishment among his hear- 
ers, from his. profaner function as teacher 
of rhetoric. His mother, who had paptism of 
followed -him to Milan, lived to seen 

witness his baptism as a Catholic.“ °°" 

Christian by the hands of Ambrose; and 
in all the serene happiness of her accom- 
plished hopes and prayers, expired in his 


a 


418 ᾿ 


arms before his return to Africa. 
son, Adeodatus, who died a few years 
afterward, was baptized at the same time. 

To return to the writings of St. Augus- 
Controver-. tine, or, rather, to his life in his 
sial writings. writings. In his controversial 
treatises against the Manicheans and 
against Pelagius, Augustine had the pow- 
er of seemingly, at least, bringing down 
those abstruse subjects to popular com- 
prehension. His vehement and intrepid 


dogmatism hurried along the unresisting 


mind, which was allowed no pause for the 
sober examination of difficulties, or was 
awed into acquiescence by the still sus- 
pended charge of impiety. The imagina- 
tion was at the same time kept awake by 
arich vein of allegoric interpretation, dic- 
tated by the same bold decision, and en- 
forced as necessary conclusions from the 
sacred writings, or latent truths intention- 
ally wrapped up in those mysterious 
phrases. 

The City of God was unquestionably the 
noblest work, both in its original 
design and in the fulness of its 
elaborate execution, which the genius of 
man had as yet contributed to the support 
of Christianity. Hitherto the Apologies 
had been framed to meet particular exi- 
gences: they were either brief and preg- 
nant statements of the Christian doctrines; 
refutations of prevalent calumnies ; invec- 
tives against the follies and crimes of pa- 
ganism ; or confutations of anti-Christian 
works, like those of Celsus, Porphyry, or 
Julian, closely following their course of 
argument, and rarely expanding into gen- 
eral and comprehensive views of the great 
conflict. The City of God, in the first 
place, indeed, was designed to decide for- 
ever the one great question, which alone 
kept in suspense the balance between pa- 
ganism and Christianity, the connexion 
between the fall of the empire and the 
miseries under which the whole Roman 
society was groaning, with the desertion 
of the ancient religion of Rome. Even 
‘this part of his theme led Augustine into a 
full, and, ifnot impartial, yet far more com- 
prehensive survey of the whole religion 
and philosophy of antiquity, than had been 
yet displayed in any Christian work. It 
has preserved more on some branches of 
these subjects than the whole surviving 
Latin literature. The City of God was not 
merely a defence, it was likewise an ex- 
position of Christian doctrine. The last 
twelve books developed the whole system 
with a regularity and copiousness, as far 
as we know, never before attempted by 
any Christian writer. It was the first 
complete Christian theology. 


- 


City of God. 


His | 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


The immediate occasion of this impor- 
tant work of Augustine was wor- ἙΝ 
thy of this powerful concentration “~*~ * 
of his talents and knowledge. The cap- 
ture of Rome by the Goths had Oecasion of 
appalled the whole empire. So its composi- 
long as the barbarians only broke ''°" 
through the frontiers, or severed province 
after province from the dominion of the 
emperor, men could close their eyes to the 
gradual declension and decay of the Ro- 
man supremacy ; andin the rapid alterna- 
tions of power, the empire, under some 
new Cesar or Constantine, might again 
throw back the barbaric inroads ; or where 
the barbarians were settled within the 
frontiers, awe them into peaceful subjects, 
or array them as valiant defenders of their 
dominions. As long as both Romes, more 
especially the ancient city of the West, 
remained inviolate, so long the fabrie of 
the Roman greatness seemed unbroken, 


and she might still assert her title as mis- Ὁ 


tress of the world. The capture of Rome 
dissipated forever these proud illusions ; 
it struck the Roman world to the heart ; 
and in the mortal agony of the old social 
system, men wildly grasped at every cause 
which could account for this unexpected, 
this inexplicable phenomenon. They were 
as much overwhelmed with dread and 
wonder as if there had been no previous 
omens of decay, no slow and progressive 


approach to the sacred walls; as if the © 


fate of the city had not been already twice 
suspended by the venality, the mercy, or 
the prudence of the conqueror. Murmurs 
were again heard impeaching the new re- 
ligion as the cause of this disastrous con- 
summation: the deserted gods had de- 
serted in their turn the apostate city.* 
There seems no doubt that pagan cer- 
emonies took place in the hour of peril, 
to avert, if possible, the imminent ruin. 
The respect paid by the barbarians to the 
churches might, in the zealous or even the 
wavering votaries of paganism, strengthen 
the feeling of some remote connexion be- 
tween the destroyer of the civil power 
and the destroyer of the ancient religions. 
The Roman aristocracy, which fled to dif- 
ferent parts of the world, more particu- 
larly to the yet peaceful and uninvaded 
province of Africa, and among whom the 
feelings of attachment to the institutions 


* Orosius attempted the same theme: the pa- 
gans, he asserts, ‘‘ presentia tantum tempora, ve- 
luti malis extra solitum infestissima, ob hoc solum, 
quod creditur Christus, et colitur, idola autem mi- 
nus coluntur, infamant,” -Heyne has well observed 
on this work of Orosius: Excitaverat Augustini 
vibrantis arma exemplum Orosium, discipulum, ut 
et ipse arma sumeret, etsi imbellibus manibus — 
Opuscula, vi., p. 130, 


atte 


᾿ 


ς ἢ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


and to the gods of Rome were still the 
strongest, were not likely to suppress the 
language of indignation and sorrow, or to 


refrain from the extenuation of their own | 


cowardice and effeminacy, by ascribing 
the fate of the city to the irresistible pow- 
er of the alienated deities. 

Augustine dedicated thirteen years to 
A.D. 413 the completion of this work, which 
to 426. was forever to determine this sol- 
emn question, and to silence the last mur- 
‘murs of expiring paganism. ‘The City of 
God is at once the funeral oration of the 
ancient society, the gratulatory panegyric 
on the birth of the new. It acknowledged, 
it triumphed in the irrevocable fall of the 
Babylon of the West, the shrine of idol- 
atry; it hailed at the same time the uni- 
versal dominion which awaited the new 
theocratic polity. The earthly city had 
undergone its predestined fate; it had 
passed away with all its vices and super- 
 Stitions, with all its virtues and its glories 
(for the soul of Augustine was not dead to 
the noble reminiscences of Roman great- 
ness). with its false gods and its heathen 
sacrifices : its doom was sealed, and for- 
ever. But in its place had arisen the City 
of God, the Church of Christ ; a new so- 
cial system had emerged from the ashes 
of the old; that system was founded by 
God, was ruled by Divine laws, and had 
the Divine promise of perpetuity. 

The first ten books are devoted to the 
question of the connexion between the 
prosperity and the religion of Rome; five 
to the influence of paganism in this world ; 
five to that in the worldtocome. | Augus- 
tine appeals in the first five to the mercy 
shown by the conqueror, as the triumph 
of Christianity. Had the pagan Radagai- 
sus taken Rome, not a life would have 
been spared, no place would have been 
sacred. The Christian Alaric had been 
checked and overawed by the sanctity of 
the Christian character, and his respect 
for his Christian brethren. He denies 
that worldly prosperity is an unerring 
sign of the Divine favour; he denies the 
exemption of the older Romans from dis- 
grace and distress, and recapitulates the 
crimes and the calamities of their history 
during their worship of their ancient gods. 
He ascribes their former glory to their 
valour, their frugality, their contempt of 
wealth, their fortitude, and their domes- 
tic virtues; he assigns their vices, their 
frightful profligacy of manners, their pride, 
their luxury, their effeminacy, as the prox- 
imate causes oftheir ruin. Even in their 
ruin they could not forget their dissolute 
amusements; the theatres of Carthage 
were crowded with the fugitives from 


* 


419 


Rome. In the five following books he 
examines the pretensions of heathenism 
to secure felicity in the world to come; 
he dismisses with contempt the old pop- 
ular religion, but seems to consider the 
philosophic Theism, the mystic Platonism 
of the later period, a worthier antagonist. 
He puts forth all his subtlety and power 
in refutation of these tenets. 

The last twelve books place in contrast 
the origin, the pretensions, the fate of the 
new city, that of God: he enters at large 
into the evidences of Christianity; he 
describes the sanctifying effects of the 
faith, but pours forth all the riches of his 
imagination. and. eloquence on the des- 
tinies of the Church at the resurrection. 
Augustine had no vision of the worldly 
power of the new city; he foresaw not 
the spiritual empire of Rome which would 
replace the new-fallen Rome of heathen- 
ism, With him the triumph of Christian- 
ity is not complete till the world itself, — 
not merely its outward framework of so- 
ciety and the constitution of its kingdoms, 
has experienced a total change. In the 
description of the final kingdom of Christ, 
he treads his way with great dexterity and 
address between the grosser notions of 
the Millenarians, with their kingdom of 
earthly wealth, and power, and luxury 
(this he repudiates with devout abhor- 
rence) ; and that finer and subtler spirit- 
ualism which is ever approaching to pan- 
theism, and, by the rejection of the bodily 
resurrection, renders the existence of the 
disimbodied spirit too fine and impalpable 
for the general apprehension. 

The uneventful personal life of St. Au- 
gustine, at least till towards its Lite of 
close, contrasts with that of Am- Augustine. 
brose and Chrysostom. After the first 
throes and travail of his religious life, de- 
scribed with such dramatic fidelity in his 
Confessions, he subsided into a peaceful 
bishop in a remote and rather inconsider- 
able town.* He had not, like Ambrose, 
to interpose between rival emperors, or to 
rule the conscience of the universal sov- 
ereign ; or, like Chrysostom, to enter into 
a perilous conflict with the vices of a cap- 
ital and the intrigues of a court. Forced 
by the devout admiration of the people to 
assume the episcopate in the city of Hip- 
po, he was faithful to his first bride, his 
earliest, though humble see. Not that his 
life was that of contemplative inactivity 
or tranquil literary exertion; his personal 
conferences with the leaders of the Do- 
natists, the Manicheans, the Arians, and 

* He was thirty-five before he was ordained 
presbyter, A.D. 389: he was chosen coadjutor to 
the Bishop of Hippo, A.D, 395. 


ahs 
4 


> 


é 


- 
et Tos 


420 


Pelagians, and his presence in the councils 
of Carthage, displayed his power of deal- 
ing with men. His letter to Count Bon- 
iface showed that he was not unconcern- 
ed with the public affairs ; and his former 
connexion with Boniface, who at one time 
had expressed his determination to em- 
brace the monastic life, might warrant 
his remonstrance against the fatal revolt, 
which involved Boniface and Africa in 
ruin. 

At the close of his comparatively peace- 
ful life, Augustine was exposed to the trial 
of his severe and lofty principles; his 
faith and his superiority to the world 
were brought to the test im the fearful ca- 
amities which desolated the whole Afri- 

n province. No part of the empire had 
so long escaped; no part was so fearfully 
visited as Africa by the invasion of the 
Vandals. The once prosperous and fruit- 
ful region presented to the view only ru- 
ined cities, burning villages, a population 
d by the sword, bowed to slavery, 
exposed to every kind of torture and 
mutilation. With these fierce barbarians 
the awful presence of Christianity impo- 
sed no respect. The churches were not 
exempt from the general ruin, the bishops 
and clergy from cruelty and death, the 
dedicated virgins from worse than death. 
In many places the services of religion 
entirely ceased from the extermination 


a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of the worshippers or the flight of the 
priests. To Augustine, as the supreme 
authority in matters of faith or conduct, 
was submitted the grave question of the 
course to be pursued by the clergy ; wheth- 
er they were to seek their own security, 
or to confront the sword of the ravager. 
The advice of Augustine was at once 
lofty and discreet. Where the flock re- 
mained, it was cowardice, it was impiety 
in the clergy to desert them, and to de- 
prive them in those diastrous times of 
the consolatory offices of religion, their 
children of baptism, themselves of the 
holy Eucharist. But where the priest 
was an especial object of persecution, 
and his place might be supplied by anoth-. 
er; where the flock was massacred or 
dispersed, or had abandoned their homes, 
the clergy might follow them, and, if pos- 
sible, provide for their own security. 

Augustine did not fall below his own 
high notions of Christian, of episcopal 
duty. When the Vandal army gathered 
around Hippo, one of the few cities which 
still afforded a refuge for the persecuted 
provincials, he refused, though more than 
seventy years old, to abandon his post. 
In the third month of the siege , p 430 
he was released by death, and es- Ὁ ὁ ὁῸὃῸϑΟὃ 
eaped the horrors of the capture, the cru- 
elties of the conqueror, and the desolation 
of his church.* 


CHAPTER IV. 


JEROME. 


Txuoveu not so directly or magisterially 
dominant over the Christianity of 
the West, the influence of Jerome 
has been of scarcely less importance than 
that of Augustine. Jerome was the con- 
necting link between the East and the 
West; through him, as it were, passed 
over into the Latin hemisphere of Chris- 
tendom that which was still necessary for 
its permanence and independence during 
the succeeding ages. The time of separ- 
ation approached, when the Eastern and 
Western empires, the Latin and the Greek 


Jerome. 


- languages, were to divide the world. West- 


ern Christianity was to form an entirely 
separate system; the different nations 
and kingdoms which were to arise out of 
the wreck of the Roman empire were to 
Maintain each its national church, but 
there was to be a permanent centre of 
unity in that of Rome, considered as the 
common parent and federal head of West- 


THE MONASTIC SYSTEM. 


ern Christendom. But before this vast 
and silent revolution took place, certain 
preparations, in which Jerome was chief- 
ly instrumental, gave strength, and har- 
mony, and vitality to the religion of the 
West, from which the precious inherit- 
ance has been secured to modern Europe. 

The two leading transactions in which 
Jerome took the effective part were, Ist, 
The introduction, or, at least, the general 
reception, of Monachism in the West ; 2d, 
The establishment of an authoritative and 
universally recognised version of the sa- 
cred writings into the Latin language. 
For both these important services Je- 
rome qualified himself by his visits to the 
East; he was probably the first Occi- 
dental (though born in Dalmatia, he may 
be almost considered a Roman, having 

* In the life of Augustine, I have chiefly consult- 
ed that prefixed to his works, and Tillemont, with 
the passages in his Confessions and Epistles. 


. 


ot 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


passed all his youth in that city) who be- 
came completely naturalized and domi- 
ciliated in Judea; and his example, 
though it did not originate, strengthened 
to an extraordinary degree the passion 
for pilgrimages to the Holy Land; a sen- 
timent in later times productive of such 
vast and unexpected results. In the ear- 
lier period, the repeated devastations of 
that devoted country, and still more its 


occupation by the Jews, had overpowered | 


the natural veneration of the Christians 
for the scene of the life and sufferings of 
the Redeemer. It was an accursed rath- 
er than a holy region, desecrated by the 
presence of the murderers of the Lord, 
rather than endeared by the reminiscences 
of his personal ministry and expiatory 
death. The total ruin of the Jews, and 
their expulsion from Jerusalem by Hadri- 
an ; their dispersion into other lands, with 
the simultaneous progress of Christianity 
in Palestine, and their settlement in Alia, 
the Roman Jerusalem, notwithstanding 
the profanation of that city by idolatrous 
emblems, allowed those more gentle and 
sacred feelings to grow up in strength 
and silence.* Already, before the time 
of Jerome, pilgrims had flowed from all 
quarters of the world; and during his life, 
whoever had attained to any proficiency 
in religion, in Gaul, or in the secluded isl- 
and of Britain, was eager to obtain a per- 
sonal knowledge of these hallowed places. 
They were met by strangers from Arme- 
nia, Persia, India (the Southern Arabia), 
Athiopia, the countless monks of Egypt, 
and from the whole of Western Asia.t 
Yet Jerome was no doubt the most influ- 
ential pilgrim to the Holy Land; the in- 
creasing and general desire to visit the 
soil printed, as it were, with the foot- 


* Augustine asserts that the whole world flocked 
to Bethlehem to see the place of Christ’s nativity, 
t.i., p. 561. Pilgrimages, according to him, were 
undertaken to Arabia to see the dung-heap on 
which Job sat, t. ii, p. 59. For 180 years, accord- 
ing to Jerome, from Hadrian to Constantine, the 
statue of Jupiter occupied the place of the resur- 
rection, and a statue of Venus was worshipped on 
the rock of Calvary. Butas the object of Hadrian 
was to insult the Jewish, not the Christian, reli- 
gion, it seems not very credible that these two sites 
should be chosen for the heathen temples.—Hier- 
onym., Oper., Epist. xlix., p. 505. 

+ Quicunque in Gallia fuerat primus huc prope- 
rat. Divisus ab orbe nostros Britannus, si in reli- 
gione processerit, occiduo sole dimisso, quzrit lo- 
cum fama sibi tantum, et Scripturarum relatione 
cognitum. Quid referamus Armenios, quid Persas, 
quid Indiz, quid Athiopie populos, ipsamque juxta 
ALecyptum, fertilem monachorum, Pontum et Cap- 
padociam, Syriam, Cretam, et Mesopotamiam cunc- 
taque Orientis examina. This is the letter of a Ro- 
man female, Paula.—Hieronym., Oper., Epist. xliv., 
Ρ. 551. 


ων , ᾧ 


ΠΑ » 
΄ ᾿ ᾿ τῷ a ΜῈ 


a wet γ 


x 


421 


steps, and moist with the redeeming 
blood of the Saviour, may be traced to 
his writings, which opened, as it were, a 
constant and easy communication, and 
established an intercourse, more or less 
regularly maintained, between Western 
Europe and Palestine.* 

But besides this subordinate, if indeed 
subordinate, effect of Jerome’s peculiar po- 
sition between the East and West, he was 
thence both incited and enabled to accom- 
plish his more immediately influential un- 
dertakings. In Palestine and in Egypt, 
Jerome became himself deeply imbued 
with the spirit of Monachism, and labour- 
ed with all his zeal to awaken the more 
tardy West to rival Egypt and Syria in 


displaying this sublime perfection of Chris- — 


+ ὅν 


By his letters, descriptive of the 


tianity. 
purity, the sanctity, the total estrange- © 
ment from the deceitful world in these 
blessed retirements, he kindled the holy 
emulation, especially of the females, in 
Rome. 
families embraced with contagious fervou 
the monastic life ; and though the populo 
districts in the neighbourhood of the μὴ 
tropolis were not equally favourable for 
retreat, yet they attempted to practise the 
rigid observances of the desert in the midst 
of the busy metropolis. 

For the second of his great achieve- 
ments, the version of the sacred Serip- 
tures, Jerome derived inestimable advan- 
tages, and aequired unprecedented author- 
ity, by his intercourse with the East. His 
residence in Palestine familiarized him 
with the language and peculiar habits of 
the sacred writers. He was the first Chris- 
tian writer of note who thought it worth 
while to study Hebrew. Nor was it the 


language alone; the customs, the topog- 


* See the glowing description of all the religious 
wonders in the Holy Land in the Epitaphium Pau- 
le. An epistle, however, of Gregory of Nyssen 
strongly remonstrates against pilgrimages to the 
Holy Land, even from Cappadocia. He urges the 
dangers and suspicions to which pious recluses. 
especially women, would be subject with male at- 
tendants, either strangers or friends, on a lonely 
road ; the dissolute words and sights which may 
be unavoidable in the inns; the dangers of robberv 
and violence in the Holy Land itself, of the moral 
state of which he draws a fearful picture. He as- 
serts the religious superiority of Cappadocia, which 
had more churches than any part of the world; 
and inquires, in plain terms, whether a man will 
believe the virgin birth of Christ the more by see- 
ing Bethlehem, or his resurrection by visiting his 
tomb, or his ascension by standing on the Mount of 
Olives.—Greg. Nyss , de eunt. Hieros. _ 

The authenticity of this epistie is indeed con 
tested by Roman Catholic writers ; but I can see 
no internal evidence against its genuineness. Je- 
rome’s more sober letter to Paulinus, Epist. xxix., 


vol. iv., p. 563, should also be compared. 


Matrons and virgins of patrician — 


ἮΝ 


ae 
᾿ 


vie 


422 


raphy, the traditions of Palestine were 
carefully collected and applied by Jerome, 
if not always with the soundest judgment, 
yet occasionally with great felicity and 
success, to the illustration of the sacred 
writings. | , 
The influence of Monachism upon the 
Monachism, ™auners, opinions, and general 
~~" character of Christianity, as well 
as that of the Vulgate translation of the 
Bible, not only on the religion, but on the 
literature of Europe, appear to demand a 


' more extensive investigation; and as Je- 


rome, if not the representative, was the 
great propagator of Monachism in the 
West, and as about this time this form of 
Christianity overshadowed and dominated 
throughout the whole of Christendom, it 
will be a fit occasion, although we have in 
former parts of this work not been able 
altogether to avoid it, to develop more 
fully its origin and principles. 

It is singular to see this Oriental influ- 
ence successively enslaving two religions, 
in their origin and in their genius so totally 
opposite to Monachism as Christianity and 
the religion of Mohammed. Both gradual- 
ly and unreluctantly yield to the slow and 
inevitable change. Christianity, with very 
slight authority from the precepts, and 
none from the practice of the Author and 
first teachers, admitted this without in- 
quiry as the perfection and consummation 
ofitsown theory. Its advocates and their 
willing auditors equally forgot that if 
Christ and his apostles had retired into 
the desert, Christianity would never have 
spread beyond the wilderness of Judea. 
‘The transformation which afterward took 
place of the fierce Arab marauder, or the 
proselyte to the martial creed of the Ko- 
ran, into a dreamy dervish, was hardly 
more violent and complete than that of the 
disciple of the great example of Christian 
virtue, or of the active and popular Paul, 
into a solitary anchorite. 

Still that which might appear most ad- 
verse to the universal dissemina- 
tion of Christianity eventually 

tended to its entire and permanent incor- 
poration with the whole of society. When 
Eremitism gave place to Ccenobitism, 
when the hermitage grew up into a con- 
vent, the establishment of these religious 
fraternities in the wildest solitudes gather- 
»ed round them a Christian community, or 
‘spread, as it were, a gradually-increasing 
belt of Christian worship, which was main- 
tained by the spiritual services of the 
monks, who, though not generally ordain- 
ed as ecclesiastics, furnished a constant 
supply for ordination. In this manner the 
rural districts, which in most parts, long 


Cenobitism, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


after Christianity had gained the predom- 
inance in the towns, remained attached by 
undisturbed habit to the ancient supersti- 
tion, were slowly brought within the pale 
of the religion. ‘The monastic communi- 
ties commenced in the more remote and 
less populous districts of the Roman world, 
that ameliorating change which, at later 
times, they carried on beyond the frontiers. 
As afterward they introduced civilization 
and Christianity among the barbarous 
tribes of North Germany or Poland, so 
now they continued in all parts a quiet but 
successful aggression on the lurking pa- 
ganism. 

Monachism was the natural result of 
the incorporation of Christian- origin of 
ity with the prevalent opinions Monachism. 
of mankind, and, in part, of the state of 
profound excitement into which it had 
thrown the human mind. We have traced 
the universal predominance of the great 
principle, the inherent evil of matter. 
This primary tenet, as well of the East- 
ern religions as of the Platonism of the’ 
West, coincided with the somewhat am- 
biguous use of the term world in the sa- 
cred writings. Both were alike the irre- 
claimable domain of the Adversary of 
good. The importance assumed by the 
soul, now through Christianity become 
profoundly conscious of its immortality, 
tended to the same end. The deep and 
serious solicitude for the fate of that ever- 
lasting part of our being, the concentra- 
tion of all its energies on its own indi- 
vidual welfare, withdrew it entirely with- 
in itself. A kind of sublime selfishness 
excluded all subordinate considerations.* 
The only security against the corruption 
which environed it on all sides seemed 
entire alienation from the contagion of 
matter; the constant mortification, the 
extinction, if possible, of those senses 
which were necessarily keeping up a dan- 
gerous and treasonable correspondence 
with the external universe. On the other 
hand, entire estrangement from the rest 
of mankind, included in the. proscribed 
and infectious world, appeared no less in- 
dispensable. Communion with God alone 
was at once the sole refuge and perfection 


* It is remarkable how rarely, if ever (I cannot 
call to mind an instance), in the discussions on the 
comparative merits of marriage and celibacy, the 
social advantages appear to have occurred to the 
mind; the benefit to mankind of raising up a race 
born from Christian parents and brought up in 
Christian principles. It is always argued with re- 
lation to the interests and the perfection of the in- 
dividual soul; and even with regard to that, the 
writers seem almost unconscious of the softening 
and humanizing effect of the natural affections, the 
beauty of parental tenderness and filial love. 


Pe 
τι 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of the abstracted spirit; prayer the sole 
unendangered occupation, alternating only 
with that coarse industry which. might 
give employment to the refractory mem- 
bers, and provide that scanty sustenance 
required by the inalienable infirmity of 
corporeal existence. The fears and the 
hopes were equally wrought upon: the 
fear of defilement, and, consequently, of 
eternal perdition; the hope of attaining 
the serene enjoyment of the Divine pres- 
ence in the life to come. If any thought 
of love to mankind, as an unquestionable 
duty entailed by Christian brotherhood, 
intruded on the isolated being thus labour- 
ing on the single object, his own spiritual 
perfection, it found a vent in prayer for 
their happiness, which excused all more 
active or effective benevolence. 
On both principles, of course, mar- 
Celibavy riage was inexorably condemned.* 
’ Some expressions in the writings 
of St, Paul,t and emulation of the Gnostic 
᾿ sects, combining with these general senti- 
ments, had very early raised celibacy into 
the highest of Christian virtues : marriage 
was a necessary evil, and inevitable in- 
_firmity of the weaker brethren. With the 
more rational and earlier writers, Cyprian, 
Athanasius, and even in occasional pas- 
sages in Ambrose or Augustine, it had its 
own high and peculiar excellence; but 
even with them, virginity, the absolute 
estrangement from all sensual indulgence, 
was the transcendent virtue, the presump- 
tion of the angelic state, the approxima- 
tion to the beatified existence. 
Everything conspired to promote, no- 


* There is a sensible and judicious book, entitled 
“Die Entfiuhrung der Erzwungenen Ehelosigkeit 
bei dem Christlichen und ihre Folge,” von J. A. und 
Aug. Theiner, Altenburg, 1828, which enters fully 
into the origin and consequences of celibacy in the 
whole Church. 

ἘΠ agree with Theiner (p, 24) in considering 
these precepts local and temporary, relating to the 
especial circumstances of those whom Sf. Paul ad- 
dressed. - 

+ The general tone was that of the vehement Je- 
rome. There must not only be vessels of gold and 
silver, but of wood and earthenware. This con- 
temptuons admission of the necessity of the marri- 
ed life distinguished the orthodox from the Mani- 
chean, the Montanist, and the Encratite.—Jerom, 
adv. Jovin., p. 146. 

The sentiments of the fathers on marriage and 
virginity may be thus briefly stated. [ am not speak- 
ing with reference to the marriage of the clergy, 
which will be considered hereafter. 

The earlier writers, when they are contending 
with the Gnostics, though they elevate virginity 
above marriage, speak very strongly on the folly, 
and even impiety, of prohibiting or disparaging law- 
ful wedlock. They acknowledge and urge the ad- 
mitted fact that several of the apostles were marri- 
ed. This is the tone of Ignatius (Cotel., Pat. Apost., 
ii., 77), of Tertullian (licebat et apostolis nubere et 


423 


thing remained to counteract, this powerful 
impulse. In the East this seclusion from 
the world was by no means uncommon. 
Even among the busy and restless Greeks, 
some of the philosophers had 
asserted the privilege of wis- 
dom to stand aloof from the 
rest of mankind; the question 
of the superior excellence of the active 
or the contemplative life had been agi- 
tated on equal terms. But in some re- 
gions of the East, the sultry and oppress- 
ive heats, the general relaxation of the 
physical system, dispose constitutions of 
a certain temperament to ἃ dreamy inert- 
ness. The indolence and prostration of 
the body produce a kind of activity in the 
mind, if that may properly be called activ- 
ity which is merely giving loose to the 
imagination and the emotions, as they fol- 
low out a wild train of incoherent thought, 
or are agitated by impulses of spontaneous 
and ungoverned feeling. Ascetic Christi- 
anity ministered new aliment to this com- 
mon propensity; it gave an object both 
vague and determinate enough to stimu- 
late, yet never to satisfy orexhaust. The 
regularity of stated hours of prayer, and of 
a kind of idle industry, weaving mats or 
plaiting baskets, alternated with periods 
of morbid reflection on the moral state of 
the soul, and of mystic communion with 
$$ 
uxores circumducere.—De Exhort. Castit.), above 
all, of Clement of Alexandrea. 

In the time of Cyprian, vows of virginity were 
not irrevocable. Si autem perseverare nolunt, vel 
non possunt, melius est ut nubant, quam in ignem 
delictis suis cadant,—Epist. 62. And his general 
language, more particularly histract de Habitu Vir- 
ginum, implies that strong discipline was necessary 
to restrain the dedicated virgins from the vanities 
of the world. _ 

But in the fourth century the eloquent fathers 
vie with each other in exalting the transcendent, 
holy, angelic virtue of virginity. Every one of the 
more distinguished writers, Basil, the two Grego- 
ries, Ambrose, Augustine, Chrysostom, has a trea- 
tise or treatises upon virginity, on which he ex- 
pands with all the glowing language which he can 
command. It became a common doctrine that sex- 
ual intercourse was the sign and the consequence 
of the fall; they forgot that the command to ‘* in- 
crease and multiply” is placed in the book of Gen- 
sis (1., 28) before the fall. 

We have before (p. 393) quoted passages from 
Greg. of Nazianzum. Gregory of Nyssa says: 7do- 
vy OL ἀπάτης ἐγγινόμενη τῆς ἐκπτώσεως ἤρξατο--- 
ἐν ἀνομίαις ἐστὶν ἡ σύλληψις, ἐν ἁμαρτίαις ἡ κύη- 
owg.—Greg, Nyss., de Virgin., c.12,c. 13, But Je- 
rome is the most vehement of all: Nuptiz terram~ 
replent, virginitas Paradisum, ‘The unclean beasts’ 
went by pairs into the ark, the clean by seven, 
Though there is another mystery in the pairs, even 
the unclean beasts were not to be allowed a second 
marriage: Ne in bestiis quidem et immundis avi- 
bus digamia comprobata sit.—Adv. Jovin., vol. iv., 
p. 160. Laudo nuptias, laudo conjugium, sed quia 
mihi virgines generat.—Ad Eustoch., p. 36 


Causes which 
tended to pro- 
Mote Mona- 
chism. 


΄-» 


- ous minds within its sphere. 


424 


a 
the Deity.* It cannot, indeed, be won- 
dered that the new revelation, as it were, 
of the Deity; this profound and rational 


certainty of his existence; this infelt con- 


sciousness of his perpetual presence ; these 
yet unknown impressions of his infinity, 
his power, and his love, should give a high- 
er character to this eremitical enthusiasm, 
and attract men of loftier and more vigor- 
It was not 
merely the pusillanimous dread of encoun- 
tering the trials of life which urged the 
humbler spirits to seek the safe retire- 


_ment, or the natural love of peace, and 


the weariness and satiety of life, which 
commended this seclusion to those who 
were too gentle to mingle in, or who were 
exhausted with, the unprofitable turmoil 
of the world. Nor was it always the 
anxiety to mortify the rebellious and re- 
fractory body with more advantage; the 
one absorbing idea of the majesty of the 
Godhead almost seemed to swallow up all 
other considerations; the transcendent na- 
ture of the Triune Deity, the relation of 
the different persons in the Godhead to 
each other, seemed the only worthy ob- 
jects of man’s contemplative faculties. If 
the soul never aspired to that Pantheistie 
union with the spiritual essence of being 
which is the supreme ambition of the 
higher Indian mysticism, their theory 
seemed to promise a sublime estrange- 
ment from all sublunary things, an occu- 
pation for the spirit, already, as it were, 
disimbodied and immaterialized by its 
complete concentration on the Deity. 

In Syria and in Egypt, as well as in the 
remoter East, the example had already 
been set both of solitary retirement and 
of religious communities. The Jews had 
both their hermitages and their ceenobitic 
institutions. Anchorites swarmed in the 
deserts near the Dead Sea ;+ and the Es- 
senes in the same district, and the Egyp- 
tian Therapeutzx, were strictly analogous 
to the Christian monastic establishments. 
In the neighbourhood of many of. the 
Eastern cities were dreary and dismal 
wastes, incapable of, or unimproved by, 
cultivation, which seemed to allure the en- 
thusiast to abandon the haunts of men and 
the vices of society. Egypt especially, 
where eveything excessive and extrava- 
gant found its birth or ripened with un- 


* Nam pariter exercentes corporis animaque vir- 
tutes, exterioris hominis stipendia cum emolumen- 
tis.interioris exequant, lubricis motibus cordis, et 
fluctuationi cogitationum instabili, operum pondera, 
velut quandam tenacem atque immobilem ancho- 
ram prefigentes, cui volubilitas ac pervagatio cordis 
innexa intra celle claustra, velut in portu fidissimo 
valeat contineri.—Cassian., Instit., ii., 13. 

+ Josephi Vita. 


+ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


exampled vigour, seemed formed for the © 
encouragement of the wildest anchoritism ae 


It is a long narrow valley, closed in on 
each side by craggy or by sandy deserts. 
The rocks were pierced either with natu- 
ral caverns, or hollowed out by the hand 
of man into long subterranean cells and 
galleries for various uses, either of life, or 
of superstition, or of sepulture. The 
Christian, sometimes driven out by perse- 
cution (for persecution no doubt greatly 


~“y 


contributed to people these solitudes*), © 


or prompted by religious feelings to 


y 


from the face of man, found himself, with _ 


no violent effort, in a dead and voiceless 


wilderness, under a climate which requi- . 


red no other shelter than the ceiling of 


the rock-hewn eave, and where actual sus- 
tenance might be obtained with little dif- 
ficulty. 

St. Antony is sometimes described as 
the founder of the monastic life ; it 
is clear, however, that he only im- 
itated and excelled the example of less 
famous anchorites. But he may fairly be 
considered as its representative. , 

Antonyf was born of Christian parents, 
bred up in the faith, and, before he was 
twenty years old, found himself master of 
considerable wealth, and charged with the 
care of a youngersister. He wasa youth 
of ardent imagination, vehement impulses, 
and so imperfectly educated as to be ac- 
quainted with no language but his native 
Egyptian.{ A constant attendant on Chris- 
tian worship, he had long looked back with 
admiration on those primitive times when 
the Christians laid all their worldly goods 
at the feet of the apostles. One day he 
heard the sentence, ‘“ Go, sell all thou hast, 
and give to the poor, * * and come and 
follow me.” It seemed personally ad- 
dressed to himself by the voice of God. 
He returned home, distributed his lands 
among his neighbours, sold his furniture 
and other effects, except a small sum re- 
served for his sister, whom he placed un- 
der the care of some pious Christian vir- 
gins. Another text, “ Take no thought for 
the morrow,” transpierced his heart, and 
sent him forth forever from the society 
of men. He found an aged solitary, who 


Antony. 


* Paul, the first Christian hermit, fled from 
secution.—Hieronym., Vit. Paul., p. 69. ᾿ 

+ The fact that the great Athanasius paused in \ 
his polemic warfare to write the life of Antony, may 
show the general admiration towards the monastic / 
life. 

t Jerome claims the honour of being the first her- 
mit for Paul, in the time of Decius or Valerian (Vit. 
Paul., p. 68); but the whole life of Paul, and the 
visit of Antony to him, read like religious romance ; 
and, from the preface of Jerome tothe Life of Hi- 
larion, did not find implicit credit in his own day. 


per- 
: 


4 


— 


é 


ἊΝ without the city. He was seized 
_ with pious emulation, and from that time 
devoted himself to the severest asceticism. 

There was still, however, something gen- 

tle and humane about the asceticism of 

Antony. His retreat (if we may trust the 

romantic life of St. Hilarion, in the works 

of St. Jerome) was by no means of the 
horrid and savage character affected by 
some other recluses: it was at the foot 
_ ofa high and rocky mountain, from which 
Ἂ, i forth a stream of limpid water, 
“ ‘dered by palms, which afforded an 
agreeable shade. Antony had planted 
this pleasant spot with vines and shrubs ; 
there was an enclosure for fruit-trees and 
“vegetables, and a tank from which the la- 
bour of Antony irrigated his garden. His 
conduct and character seemed to partake 
of this less stern and gloomy tendency.* 
He visited the most distinguished ancho- 
rites, but only to observe, that he might 
imitate, the peculiar virtue of each; the 
gentle disposition of one, the constancy 
of prayer in another, the kindness, the 
_ patience, the industry, the vigils, the ma- 
ecrations, the love of study, the passion- 
ate contemplation of the Deity, the chari- 
ty towards mankind. It was his devout 
ambition to equal or transcend each in his 
particular austerity or distinctive excel- 
lence. π᾿ 
But man does not violate nature with 
impunity; the solitary state 
had its passions, its infirmi- 
ties, its perils. The hermit could fly from 
his fellow-men, but not from himself. The 
vehement and fervid temperament which 
drove him into the desert was not subdu- 
ed; it found new ways of giving loose to 
its suppressed impulses. The self-cen- 
tred imagination began to people the des- 
ert with worse enemies than mankind. 
Demonology, in all its multiplied forms, 
was now an established part of the Chris- 
tian creed, and embraced with the greatest 
ardour by men in such a state of religious 
excitemnt as to turn hermits. The trials, 
the temptations, the agonies, were felt and 
described as personal, conflicts with hosts 
of impure, malignant, furious fiends. In 
the desert these beings took visible form 
and substance; in the day-dreams of pro- 
found religious meditation, in the visions 
of the agitated and exhausted spirit, they 
were undiscernible from reality.; It is 
impossible, in the wild legends which be- 
came an essential part of Christian litera- 
ture, to decide how much is the disordered 


j 


Demonology, 


imagination of the saint, the self-decep- 


* Vita St. Hilarion, p. 85. 
{ Compare Jerome’s Life of St. Hilarion, p. 76. 
᾿ 3H 


_ 


Ὑ) 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. * 


‘ 425 


tion of the credulous, or the fiction of the 
zealous writer. ‘The very effort to sup- 
press certain feelings has a natural ten-— 
dency to awaken and strengthen them. 
The horror of carnal indulgence would not 
permit the sensual desires to die away into 
apathy. Men are apt to find what they 
seek in their own hearts, and by anxiously 
searching for the guilt of lurking lust, or 
desire of worldly wealth or enjoyment, 
the conscience, as it were, struck forcibly 
upon the chord which it wished to deaden, 
and made it vibrate with a kind of morbid 
but more than ordinary energy. Nothing 
was so licentious or so terrible as not to 
find its way to the cell of the recluse. 
Beautiful women danced around him; wild 
beasts of every shape, and monsters with » 
no shape at all, howled, and yelled, and 
shrieked about him while he knelt in 
prayer or snatched his broken slumber. 
“Oh, how often in the desert,” says Je- 
rome, “in that vast solitude which, parch- 
ed by the sultry sun, affords a dwelling to 
the monks, did I fancy myself in the midst 
of the luxuries of Rome. I sat alone, for 
I was full of bitterness. My misshapen 
limbs were rough with sackcloth, and my 
skin was so squalid that I might have been 
taken foranegro. Tears and groans were 
my occupation every day, and all day; if 
sleep surprised me unaware, my naked 
bones, which scarcely held together, clash- — 
edon the earth. I will say nothing of my 
food or beverage: even the rich have 
nothing but cold water; any warm drink 
is aluxury. Yet even I, who for the fear 
of hell had condemned myself to this dun- 
geon, the companion only of scorpions and 
wild beasts, was in the midst of girls dan- 
cing. My face was pale with fasting, but 
the mind in my cold body burned with,de- 
sires; the fires of lust boiled up in the 
body, which was already dead. Destitute 
of all succour, I cast myself at the feet of 
Jesus, washed them with my tears, dried 
them with my hair, and subdued the rebel- 
lious flesh by a whole week’s fasting.” 
After describing the wild scenes into which 
he fled, the deep glens and shaggy preci- 
pices, “ The Lord is my witness,” he con- 
cludes; “sometimes I appeared to be 
present among the angelic hosts, and sang, 
‘We will haste after thee for the sweet 
savour of thy ointments.’”* For at times, 
on the other hand, gentle and more than 
human voices were heard consoling the 
constant and devout recluse; and some- 
times the baffled demon would humbly 
acknowledge himself to be rebuked before 
him. But this was in general after a fear- 


* Song of Solomom:—Hieronym., Epist. xxii. 


4 


μὰ, 


’ 


ἮΝ 


rs 


ΕῚ 
45 


ful struggle. Desperate diseases require 
desperate remedies. The severest pain 
could alone subdue or distract 
the refractory desires or the 
preoccupied mind. Human invention was 
exhausted in self-inflicted torments. The 
Indian faquir was rivalled in the variety of 
distorted postures and of agonizing exer- 
cises. Some lived in clefts and caves; 
some in huts, into which the light of day 
could not penetrate; some hung huge 
weights to their arms, necks, or loins ; 
some confined themselves in cages; some 
on the tops of mountains, exposed to the 
sun and weather. The most celebrated 
hermit at length for life condemned him- 
self to stand in a fiery climate on the nar- 
row top of a pillar.* Nor were these al- 
ways rude or uneducated fanatics. St. 
Arsenius had filled, and with universal re- 
spect, the dignified post of tutor to.the Em- 
peror Arcadius.. But Arsenius became a 
hermit ; and, among other things, it is re- 
lated of him, that, employing himself in 
the common occupation of the Egyptian 
monks, weaving baskets of palm leaves, 
he changed only once a year the water in 
which the ‘leaves were moistened. The 
smell of the fetid water was a just penalty 
for the perfumes which he had inhaled 
during his worldly life. Even sleep was 
asin; an hour’s unbroken slumber was 
sufficient fora monk. On Saturday even- 
ing Arsenius laid down with his back to 
the setting sun, and continued awake, in 
fervent prayer, till the rising sun shone on 
his eyes ; so far had Christianity depart- 
ed from its humane and benevolent and 
social simplicity. 

It may be a curious question how far 
enthusiasm repays its votaries as far as 
the individual is concerned ; in what de- 
gree these self-inflicted tortures added to 
or diminished the real happiness of man ; 
how far these privations and bodily suffer- 
ings, which to the cool and unexcited rea- 
son appear intolerable, either themselves 
produced a callous insensibility, or were 


Self-torture. 


ἃ The language of Evagrius (H. E., i., 13) about 
Simeon vividly expresses the effect which he made 
on his own age. ‘ Rivalling, while yet in the flesh, 
the conversation of angels, he withdrew himself 
from all earthly things, and doing violence to na- 
ture, which always has a downward tendency, he 
aspired after that which is on high; and standing 
midway between earth and heaven, he had com- 
munion with God, and glorified God with the an- 
gels; from the earth offering supplications (7peo- 
θείας προάγων) as an ambassador to God; bringing 
down from heaven to men the Divine blessing.” The 
influence of the most holy martyr in the air (πανα- 
ylov καὶ depiov μάρτυρος) on political affairs, lies 
beyond the range of the present history. 

+ Compare Fleury, 1. xx., 2. 


» 


? HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. . 


4 

met by apathy arising out of the strong 
counter-excitement of the mind; to what 
extent, if still felt in unmitigated anguish, 
they were compensated by inward com- 
placency from the conscious fulfilment of 
religious duty; the stern satisfaction of 
the will at its triumph over nature; the 
elevation of mind from the consciousness 
of the great object in view, or the ecstatic 
pre-enjoyment of certainreward. Insome 
instances they might derive some recom- 
pense from the respect, veneration, almost 
adoration of men. Emperors visited the 
cells of these ignorant. perhaps supersti- 
tious fanatics, revered them as oracles, 
and conducted the affairs of empire by 
their advice. The great Theodosius is 
said to have consulted John the Solitary 
on the issue of the war with Eugenius.* 
His feeble successors followed faithfully 
the example of his superstition. 

Antony appeared at the juncture most 
favourable for the acceptance of Infuence 
his monastic tenets.| His fame of Antony. 
and his example tended still farther to dis- 
seminate the spreading contagion. In ev- 
ery part the desert began to swarm with 
anchorites, who found it difficult to remain 
alone. Some sought out the most retired 
chambers of the ancient ceméteries ; some 
those narrow spots which remained above 
water during the inundations, and saw with 
pleasure the tide arise which was to ren- 
der them unapproachable to their fellow- 
creatures. But in all parts the determin- 
ed solitary found himself constantly obli- 
ged to recede farther and farther; he 
could scarcely find a retreat so dismal, a 
cavern so profound, a rock so inacces- 
sible, but that he would be pressed upon 
by some zealous competitor, or invaded 
by the humble veneration of some dis- 
ciple. 

It is extraordinary to observe this in- 
fringement on the social system of Chris- 
tianity, this disconnecting principle, which, 
pushed to excess, might appear fatal to 
that organization in which so much of the 
strenith of Christianity consisted, gradu- 
ally self-expanding into a new source of 
power and energy, so wonderfully adapt- 
ed to the age. ‘The desire of the ancho- 
rite to isolate himself in unendangered se- 
clusion was constantly balanced and cor- 
rected by the holy zeal or involuntary 
tendency to proselytism. The farther the 
saint retired from the habitations of men, 
the brighter and more attractive became 
the light of his sanetity ; the more he con- 


* Evagr., Vit. St. Paul, c.1. Theodoret, v. 24. 
See Flechier, Vie de Theodose, iv., 43. 

+ Hujus vite auctor Paulus illustrator Anto- 
nius.—Jerom., p. 46. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 4 


cealed himself, the more was he sought 
out by a multitude of admiring and emu- 
lous followers. Each built or occupied 
his cell in the hallowed neighbourhood. 
A monastery was thus imperceptibly form- 
ed around the hermitage ; and nothing was 
requisite to the incorporation of a regular 
community but the formation of rules for 
common intercourse, stated meetings for 
worship, and something of uniformity in 
dress, food, and daily occupations. Some 
monastic establishments were no doubt 
formed at once, in imitation of the Jewish 
Therapeute ; but many of the more cele- 
brated Egyptian establishments gathered, 
as it were, around the central cell of an 
Antony or Pachomius.* 

Something like a uniformity of usage 
Cenobitic appears to have prevailed in the 
establish- Egyptianmonasteries. The broth- 
ments. ers were dressed after the fash- 
ion of the country, in long linen tunics, 
with a woollen girdle, a cloak, and over it 
a sheepskin. ‘They usually went bare- 
footed, but at certain very cold or very 
parching seasons they wore a kind of san- 
dal. They did not wear the haircloth.f 
Their food was bread and water; their 
luxuries occasionally a little oil or salt, a 
few olives, pease, or a single fig: they ate 
in perfect silence, each decury by itself. 
They were bound to strict obedience to 
their superiors; they were divided into 
decuries and centenaries, over whom the 
decurions and centurions presided: each 
had his separate cell.t The furniture of 
their cells was a mat of palm-leaves and 
a bundle of the papyrus, which served for 
a pillow by night and a seat by day. Ev- 
ery evening and every night they were 
summoned to prayer by the sound of a 
horn. At each meeting were sung twelve 
psalms, pointed out, it was believed, by an 
angel. Oncertain occasions, lessons were 
read from the Old or New Testament. 
The, assembly preserved total silence ; 
nothing was heard but the voice of the 
chanter or reader. No one dared even 
to look at another. The tears of the au- 


* Pachomius was, strictly speaking, the founder 
of the ccenobitic establishments in Egypt; Eusta- 
thius in Armenia; Basil in Asia. Pachomius had 
1400 monks in his establishment; 7000 acknowl- 
edged his jurisdiction. 

+ Jerome speaks of the cilicium as common 
among the Syrian monks, with whom he lived.— 
Epist. i. Horrent sacco membra deformi. Even 
women assumed it.—Epitaph. Paulz, p. 678. Cas- 
sian is inclined to think it often a sign of pride.— 
Instit ,i., 3. : 

t+ The accounts of Jerome (in Eustochium, p. 
45) and of Cassian are blended. There is some 
difference as to the hours of meeting for prayers, 
but probably the ccenobitic institutes differed as to 
that and on some points of diet. 


. 


427 


dienee alone, or, if he spoke of the joys 
of eternal beatitude, a gentle murmur of 
hope, was the only sound which broke the 
stillness of the auditory. At the close of 
each psalm the whole assembly prostrated 
itself in mute adoration.* In every part 
of Egypt, from the Cataracts to the Delta, 
the whole land was bordered by these 
communities ; there were 5000 ccenobites 
in the desert of Nitria alone ;+ the total 
number of male anchorites and monks 
was estimated at 76,000; the females at 
27,700. Parts of Syria were, perhaps, 
scarcely less densely peopled with ascet- 
ics. Cappadocia and the provinces bor- 
dering on Persia boasted of numerous 
communities, as well as Asia Minor and 
the eastern parts of Europe. Though the 
monastic spirit was in its full power, the 
establishment of regular communities in 
Italy must be reserved for Benedict of 
Nursia, and lies beyond the bounds of our 
present history. ‘The enthusiasm perva- 
ded all orders. Men of rank, of family, 
of wealth, of education, suddeniy changed 
the luxurious palace for the howling wil- 
derness, the flatteries of men for the total 
silence of the desert. They voluntarily 
abandoned their estates, their connexions, 
their worldly prospects. The desire of 
fame, of power, of influence, which might 
now swell the ranks of the ecelesiastics, 
had no concern in their sacrifice. Multi- 
tudes must have perished without the 
least knowledge of their virtues or their 
fate transpiring in the world. Few could 
obtain or hope to obtain the honour of 
canonization, or that celebrity which Je- 
rome promises to his friend Blesilla, to live 
not merely in heaven, but in the memory 
of man; to be consecrated to immortality 
by his writings.t 
But the ceenobitic establishments had 
their dangers no less than the Dangers of 
cell of the solitary hermit. Be- cenobitism. 
sides those consequences of seclusion 
from the world, the natural results of con- 
finement in this close separation from 


* Tantum acunctis prebetur silentium, ut cum 
in unum tam numerosa fratrum multitudo conve- 
niat, preter illum, qui consurgens psalmum decan- 
tat in medio, nullus hominum penitus adesse cred- 
atur. No one was heard to spit, to sneeze, to 
cough, or to yawn; there was not even a sigh ora 
groan: nisi forté hee que per excessum mentis 
claustra oris effugerit, queque insensibiliter cordi 
obrepserit, immoderato scilicet atque intolerabili 
spiritas fervore succenso, dum ea que ignita mens 
in semetipsa non prevalet continere, per ineffabi- 
lem quendam gemitum pectoris sui conclavibus eva- 
porare conatur.—Cassian, Instit., ji., 10. 

+ Jerom. ad Eustoch., p. 44. : 

t+ Que cum Christo vivit in ccelis, in hominum 
quoque ore victura est. * * Nunquam in mels 


| moritura est libris. —Epist. xxiii., p. 60. 


Nee 


428 


mankind, and this austere discharge of. 
stated duties, were too often found to be 
the proscription of human knowledge and 
the extinction of human sympathies. 
Christian wisdom and Christian humanity 
could find no place in their unsocial sys- 
tem. A morose, and sullen, and contemp- 
tuous ignorance could not but grow up 
where there was no communication with 
the rest of mankind, and the human under- 
standing was rigidly confined to certain 
topics. The want of objects of natural 
affection could not but harden the heart ; 
and those who, in their stern religious 
austerity, are merciless to them- 
selves, are apt to be merciless to 
others :* their callous and insensible hearts 
have no sense of the exquisitely delicate 
and poignant feelings which arise out of 
the domestic affections. Bigotry has al- 
ways found its readiest and sternest ex- 
ecutioners among those who have never 
known the charities of life. 

These fatal effects seem inherent con- 
sequences of Monasticism; its votaries 
could not but degenerate from their lofty 
and sanctifying purposes. That which in 
one generation was sublime enthusiasm, 
in the next became sullen bigotry, or 
sometimes wrought the same individual 
into a stern forgetfulness, not only of the 
vices and follies, but of all the more gen- 
erous and sacred feelings of humanity. 
In the cenobitic institutes was 
added a strong corporate spirit, 
and a blind attachment to their own opin- 
ions, which were identified with religion 
and the glory of God. ‘The monks of 
Nitria, from simple and harmless enthusi- 
asts, became ferocious bands of partisans; 
instead of remaining aloof in jealous se- 
clusion from the rest of the world, they 
rushed down armed into Alexandrea: what 

* There is a cruel history of an abbot, Mucius, in 
Cassian. Mucius entreated admission into a mon- 
astery. He had one little boy with him of eight 
years old. They were placed in separate cells, lest 
the father’s heart should be softened and indisposed 
to total renunciation of all earthly joys, by the 
sight of his child. That he might still farther 
prove his Christian obedience !! and self-denial, the 
child was systematically neglected, dressed in rags, 
and so dirty as to be disgusting to the father; he 
was frequently beaten, to try whether it would 
force tears down the parent’s squalid cheeks. ‘‘ Nev- 
ertheless, for the love of Christ!!! and from the vir- 
tue of obedience, the heart of the father remained 
hard and unmoved,” thinking little of his child’s 
tears, only of his own humility and perfection. He 
at length was urged to show the last mark of his 
submission by throwing the child into the river. As 
if this was a commandment of God, he seized the 
child, and ‘* the work of faith and obedience” would 
have been accomplished if the brethren had not in- 
terposed, “ἀπά, as it were, rescued the child from 
the waters.” And Cassian relates this as an act of 
the highest religious heroism !—Lib. iv., 27. 


Bigotry. 


Fanaticism. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


they considered a sacred cause inflamed 
and warranted ferocity not surpassed by 
the turbulent and bloodthirsty rabble of 
that city. In support of a favourite doc- 
trine, or in defence of a popular prelate, 
they did not consider that they were vio- 
lating their own first principles in yielding 
to all the savage passions, and mingling 
in the bloody strife of that world which 
they had abandoned. 

‘Total seelusion from mankind is as dan- 
gerous to enlightened religion as to Chris- 
tian charity. We might have expected to 
find among those who separated them- 
selves from the world, to contemplate, un- 
disturbed, the nature and perfections of 
the Deity, in general, the purest 
and most spiritual notions of the 
Godhead. ‘Those whose primary principle 
was dread of a corruption of matter, would 
be the last to materialize their divinity. 
But those who could elevate their thoughts, 
or could maintain them δ: this height, 
were but a small part of the vast numbers 
whom the many mingled motives of zeal, 
superstition, piety, pride, emulation, or 
distaste for the world led into the desert ; 
they required something more gross and 
palpable than the fine and subtle concep- 
tion of a spiritual being. Superstition, not 
content with crowding the brain with 
imaginary figments, spread its darkening 
mists over the Deity himself. 

It was among the monks of Egypt that 
anthropomorphism assumed its most vul- 
gar and obstinate form. They would not 
be persuaded that the expressions in the 
sacred writings which ascribe human acts, 
and faculties, and passions to the Deity 
were to be understood as a condescension 
to the weakness of our nature ; they seem- 
ed disposed to compensate to themselves 
for the loss of human society by degrading 
the Deity, whom they professed to be 
their sole companion, to the likeness of 
man. Imagination could not maintain its 
flight, and they could not summon reason, 
which they surrendered with the rest of 
their dangerous freedom, to supply its 
place ; and generally superstition demand- 
ed and received the same implicit and 
resolute obedience as religion itself. Once 
having humanized the Deity, they could 
not be weaned from the object of their 
worship. The great cause of quarrel be- 
tween Theophilus, the archbishop of Alex- 
andrea, and the monks of the adjacent es- 
tablishment, was his vain attempt to en- 
lighten them on those points to. which 
they obstinately adhered as the vital and 
essential part of their faith. 

Pride, moreover, is almost the necessary ~ 
result of such distinctions as the monks 


Ignorance. 


_ dividual to individual for many 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.’ 


drew between themselves and the rest of 
mankind ; and prejudice and obstinacy are 
the natural fruits of pride. Once having 
embraced opinions, however, as in this in- 
stance, contrary to their primary princi- 
ples, small communities are with the ut- 
most difficulty induced to surrender those 
tenets in which they support and strengtb- 
en each other by the general concurrence. 
The anthropomorphism of the Egyptian 
monks resisted alike argument and author- 
ity. The bitter and desperate remon- 
strance of the aged Serapion, when he 
was forced to surrender his anthropomor- 


phic notions of the Deity, “You have 


deprived me of my God,”* shows not 
merely the degraded intellectual state of 
the monks of Egypt, but the incapacity of 
the mass of mankind to keep up such high- 
wrought and imaginative conceptions. En- 
thusiasm of any particular kind wastes it- 
self as soon as its votaries become numer- 
ous; it may hand down its lamp frgm in- 
nera- 
tions ; but when it would include a whole 
section of society, it substitates some new 
incentive, strong party or corporate feel- 
ing, habit, advantage, or the pride of ex- 
clusiveness, for its original disinterested 
zeal; and can never for a long period ad- 
here to its original principles. 

The effect of Monachism on Christiani- 
General ef. ἴδ: and on society at large, was 
fectsof Mon- Of very mingled character. Its 
δα τῆν. actual influence on the popula- 

tion of the empire was probably 
not considerable, and would scarcely coun- 
terbalance the increase arising out of the 
superior morality, as regards sexual inter- 
course, introduced by the Christian reli- 
σίου. Some apprehensions, indeed, were 
betrayed on this point; and when the op- 
ponents of Monachism urged, that if such 
principles were universally admitted, the 
human race would come to an end, its 
resolute advocates replied, that the Al- 
mighty, if necessary, would appoint new 
means for the propagation of mankind. 

* Cassian, Collat., x., 1. 

+ There is a curious passage of St. Ambrose on 
this point. ‘*Si quis igitur putat, conservatione 
virginum minui genus humanum, consideret, quia, 
ubi pauce virgines, ibi etiam pauciores homines : 
ubi virginitatis studia crebriora, ibi numerum quo- 
que hominumesse majorem. Dicite, quantas Alex- 
andrena, totiusque Orientis, et Africana ecclesia, 
quotannis sacrare consueverint. Pauciores hic 
homines prodeunt, quam illic virgines consecran- 
tur.” We should wish to know whether there was 
any statistical ground for this singular assertion, that, 
in those regions in which celibacy was most prac- 
tised, the population increased ; or whether Egypt, 
the East, and Africa were generally more prolific 


᾿ than Italy. The assertion that the vows of virgini- | 


ty in those countries exceeded the births in the lat- 
ter, is most probably to be set down to antithesis. . 


429 


The withdrawal of so much ardour, tal- 
ent, and virtue into seclusion, on political 
which, however elevating to the affairs. 
individual, became altogether unprofitable 
to society, might be considered a more 
serious objection. The barren world could 
ill spare any active or inventive mind. 
Public affairs, at this disastrous period, 
demanded the best energies which could 
be combined from the whole Roman world 
for their administration. ‘This dereliction 
of their social duties by so many could 
not but leave the competition more open 
to the base and unworthy, particularly as 
the actual abandonment of the world, and 
the capability of ardent enthusiasm, in 
men of high station or of commanding 
intellect, displayed a force and independ- 
ence of character which might, it should 
seem, have rendered important active ser- 
vice to mankind. If barbarians were ad- 
mitted by a perilous, yet inevitable policy, 
into the chief military commands, was 
not this measure at least hastened, not 
merely by the general influence of Chris- 
tianity, which reluctantly permitted its 
votaries to enter into the army, but still 
more by Monachism, which withdrew 
them altogether into religious inactivity ? 
The civil and fiscal departments, and es- 
pecially that of public education, conduct- 
ed by salaried professors, might also be 
deprived of some of the most eligible and 
useful candidates for employment. At a 
time of such acknowledged deficiency, it 
may have appeared litile less than a trea- 
sonable indifference to the public welfare 
to break all connexion with mankind, and 
to dwell in unsocial seclusion entirely on 
individual interests. Such might have 
been the remonstrance of a sober and dis- 
passionate pagan,* and in part of those 
few more rational Christians who could 
not consider the rigid monastic Christi- 
anity as the original religion of its Divine 
founder. nes, 

If, indeed, this peaceful enthusiasm had 
counteracted any general outburst of patri- 
otism, or left vacant or abandoned to 
worthless candidates posts in the public 
service which could be commanded by 
great talents and honourable integrity, 
Monachism might fairly be charged with 
weakening the energies and deadening 
the resistance of the Roman empire to 
its gathering and multiplying adversaries. 
But the state of public affairs probably 
tended more to the growth of Monachism 
than Monachism to the disorder and dis- 
organization of public affairs. ‘The par- 


* Compare the law of Valens, de Monachis, 
quoted above, 


. + 


430 


tial and unjust distribution of the rewards 
of public service; the uncertainty of dis- 
tinction in any career, which entirely de- 
pended on the favouritism and intrigue 
within the narrow circle of the court; the 
difficulty of emerging to eminence under 
a despotism by fair and honourable means , 
disgust and disappointment at slighted 
pretensions and baffled hopes; the gen- 
eral and apparently hopeless oppression 
which weighed down all mankind; the 
total extinction of the generous feelings 
of freedom; the conscious decrepitude 
of the human mind; the inevitable con- 
viction that its productive energies in 
knowledge, literature, and arts were ex- 
tinct and effete, and that every path was 
preoccupied—all these concurrent motives 
might naturally, in a large proportion of 
the most vigorous and useful minds, gen- 
erate a distaste and weariness of the 
world. Religion, then almost universally 
dominant, would seize on this feeling and 
enlist it in her service: it would avail it- 
self of, not produce, the despondent de- 
termination to abandon an ungrateful 
Some of its World; it would ennoble and 
advantages. exalt the preconceived motives 
for seclusion; give a kind of conscious 
grandeur to inactivity, and substitute a 
dreamy but elevating love for the Deity for 
contemptuous misanthropy, as the justi- 
fication for the total desertion of social 
duty. Monachism, in short, instead of 
. precipitating the fall of the Roman em- 
pire, by enfeebling in any great degree 
lts powers of resistance, enabled some 
portion of mankind to escape from the 
feeling of shame and misery. Amid the 
irremediable evils and the wretchedness 
that could not be averted, it was almost a 
social benefit to raise some part of man- 
kind to a state of serene indifference ; to 
render some, at least, superior to the gen- 
eral calamities. Monachism, indeed, di- 
rectly secured many in their isolation 
from all domestic ties, from that worst 
suffering inflicted by barbarous warfare, 
the sight of beloved females outraged, and 
innocent children butchered. In those 
times, the man was happiest who had 
least to lose, and who exposed the few- 
est vulnerable points of feeling or sympa- 
thy: the natural affections, in which, in 
ordinary times, consists the best happi- 
ness of man, were in those days such 
perilous indulgences, that he who was en- 
tirely detached from them embraced, per- 
haps, considering temporal views alone, 
the most prudent course. The solita 

could not but suffer in his own person; 
and though by no means secure in his 
sanctity from insult, or even death, his 


heaven. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


self-inflicted privations hardened him 
against the former, his high-wrought en- 
thusiasm enabled him to meet the latter 
with calm resignation: he had none to 
leave whom he had to lament, none to 
lament him after his departure. The 
spoiler who found his way to his secret 
cell ‘was baffled by his poverty; and the 
sword which cut short his.days but short- 
ened his painful pilgrimage on earth, and 
removed him at once to an anticipated 
With what different feelings 
would he behold, in his poor, and naked, 
and solitary cell, the approach of the 
bloodthirsty barbarians, from the father 
of a family, in his splendid palace, or his 
more modest and comfortable private 
dwelling, with a wife in his arms, whose 
death he would desire to see rather than 
that worse than death to which she might 
first be doomed in his presence ; with help- 
less children clinging around his knees: 
the hgessings which he had enjoyed, the 
wealth or comfort of his house, the beau- 
ty of his wife, of his daughters, or even 
of his sons, being the strongest attraction 
to the spoiler, and irritating more violently 
his merciless and unsparing passions. If 
to some the monastic state offered a ref- 
uge for the sad remainder of their bereav- 
ed life, others may have taken warning in 
time, and with deliberate forethought re- 
fused to implicate themselves in tender 
connexions which were threatened with 
such deplorable end. Those who secluded 
themselves from domestic relations from 
other motives, at all events were secured 
from such miseries, and might be envied 
by those who had played the game of life 
with a higher stake, and ventured on its 
purest pleasures with the danger of incur- 
ring all its bitterest reverses. te. 
Monachism tended powerfully to keep 
up the vital enthusiasm of Chris- = ys 
tianity. Allusion has been made ΠΕΡ ἘΠΕ 
to its close connexion with the οἵ Ciristian- 
conversion both of the Roman '%  _ 
and the Barbarian; and to the manner in 
which, from its settlement in some retired 
pagan district, it gradually disseminated 
the faith, and sometimes the industrious, 
always the moral, influence of Christian- | 
ity through the neighbourhood in a gradu- — 
ally-expanding circle. Its peaceful colo-— 
nies within the frontier of barbarism slow- 
ly but uninterruptedly subdued the fierce’ 
or indolent. savages to the religion of 
Christ and the manners and habits of civ- 
ilization. But its internal influence wa: 
not less visible, inn diate, and inexhaust-_ 
ible. The more extensive dissemination 
of Christianity naturally weakened its au- 
thority. When the small primitive as- 


ne 


A, τ 


ο΄ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 431 


sembly of the Christians grew into a 
universal church; when the village, the 
town, the city, the province, the empire, 
became in outward form and profession 
Christian, the practical heathenism only 
retired to work more silently and imper- 
ceptibly into the Christian system. ‘The 
wider the circle, the fainter the line of 
distinction from the surrounding waters. 
Small societies have a kind of self-acting 
principle of conservation within. Mutual 
inspection generates mutual awe; the gen- 
erous rivalry in religious attainment keeps 
up regularity in attendance on the sacred 
institutions, and at least propriety of de- 
meanour. Such small communities may 
be disturbed by religious faction, but are 
long before they degenerate into unchris- 
tian licentiousness. or languish into reli- 
gious apathy. But when a large propor- 
tion of Christians received the faith as an 
inheritance from their fathers rather than 
from personal conviction; when hosts of 
deserters from paganism passed over into 
the opposite camp, not because it was the 
best, but because it was the most flourish- 
ing cause, it became inexpedient as well 
as impossible to maintain the severer dis- 
cipline of former times. But Monachism 
was constantly reorganizing small socie- 
ties, in which the bond of aggregation was 
the common religious fervour, in which 
emulation continually kept up the excite- 
ment, and mutual vigilance exercised un- 
resisted authority. The exaggeration of 
their religious sentiments was at once the 
tenure of their existence and the guaran- 
tee for their perpetuity. _ Men would nev- 
er be wanting to enrol themselves in their 
ranks, and their constitution prevented 
them from growing to an unmanageable 
size; when one establishment or institu- 
tion wore out, another was sure to spring 
up. The republics of Monachism were 
constantly reverting to their first princi- 
ples, and undergoing a vigorous and thor- 
ough reformation. Thus, throughout the 
whole of Christian history, until, or even 
after, the reformation within the Church of 
ΟΠ Rome, we find either new monastic orders 
rising, or the old remodelled and regula- 
_ ted by the zeal of some ardent enthusiast ; 
the associatory principle, that great politi- 


terities, or rare and exemplary activity in 
the dissemination of the faith. 

The beneficial tendency of this constant 
formation of young and vigorous societies 
in the bosom of Christianity was of more 
importance in the times of desolation and 
confusion which impended over the Ro- 
man empire. In this respect, likewise, 
their lofty pretensions ensured their utili- 
ty. Where reason itself was about to be 
in abeyance, rational religion would have 
had but little chance: it would have com- 
manded no respect. Christianity, in its 
primitive simple and unassuming form, 
might have imparted its holiness, and 
peace, and happiness to retired families, 
whether in the city or the province, but 
its modest and retiring dignity would have 
made no impression on the general tone 
and character of society. There was 
something in the seclusion of religious 
men from mankind, in their standing aloof 
from the rest of the world, calculated to 
impress barbarous minds with a feeling of 
their peculiar sanctity. The less they 
were like to ordinary men, the more, in 
the ordinary estimation, they were ap- 
proximated to the Divinity. At all events, 
this apparently broad and manifest evi- 
dence of their religious sincerity would 
be more impressive to unreasoning minds 
than the habits of the clergy, which ap- 
proached more nearly to those of the 
common laity.* 

The influence of this continual rivalry 
of another sacred, though not mauence on 
decidedly sacerdotal class, upon te clergy. 
the secular clergy, led to important re- 
sults. We may perhaps ascribe to the 
constant presence of Monachism the con- 
tinuance and the final recognition of the 
celibacy of the clergy, the vital principle 
of the ecclesiastical power in the middle 
ages. Without the powerful direct sup- 
port which they received from the monas- 
tic orders; without the indirect authority 
over the minds of men which flowed from 
their example, and inseparably connected, 
in the popular mind, superior sanctity with 
the renunciation of marriage, the ambitious 
popes would never have been able, par- 
ticularly m the north, to part the clergy by 
this strong line of demarcation from the 


eal and religious engine which is either 
’ the conservative or the destructive power| * The monks were originally laymen (Cassian, 
s every period of society, was constantly v., 26); gradually churches were attached to the 
J 


¥ 4 Z monasteries, but these were served by regularly or- 
_ embracing a certain number of persons | qoined clergy (Pallad., Hist. Lausiaca): but their 


re : voted to. a common end; and the NeW | reputation for sanctity constantly exposed them to 
sect, distinguished by some peculiar badge | be seized and consecrated by the ardent admiration 
πο of dress, of habit, or of monastic rule, re- of their followers. Theiner has collected, with con- 


 4mbodied some of the fervour of primitive siderable labour, a long list of the moré celebrated 
Oiristanit and awakened the growin prelates of the Church who had been monks, p. 106. 
St Υ, g & | Ita ergo age et vive in monasterio, ut clericus esse 


lethargy by the example of unusual aus- | merearis.—Hieron., Epist. ad Rustic., 95. 


a, 


+ 


_ was no longer in accordance with the reli- 


- would be closely connected with their 


- 


_ connexion of the independence. and sep- 


rofane laity. As it was, it required the 
most vigorous and continued effort to es- 


th promoting tablish, by ecclesiastical regula- 


celibacy. - tion and papal power, that which 
gious sentiments of the clergy themselves. 
The general practice of marriage. or of a 
kind of legalized concubinage, among the 
northern clergy, showed the tendency, if 
it had not been thus counteracted by the 
rival order and by the dominant ecclesias- 
tical policy of the Church.* But it is im- 
possible to calculate the effect of that com- 
plete blending up of the. clergy with the 
rest of the community which would proba- 
bly have ensued from the gradual abroga- 
tion of this single distinction at this june- 
ture. The interests of their order, in mén 
connected with the community by the or- 
dinary social ties, would have been second- 
ary to their own personal advancement 
or that of their families. “They would have 
ceased to bea peculiar and separate caste, 
and sunk down into the common penury, 
rudeness, and ignorance. Their influence 


wealth and dignity, which, of course, on 
the other hand, would tend to augment 
their influence; but that corporate am- 
bition, which induced them to consider the 
cause of their order as their own; that de- 
sire of riches, which wore the honourable 
appearance of personal disinterestedness, 
and zeal for the splendour of religion, 
could not have existed but in a class com- 
pletely insulated from the common. feel- 
ings and interests of the community. In- 
dividual members of the clergy might have 
become wealthy, and obtained authority 
over the ignorant herd; but there would 
have been no opulent and powerful Church, 
acting with vigorous unity, and arranged 
in simultaneous hostility against barbarism 
and paganism. 

Our history must hereafter trace the 


arate existence of the clergy with the 
maintenance and the authority of Chris- 
tianity. But-even as conservators of the 
lingering remains of science, arts, and 
letters, as the sole order to which some 
kind of intellectual education was neces- 
sary, when knowledge was a distinction 
which alone commanded respect, the 
clergy were, not without advantage, se- 
cured by their celibacy from the cares 
and toils of social life. In this respect 
Monachism acted in two ways: as itself 
the most efficient guardian of what was 
most worth preserving in the older civ- 
ilization, and as preventing, partly by emu- | 

* The general question of the celibacy of the 
clergy will be subsequently examined, ᾿ 


FF Ww 
ἂν - ὶ Ψ ἃ 
W, fi 
ais. ἣν ™ ῃ κ᾿ 
η -OF CHRISTIANITY. ὃ 
ἐν τὰς δὰ οὐ, oe * 


* 
ΠῚ Ύ 

lation, partly by this enforcement of celi- 
bacy, the secular clergy from degenera- 
ting universally into that state of total ig- 
norance which prevailed among them in 
some quarters. Ἶ 

It is impossible to survey Monachism 
in its general influence, from the earliest 
period ofits interworking into Christianity, 
without being astonished and perplexed 
with its diametrically opposite effects. 
Here it is the undoubted parent of the 
blindest ignorance and the most ferocious 
bigotry, sometimes of the most debasing 
licentiousness; there the guardian of 


learning, the author of civilization, the. 
propagator of humble and peaceful reli- - 


gion. ‘To the. dominant spirit of Mona- 
chism may be ascribed some part at least of 


the gross superstition and moral ineffi- 


ciency of the Church in the Byzantine em- 
pire ; to the same spirit much of the salu- 
tary authority of Western Christianity, its 
constant aggressions on barbarism, and 
its connexion with the. Latin literature. 
Yet neither will the different genius of the 
East and West account for this contradic- 
tory operation of the monastic spirit in 
the two divisions of the Roman empire. 
If human nature was degraded by the filth 
and fanatie self-torture, the callous apathy, 
and the occasional sanguinary violence of 
the Egyptian or Syrian monk, yet the 
monastic retreat sent forth its Basils and 
Chrysostoms, who seemed to have braced 


their strong intellects by the air of the © 


desert, Their intrepid and disinterested 
devotion to their great cause, the complete 
concentration of their whole faculties on 
the advancement of Christianity, seemed 
strengthened by this entire detachment 
from. mankind. 

Nothing can be conceived more appa- 
rently opposed to the designs of the God 
of nature, and to the mild and beneficent 
spirit of Christianity; nothing more hos- 
tile to the dignity, the interests, the happi- 
ness, and the intellectual and moral per- 
fection of man, than the monk afflicting 
himself with unnecessary pain, and thrill- 
ing his soul with causeless fears; con- 
fined to a dull routine of religious duties, 
jealously watching and proscribing every 
emotion of pleasure as a sin against the 
benevolent Deity, dreading knowledge as 
an impious departure from the becoming 
humility of man. fay τ 


fe 


On the other hand, what generous or 
lofty mind ean refuse to acknowledge the 
grandeur of that superiority to all the 
cares and passions of mortality ; the feli- 
city of that state which is removed. far 
above the fears or the necessities of life; 


| that sole passion of admiration and love 


™» , 


"νον τυ νυνδὴ νυ ον 


— 


' 
ae + ᾽ 


HISTORY oe 
of the Deity, which no doubt was attained 
by some of the purer and more imagina- 
tive enthusiasts of the cell or. the cloister. 
Who, still more, will dare to depreciate that 
heroism of Christian benevolence, which 
underwent this self-denial of the lawful 
enjoyments and domestic charities of 
which it hadmeither extinguished the de- 
sire nor subdued the regret, not froin the 
slavish fear of displeasing the Deity or 
the selfish ambition of personal perfection, 
but from the genuine desire of advancing 
the temporal and eternal improvement of 
mankind; of imparting the moral amelio- 
ration and spiritual hopes of Christianity 
to the wretched and the barbarous ; of be- 
ing the messengers of Christian faith and 
the ministers of Christian charity to the 
heathen, whether in creed or in character. 
We return from this long, but not un- 
Life of necessary, digression to the life of 
Jerome. Jerome, the great advocate of Mon- 
achism in the West. Jerome began and 
closed his career as a monk of Palestine: 
he attained, he aspired to, no dignity in 
the Church. Though ordained a presby- 
ter against his will, he escaped the epis- 
copal dignity which was forced upon his 
distinguished contemporaries. He left to 
Ambrose, to Chrysostom, and to Augus- 
tine the authority of office, and was con- 
tent with the lower, but not less extensive, 
‘influence of personal communication, or 
the effect of his writings. After having 
passed his youth in literary studies in 
Rome, and travelling throughout the West, 
he visited Palestine. During his voyage 
to the East he surveyed some great cit- 
ies and consulted their libraries; he was 
received in Cyprus by the Bishop Epipha- 
nius. In Syria he plunged at once into 
the severest austerities of asceticism. 
We have already inserted the lively de- 
scription of the inward struggles and ag- 
onies which tried him during his first re- 
treat in the Arabian desert. 

But Jerome had other trials peculiar to 
Trials of Je. himself. It was not so much 
rome in his the indulgence of the coarser 
FET passions, the lusts and ambition 
of the world, which distressed his religious 
sensibilities ;* it was the nobler and more 
intellectual part of his being which was 
endangered by. the fond reminiscenses of 
his former days. He began to question 
the lawfulness of those literary studies 
which had been the delight of his youth. 

_ He had brought with him, his sole com- 


* Jerome says: “ Prima est virginitas ἃ nativi- 
tate ; secunda virginitas ἃ secundé nativitate ; he 
ingenuously confesses that he could only boast of 
δ" second.—Epist. χχν., iv., Ρ. 242; Oper., iv., p. 


31 ω Δὲ, 


¢ - 
“ 
᾿ ? Y re P 
CHRISTIANITY. 433 
α΄, 9 4 : m 


: 


panions, besides the sacred books of his 
religion, the great masters of poetry and 
philosophy, of Greek and Latin style ; and 
the magic of Plato’s and Cicero's language, 
to his refined and fastidious ear, made the 
sacred writings of Christianity, on which 
he was intently fixed, appear rude and 
barbarous. In his retreat in Hisclassical 
Bethlehem he had undertaken studies. 
the study of Hebrew,* as a severe occu- 
pation to withdraw him from those impure 
and worldly thoughts which his austerities 
had not entirely subdued ; and in the wea- 
ry hours when he was disgusted with his 
difficult task, he could not refrain from re- 
curring, as a solace, to his favourite au- 
thors. But even this indulgence alarmed 
his jealous conscience ; though he fasted 
before he opened his Cicero, his mind 
dwelt with too intense delight on the lan- 
guage of the orator; and the distaste with 
which he passed from the musical periods 
of Plato to the verses of the prophets, of 
which his ear had not yet perceived the 
harmony, and his Reman taste had not, 
perhaps, imbibed the full sublimity, ap- 
peared to him as an impious offence against 
his religion.t The inward struggles of 
his mind threw him into a fever; he was 
thought to be dead, and in the lethargic 
dream of his distempered imagination he ~ 
thought that he beheld himself before the 
throne of the great Judge, before the bright- 
ness of which he dared not lift up his eyes. 
‘““Who art thou?” demanded the awful 
voice. ‘ A Christian,” answered the trem- 
bling Jerome.{ “Tis false,” sternly re- 
plied the voice; “thou art no Christian, 
thou art a Ciceronian. Where the treas- 
ure is, there is the heart also.” Yet, 
however the scrupulous conscience of Je- 
rome might tremble at this profane admix- 
ture of sacred and heathen studies, he was 
probably qualified in a high degree by this 


* 


* His description of Hebrew, as compared with . 
Latin, is curious: “ Ad quam edomandam, cuidem~ 
fratri, qui ex Hebreis crediderat, me in disciplinam 
dedi ut post Quintiliani acumina, gravitatemque 
Frontonis, et levitatem Plinii, alphabetum discerem 
et stridentia anhelaque verba meditarer—quid ibi la- 
boris insumserim ?—Epist. xcy., ad Rusticum, p. 
774. 

+ Si quando in memetreversus, prophetas legere 
coepissem, sermo horrebat incultus.—Kpist. xviiL., 
ad Eustoch., iv,, p. 42. 

+ Interim parantur exequiz, et vitalis anime ca- 
lor, toto frigescente jam corpore, in solo tantum te- 
pente pulvjsculo, palpitabat; quum subito raptus 


in spiritu, ad tribunal judicis pertrahor ; ubi tantum 


luminis, et tantum erat ex circumstantium claritate 
fulgoris, ut projectus in terram, sursim aspicere 
non auderum. Interrogatus de conditione, Chris- 
tianum me esse respondi. Et ille qui prasidebat 
mortuies ait, Ciceronianus es, non Christianus ; ubi 
enim thesaurus tuus, ibi et cor tuum.—Ad Eustoch., 
Epist. xviil., iv., p. 42. 


: 


ἜΣ ἢ 


“ 


fairs of the Roman see. 


434 


very discordant collision of opposite tastes 


for one of the great services which he was 


to render to Christianity. No writer, with- 
out that complete mastery over the Latin 
language which could only be attained by 
constant familiarity with its best models, 
could so have harmonized its genius with 
the foreign elements which were to be 
mingled with it as to produce the vivid 
and glowing style of the Vulgate Bible. 
That this is far removed from the purity 
of Tully, no one will question: we shall 


- hereafter consider more at length its ge- 


nius and its influence; but we may con- 
jecture what would have been the harsh, 
jarring, and inharmonious discord of the 
opposing elements, if the translator had 
only been conversant with the African 
Latinity of Tertullian, or the elaborate ob- 
security of writers like Ammianus Marcel- 
linus. 

Jerome could not, in the depths of his 
Return to Fetreat or in the absorbing occu- 
Rome. _ pation of his studies, escape being 
involved in those controversies which dis- 
tracted the Eastern churches and pene- 
trated to the cell of the remotest anchorite. 
He returned to the West to avoid the rest- 
less polemics of his brother monks. On 
his return to Rome, the fame of his piety 
and talents commended him to the confi- 
dence of the Pope Damasus,* by whom he 
was employed in the most important af- 
But either the 
or the opinions of Je- 


Morality of 1nfluence 


the Roman rome excited the jealousy of the 
-clergy. 


Roman clergy, whose vices Je- 
rome paints in no softened colours. We 
almost, in this contest, behold a kind of 
prophetic prelude to the perpetual strife 
which has existed in almost all ages be- 
tween the secular and regular clergy, the 
hierarchical and monastic spirit. Though 
the monastic opinions and practices were 
by no means unprecedented in Italy (they 


“had been first introduced by Athanasius in 
his flight from Egypt); though they were 


maintained by Ambrose and practised by 
some recluses, yet the pomp, the wealth, 
and the authority of the Roman ecclesias- 
tics, which is described by the concurrent 
testimony of the heathen historiant and 
the Christian Jerome, would not humbly 
brook the greater popularity of these se- 
verer doctrines, nor patiently submit to the 
estrangement of some of their more opu- 


lent and distinguished proselytes, particu-_ 


larly among the females. Jerome admits, 
indeed, with specious but doubtful humili- 
ty, the inferiority of the unordained monk 
pe Eee 


* Epist. xii, p. 744. Tillemont, Vie de Jerome. 
+ Ammianus Marcellinus. See Postea, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


to the ordained priest. The clergy were 
the suecessors of the apostles; their lips 
could make the body of Christ; they had 
the keys of heaven until the day of judg- 
ment; they were the shepherds, the monks 
only part of the flock. Yet the clergy, no 
doubt, had the sagacity to foresee the dan- 
gerous rival as to influence and authority 
which was rising up in Christian society. 
The great object of contention now was 
the command over the highborn jyauence 
and wealthy females of Rome. over females 
Jerome, in his advice to the of Rome. 
clergy, cautiously warns them against the 
danger of female intimacy.* He, how- 
ever, either considered himself secure, or 
under some peculiar privilege, or justified 
by the prospect of greater utility, to sus- 
pend his laws on his own behalf. He be- 
came a kind of confessor; he directed the 
sacred studies, he overlooked the religious 
conduct of more than one of these pious 
ladies. ‘The ardour and vehemence with 
which his ascetic opinions were embraced, 
and the more than usually familiar inter- 
course with matrons and virgins of rank, 
may perhaps have offended the pride, if 
not the propriety, of Roman manners. 
The more temperate and rational of the 
clergy, in their turn, may have thought the 
zeal with which these female converts of 
Jerome were prepared to follow their 
teacher to the Holy Land by no means a 
safe precedent; they may have taken 
alarm at the yet unusual fervour of lan- 
guage with which female ascetics were 
celebrated as united by the nuptial tie to 
Christ,t and exhorted, in the glowing im- 
agery of the Song of Solomon, to devote 
themselves to their spiritual spouse. They 
were the brides of Christ; Christ, wor- 
shipped by angels in heaven, ought to have 
angels to worship him on earth.{ With 
regard to Jerome and his highborn friends, 
their suspicions were doubtless unjust. 

It is singular, indeed, to contrast the dif- 


* Epist. ad Heliodorum, p. 10. 

+ See the Epistle ad Eustochium. The whole 
of this letter is a singular union of religious earnest- 
ness and what, to modern feeling, would seem 
strange indelicacy, if not immodesty, with still 
stranger liberty with the language of Scripture. 
He seems to say that Eustochium was the first no- 
ble Roman maiden who embraced virginity: ‘ Que 
* * prima Romane urbis virgo nobilis esse cepisti.” 
He says, however, of Marcella, “ Nullaeo tempore 
nobilium feeminarum noverat Rome propositum 
monacharum, nec audebat propter rel novitatem, 
ignominiosum, ut tunc putabatur, et vile in populis, 
nomen assumere.”—Marcelle Epitaph., p. 780. 

+ In Jerome’s larger interpretation of Solomon’s 
Song (adv. Jovin., p. 171) is a very curious and 
whimsical passage, alluding to the Saviour as the 
spouse. ‘There is one sentence, however, in the 
letter to Eustochium, so blasphemously indecent 
that it must not be quoted even in Latin.—P, 38. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Character of ferent descriptions of the female 
Roman fe- aristocracy of Rome, at the va- 
male. rious periods of her history ; the 
secluded and dignified matron, employed 
in household duties, and educating with 
severe.discipline, for the military and civil 
service of the state, her future consuls and 
dictators ; the gorgeous luxury, the almost 
incredible profligacy, of the later days of 
the republic and of the empire, the Julias 
and Messalinas, so darkly coloured by the 
satirists of the times; the active charity 
and the stern austerities of the Paulas and 
Eustochiums of the present period. It was 
not, in general, the severe and lofty Ro- 
man matron of the age of Roman virtue 
whom Christianity induced to abandon her 
domestic duties, and that highest of all du- 
ties to her country, the bringing up of no- 
ble and virtuous citizens ; it was the soft, 
and, at the same time, the savage female, 
who united the incongruous, but too fre- 
quently reconciled, vices of sensuality and 
cruelty ; the female whom the facility of 
divorcee, if she abstained from less lawful 
indulgence, enabled to gratify in a more 
decent manner her inconstant passions ; 
who had been inured from her most tender 
age, not merely to theatrical shows of 
questionable modesty, but to the bloody 
scenes of the arena, giving the signal per- 
haps with her own delicate hand for the 
mortal blow to the exhausted gladiator. 
We behold with wonder, not unmixed with 
admiration, women of the same race and 
city either forswearing from their earliest 
youth all intercourse with men, or pre- 
serving the state of widowhood with irre- 
proachable dignity; devoting their wealth 
to the foundation of hospitals, and their 
time to religious duties and active benevo- 
lence. These monastic sentiments were 
carried to that excess which seemed in- 
separable from the Romancharacter. At 
twelve years old the young Asella devoted 
herself to God; from that time she had 
never conversed with man; her knees 
were as hard as a camel's, by constant 
genuflexion and prayer.* Paula, the fer- 
vent disciple of Jerome, after devo- 
ting the wealth of an ancient and 
opulent house to charitable uses, to the 


Paula. 


π᾿ Hieronym., Epist. xxi. 

+ Jerome thus describes the charity of Paula: 
Quid ego referam, ample et nobilis domus, et quon- 
dam opulentissime, omnes pzne divitias in paupe- 
res erogatas. Quid incunctos clementissimum ani- 
mum, et bonitatem etiam in eos quos nunquam 
viderat, evagantem. Quis inopum moriens, non 
illius vestimentis obvolutus est? Quis clinicorum 
non ejus facultatibus sustentatus est? Quos curi- 
osissimé tota urbe perquirens, damnum putabat, si 
quis debilis et esuriens cibo sustentaretur alterius. 
Spoliabat filios, et inter objurgantes propinquos, ma- 


435 


impoverishing of her own children, desert- 


ed her family. Her infant son and her 
marriageable daughter watched with en- 
treating looks her departure ; she did not 
even turn her head away to hide her ma- 
ternal tears, but lifted up her unmoistened 
eyes to heaven, and continued her pilgrim- 
age to the Holy Land. Jerome celebrates 
this sacrifice of the holiest charities of life 
as the height of female religious heroism.* 
The vehement and haughty temper of 
Jerome was not softened by his Qoitrover- 
monastic austerities, nor humbled sies of Je- 
by the severe proscription of the rome. 
gentler affections. His life, in the capital 
and the desert, was one long warfare. 
After the death of his friend and protec- 
tor, Damasus, the growing hostility of the 
clergy, notwithstanding the attachment of 
his disciples, rendered his residence in 
Rome disagreeable. Nor was the peace 
of the monastic life his reward for his 
zealous exertions in its cause. He retired 
to Palestine, where he passed the Retreat to 
rest of his days in religious studies Palestine. 
and in polemic disputes. Wherever any 
dissentient from the doctrine or the prac- 
tice of the dominant Christianity ventured 
to express his opinions, Jerome’ launched 
the thunders of his interdict from his cell 
at Bethlehem. No one was more perpet- 


ually involved in controversy, or opposed — 
with greater rancour of personal hostility, . 
than this earnest advocate of unworldly re- 


ligious seclusion. He was engaged in a ve- 
hement dispute with St. Augustine on the 
difference between St. Peter and St. Paul. 
But his repose was most imbittered by the 
acrimonious and obstinate contest with Ru- 
finus, which was rather a personal than a 
polemic strife. In one controversy Chris . 
tendom acknowledged and hailed him as 


jorem se eis hereditatem, Christi misericordiam di- 
mittere loquebatur.—Epitaph. Paula, p. 671. At 
her death, Jerome relates with great pride that she 
did not leave ἃ penny to her daughter, but a load of 
debts (magnum zs alienum). , ie. 

* Itis a passage of considerable beauty: Descen- 
dit ad portum, fratre, cognatis, affinibus, et (quod 
his majus est) liberis prosequentibus, et clementis- 
simam matrem pietate vincere cupientibus. Jam 
carbasa tendebantur, et remorum ductu navis in al- 
tum protrahebatur. Parvus’ Toxotius supplices 
manus tendebat in littora. Rufina, jam nubilis, ut 
suas expectaret nuptias, tacens fletibus obsecrabat, 
et tamen illa siccos ad cceelum oculos, pietatem in 
filios, pietate in Deum superans nesciebat se ma- 
trem ut Christi probaret ancillam. * * Hoc contra 
jura nature plena fides patiebatur, imo gaudens ani- 
mus appetebat.—Epitaph. Paule, 672. 

This was her epitaph : 
Aspicis angustum precisa rupe sepulcrum ? 
Hospitium Paule est, ccelestia regna tenentis. 
Fratrem, cognatos, Romam, pateamice relinquens, 
Divitias, sobolem, Bethlehemite conditur antro. 
Hic prasepe tuum, Christe, atque hic mystica Magi 
Munera portantes, hominique, Deoque dedere. 


» 


ὡς 


- we 


436 | HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Jovinian her champion. Jovinian and Vi-| of Jerome was imbittered by their effect 
and Vigi- gilantius are involved in the dark | on some of the noble ladies of Rome, who 
Janus. ‘ist of heretics ; but their error ap-| began to fall off to marriage. Even some 
pears to have been that of unwisely at-| bishops embraced the doctrines of Vigilan- 
tempting to stem the current of popular] tius, and, asserting that the high profes- 
Christian opinion rather than any depar-| sions of continence led the way to de- 
ture from the important doctrines of eee: refused to ordain unmarried 
tianity. They were premature Protest-| deacons. 
ants; they endeavoured, with vain and ill-| The tone of Jerome’s indignant writings 
timed efforts, to arrest the encroaching | against those new heretics is that of a 
spirit of Monachism, which had now en-| man suddenly arrested in his triumphant 
slaved the whole of Christianity ;* they | career by some utterly unexpected oppo- 
questioned the superior merit of celibacy ; | sition ; his resentment at being thus cross- 
they protested against the growing wor-|ed is mingled with a kind of wonder that 
ship of relics.| ‘Their effect upon the} men should exist who could entertain such 
dominant sentiment of the times may be] strange and daring tenets. The length, 
estimated by the language of wrath, bit-| it might be said the prolixity, to which he 
terness, contempt, and abhorrence with| draws out his answer to Jovinian, seems 
which Jerome assails these bold men who | rather the outpouring of his wrath and his 
thus presumed to encounter the spirit of | learning than as if he considered it ne- 
their age. The four points of Jovinian’s| cessary to refute such obvious. errors. 
heresy were, Ist, That virgins had no high-| Throughout it is the master condescend- 
er merit, unless superior in their good} ing to teach, not the adversary to argue. 
works, than widows and married women; | He fairly overwhelms him with a mass of 
2d, That there was no distinction of meats ; | Scripture and of classical learning: at one 
3d, That those who had been baptized in| time he pours out a flood of allegorical 
full faith would not be overcome by the| interpretations of the Scripture ; he then 
devil; and, 4th, That those who had pre-| confounds him with a clever passage from 
served the grace of baptism would meet} Theophrastus on the miseries of mar- 
with an equal reward in heaven. This| riage. Even the friends of Jerome, the 
last clause was perhaps a corollary from} zealous Pammachius himself, were offend- 
the first, as the panegyrists of virginity | ed by the fierceness of his first invective 
uniformly claimed a higher place in heav-| against Jovinian* and his contemptuous 
en for the immaculate than for those who | disparagement of marriage. The injustice 
had been polluted by marriage. To those | of his personal charges are refuted by the 


doctrines Vigilantius added, if possible, 
more hated tenets. He condemned the 
respect paid to the martyrs and their rel- 
ics ; he questioned the miracles performed 
at their tombs; he condemned the light- 
ing lamps before them as a pagan super- 
stition ;_ he rejected the intercession of 
the saints; he blamed the custom of send- 
ing alms to Jerusalem, and the selling all 
property to give it to the poor; he assert- 
ed that it was better to keep it and dis- 
tribute its revenues in charity; he pro- 
tested against the whole monastic life, as 
interfering with the duty of a Christian to 
his neighbour. These doctrines were not 
without their followers ; the resentment 


+ Hieronym. adv. Vigilantium, p. 281. 

_t The observation of Fleury shows how mis- 
timed was the attempt of Vigilantius to return to 
the simpler Christianity of former days: “On ne 
voit pas que Vhérésie (de Vigilance), ait eu de 
suite ; ni qu’on ait eu besoin d’aucun concile pour 
Ja condamner tant elle étoit contraire a la tradition 
de l’Eglise Universelle,” tom. v., p. 278. 

1 have purposely, lest I should overstrain the 
Protestantism of these remarkable men, taken this 
view of their tenets from Fleury, perhaps the fair- 
est and most dispassionate writer of his church 
[liv, xix., c. 19], tom. iv., p. 602 (liv, xxii, c. 5], 
tom. v., p. 275. 


more temperate statements of Augustine 
and by his own admissions.t He was 
obliged, in his Apology, to mitigate his 
vehemence, and reluctantly to fall into a 
‘milder strain; but even the Apology has 
something of the severe and contempt- 
uous tone of an orator who is speaking 


* Indignamini mihi, quod Jovinianum non doc- 
uerim, sed vicerim. “Imo indignantur mihi qui 1]- 
lum anathematizatum dolent.—Apolog., p. 236. 

+ Jerome admits that Jovinian did not assert the 
privilege which he vindicated ; he remained a 
monk, though Jerome highly colours his luxurious 
habits. After his coarse tunic and bare feet, and 
food of bread and water, he has betaken himself to 
white garments, sweetened wine, and highly-dress- 
ed meats: to the sauces of an Apicius or a Paxa- 


| mus, to baths, and shampooings (fricticule : the 


Benedictines translate this fritter-shops), and cooks’ 
shops, it is manifest that he prefers earth to heaven, 
vice to virtue, his belly to Christ, and thinks his 
rubicund colour (purpuram coloris ejus) the king- 
dom ofheaven. Yet this handsome, this corpulent, 
smooth monk always goes in whice like a bride- 
groom: let him marry a wife to prove the equal 
value of virginity and marriage; but if he will not 
take a wife, though he is against us in his words, 
his actions are for us. He afterward says, Ille Ro- 
mane ecclesie auctoritate damnatus inter fluviales 
aves, et carnes suillas, non tam emisit animam 
quam eructavit.—P. 183. be 


Vigilantius. 


‘Vigilantius. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


on the popular side, with his audience al- 
ready in his favour. 

But his language to Jovinian is sober, 
dispassionate, and argumenta- 
tive in comparison with that to 
He describes all the mon- 
sters ever invented by poetic imagina- 


tion, the centaurs, the leviathan, the Ne- 


mean lion, Cacus, Geryon. Gaul, by her 
one monster Vigilantius,* had surpassed 
all the pernicious and portentous horrors 
of other regions. “Why do I fly to the 
desert? That I may not see or hear thee ; 
that I may no longer be moved by thy 
madness, nor be provoked to war by thee; 
lest the eye of a harlot should captivate 
me, and a beautiful form seduce me to un- 
lawful love.” But his great and. conclu- 
sive argument in favour of reverence for 
the dust of martyrs (that little dust which, 
covered with a precious veil, Vigilantius 
presumed to think but dust) is universal 
authority. “Was the Emperor Constan- 


* His brief sketch of the enormities of Vigilan- 
tius is as follows:, Qui immundo spiritu pugnat 
contra Christi spiritum, et martyrum negat sepul- 
cra esse veneranda; damnandas dicit esse vigil- 
185; nunquam nisi in Pascha Alleluia cantandum : 
continentiam heresim, pudicitiam libidinis semi- 
narium. 


od 
SF ey. 
γι, δι 
Wits WHR, oy Be 
»"" 
* "τ 
>. 
TAD 
et 
7 Ὰ 74 
: ᾿ 
τὴ 
εἰ : 
͵ 
4 A - 
“a 
* Y 


bon 


437 


tine sacrilegious, who transported the rel- 
ics of Andrew, Luke, and Timothy to Con- 
stantinople, at whose presence the devils 
(such devils as inhabit the wretched Vigi- 
lantius) roar and are confounded? or the 
Emperor Arcadius, who translated the 
of the holy Samuel to Thrace? 
gical the bishops sacrilegious who en- 


‘shrined these precious remains in silk, as 
vessel of gold; and all the people who 


met them, and received them as it were the 
living prophet? Is the Bishop of Rome, 
who offers sacrifice on the altar under 
which are the venerable bones (the vile 
dust would Vigilantius say?) of Peter and 
Paul; and not the bishop of one city alone, 
but the bishops of all the cities in the 
world who reverence these relics, around 
which the souls of the martyrs are con- 
stantly hovering to hear the prayers of 
the supplicant ?” 

The great work of Jerome, the authori- 
tative Latin version of the Scriptures, will 
demand our attention as one of the pri- 
mary elements of Christian literature; a 
subject which must form one most impor- 
tant branch of our inquiry into the extent 
and nature of the general revolution in the 
history of mankind brought about by the 
complete establishment of Christianity. 


ΒΟΟΚΟΕΙἝΝ. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE ROMAN EMPIRE, UNDER CHRISTIANITY. 


Tue period is now arrived when we may 
General sur- survey the total change in the 
vey of ure ot. Habits and manners, as well as 
cue curs, in the sentiments and opinions, 
tianity. of mankind effected by the 
dominance of the new faith. Christianity 
is now the mistress of the Roman world; 
on every side the struggles of paganism 
become more feeble ; it seems resigned to 
its fate, or, rather, only hopes, by a feigned 
allegiance, and a simulation of the forms 
and language of Christianity, to be per- 
mitted to drag on a precarious and inglori- 
ous existence. The Christians are now 
no longer a separate people, founding and 
maintaining their small independent re- 
publics, fenced in by marked peculiarities 
of habits and manners from the rest of 
society ; they have become, to all outward 
appearance, the people; the general man- 
ners of the world may be contemplated as 
the manners of Christendom. The monks, 
and in some respects the clergy, have, as 
. it were, taken the place of the Christians 
as a separate and distinct body of men; 
the latter in a great degree, the former 
altogether, differing from the prevalent 
usages in their modes of life, and abstain- 
ing from the common pursuits and avoca- 
tions of society. The Christian writers, 
Sources of therefore, become our leading, 
information. almost our only, authorities for 
the general habits and manners of man- 
kind (for the notice of such matters in the 
heathen writers are few and casual), ex- 
Theodosian Cept the Theodosian Code. This, 
Code. indeed, is of great value as a rec- 
ord of manners, as well as a history of 
legislation; for that which demands the 
prohibition of the law, or is in any way of 
sufficient importance to require the notice 
of the legislature, may be considered as 
a prevalent custom, particularly as the 
Theodosian Code is not a system of ab- 
stract and general law, but the register of 
the successive edicts of the emperors, 
who were continually supplying, by their 
arbitrary acts, the deficiencies of the ex- 
isting statutes, or, as new eases arose, 
adapting those statutes to temporary exi- 
gences, 


But the Christian preachers are the 
great painters of Roman manners; Christian 
Chrysostom of the East, more par- writers. 
ticularly of Constantinople ; Jerome, and, 
though much less copiously, Ambrose and 
Augustine, of Roman Christendom. Con- 
siderable allowance must of course be 
made in all these statements for oratorical 
vehemence; much more for the ascetic 
habits of the writers, particularly of Chry- 
sostom, who maintained, and would have 
exacted, the rigid austerity of the desert 
in the midst of a luxurious capital. Nor 
must the general morality of the times be 
estimated from their writings without con- 
siderable discretion. It is the office of the 
preacher, though with a different design, 
yet with something of the manner of the 
satirist, to select the vices of mankind for 
his animadversion, and to dwell with far 
less force on the silent and unpretending 
virtues. There might be, and probably 
was, an under-current of quiet Christian 
piety and gentleness, and domestic happi- 
ness, which would not arrest the notice of 
the preacher who was denouncing the 
common pride and luxury ; or, if kindling 
into accents of praise, enlarging on the 
austere self-denial of the anchorite or the 
more shining virtues of the saint. Ν 

Christianity disturbed not the actual re- 
lations of society, it interfered in no way 
with the existing gradations of rank; 
though, as we shall see, it introduced a 
new order of functionaries—what may be 
considered, from the estimation in which 
they were held, a new aristocracy—it left 
all the old official dignitaries in possession 
of their distinctions. With the great vital 
distinction between the freeman 
and the slave, as yet it made no ἢ ᾿ 
difference.* It broke down none of the 
barriers which separated this race of men 
from the common rights of human kind, 
and in no degree legally brought up this 
Pariah caste of antiquity to the common 
level of the human race. 


* The laws of Justinian, it must be remembered, 
are beyond this period. [Yet these laws recognise 
slavery as perfectly lawful. See Justiniani, Instit., 
lib. 1., tit. 5-8, and Digest., lib. i., tit. 5, 6. 


Slav ery. 


en 


s 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


In the new relation established between 
mankind and the Supreme Being, the slave 
was fully participant ; he shared in the re- 


’ τ demption through Christ ; he might receive 


all the spiritual blessings, and enjoy all 


By 


" ἮΝ immortalizing hopes of the believer; 
he might be dismissed from his deathbed 


- to heaven by the absolving voice of the 


priest; and besides this inestimable con- 
-solation in misery and degradation, this 
religious equality, at least with the reli- 
gious part of the community, could not fail 
to elevate his condition, and to strengthen 
that claim to the sympathieS of mankind 
which were enforced by Christian human- 
ity. The axiom of Clement of Alexandrea, 
that by the common law of Christian 
charity, we were to act to them as we 
would be acted by, because they were 
men,* though perhaps it might have been 
uttered with equal strength of language 
by some of the better philosophers, spoke 
with far more general acceptance to the 
human heart. The manumission, which 
was permitted by Constantine to take 
place in the Church, must likewise have 
tended indirectly to connect freedom with 
Christianity. 

Still, down to the time of Justinian, the 

inexorable law, which, as to their treat- 
ment, had already been wisely tempered 
by the heathen emperors as to their righis, 
pronounced the same harsh and imperious 
sentence. It beheld them as an inferior 
class of human beings; their life was 
placed but partially under the protection 
of the law. If they died under a punish- 
ment of extraordinary cruelty, the mas- 
ter was guilty of homicide; if under more 
moderate application of the scourge, or 
any other infliction, the master was not 
accountable for their death.{ While it re- 
fused to protect, the law inflicted on the 
slave punishments disproportionate to 
those of the freeman. If he accused his 
master for any crime except high treason, 
he was to be burned;$ if free women 
married slaves, they sank to the abject 
state of their husbands, and forfeited their 
rights as free women;]|| if a free woman 
intrigued with a slave, she was capitally 
punished, the slave was burned. 
' The possession of slaves was in no de- 
gree limited by law. It was condemned 
as a mark of inordinate luxury, but by no 
means as in itself contrary to Christian 
justice or equity.** 


* Clemens Alex., Pedagog., iil., 12. 

+ See Blair on Slavery, p. 288. 
* £ Cod. Theodos., ix., 12, 1. § Ib., ix., 6, 2. 
.}} 10... iv, 9, 1, 2,3. @ 1b. ; τ Ue 

** Clemens Alex., Padagog., iii., 12. It is cun- 
ous to compare this passage of Clement with the 


Ὁ 
᾿ 


499 


On the pomp and magnificence of the 
court Christianity either did not Manners of 
aspire, or despaired of enforcing te court. 
moderation or respect for the common 
dignity of mankind. The manners of the 
East, as the emperor took up his resi- 
dence in Constantinople, were too strong 
for the religion. With the first Christian 
emperor commenced that Oriental cere- 
monial, which it might almost seem, that, 


rebuked by the old liberties of Rome, the — 


imperial despot would not assume till he 
had founded another capital; or, at least, 
if the first groundwork of this Eastern 
pomp was laid by Dioclesian, Rome had 
already been deserted, and was not insult- 
ed by the open degradation of the first 
men in the empire to the language, atti- 
tudes, and. titles of servitude. 

The eunuchs, who, however admitted in 
solitary instances to the confi- Government 
dence or favour of the earlier of the eu- 
emperors, had never formed a ™*- 
party or handed down to each other the 
successive administrations, now ruled in 
almost uncontested sovereignty, and, ex- 
cept in some rare instances, seemed de- 
termined not to incur, without deserving, 
the antipathy and contempt of mankind. 
The luxury and prodigality of the court 
equalled its pomp and its servility. The 
parsimonious reformation introduced by 
Julian may exaggerate, in its contemptu- 
ous expressions, the thousand cooks, the 
thousand barbers, and more than a tho 
sand cup-bearers, with the host of eunuchs 
and drones of every description who lived 
at the charge of the Emperor Constan- 
tius.* The character of Theodosius gave 
an imposing dignity to his resumption of 
that magnificence, of which Julian, not 
without affectation, had displayed his dis- 
dain. The heathen writers, perhaps with 
the design of contrasting Theodosius with 
the severer Julian, who are the represent- 
atives, or, at least, each the pride of the 
opposing parties, describe the former as 
immoderately indulging in the pleasures 
of the table, and of re-enlisting 
in the imperial service a count- 
less multitude of cooks and other attend- 
ants on the splendour and indulgence of 
the σου. That which in Theodosiu_ 
was the relaxation or the reward for mili- 
tary services, and the cares and agitations 
of an active administration, degenerated 
with his feeble sons into indolent and ef- 
feminate luxury. ‘The head of the empire 


The emperor. 


beautiful essay of Seneca. See likewise Chry- 
sostom almost passim. Some had 2000 or 3000, t, 
vil., p. 633. ; 

* Libanius, Epitaph. Julian., p. 565. 

+ Zosimus, iv., 28. 


+ 


a 


oF, 
coming 


of 


440 | 


¥ ὅ 

became ἃ secluded Asiatic despot. When, 
on rare occasions, Arcadius condescended 
to reveal to the public the majesty of the 
sovereign, he was preceded by a vast mul- 
titude of attendants, dukes, tribunes, civil 
and military officers, their horses glitter- 
ing with golden ornaments, with shields 

‘gold set with precious stones, and 
olin: lances. _ They proclaimed the 
of the emperor, and commanded 


+. the ignoble crowd to clear the streets 


τς before him.* 
ad tied oh a gorgeous ὁ 


The emperor stood or A 
hariot, surrounde 
- by his immediate attendants, distinguished 
Ἐπ Νὴ golden bosses set round 
with golden eyes, and drawn by white 
mules with gilded trappings ; the chariot 
‘was set with precious stones, and golden 
fans vibrated with the movement, and 
eooled the air. The multitude contem- 
plated at a distance the snow-white cush- 
ions, the silken carpets, with dragons in- 
woven upon them in rich colours. Those 
who were fortunate enough to catch a 
glimpse of the emperor beheld his ears 
joaded with golden rings, his arms with 
golden chains, his diadem set with gems 
of all hues, his purple robes, which, with 
the diadem, were reserved for the emper- 
or, in all their sutures embroidered with 
precious stones, The wondering people, 
on their return to their homes, could talk 
of nothing but the splendour of the spec- 
tacle: the robes, the mules, the carpets, 
the size and splendour of the jewels. On 
nis return to the palace the emperor walk- 
ed on gold; ships were employed with 
the express purpose of bringing gold-dustt 
from remote provinces, which was strewn 
by the officious care of a host of attend- 
ants, so that the emperor rarely set his 
foot on the bare pavement. 
᾿ς The official aristocracy, which had suc- 
The aris- ceeded to the hereditary patriciate 
tocracy. of Rome, reflected in more mod- 
erate splendour and less unapproachable 
seclusion the manners of the court. The 
chief civil offices were filled by men of 
ignoble birth, often eunuchs, who, by the 
prodigal display of their ill-acquired wealth, 
insulted the people, who admired, envied, 
and hated their arrogant state. The mili- 
tary officers, in the splendour of their 
trappings and accoutrements, vied with 
the gorgeousness of the court favourites; 
and even the barbarians, who began to 


* Montfaucon, in an essay in the last volume of 
the works of Chrysostom, and in the twelfth vol. 
of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscriptions ; 
and Miiller, in his treatise de Genio, Moribus, et 
Luxu Avi Theodosiani, have collected the princi- 
pal features of this picture, chiefly from Chrysos- 
tom. t Χρύσιτιν.--- 866 Miller, p. 10. 


A. 5 
τὸν» 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. > 
“ι aie ee 


- 
ΕΝ * 
* 
« 


ar 


ἂν ἐξ * at ᾿ : Ὁ 
force their way heir valour to these 


? 


b 
posts in the capital 


of luxury and pomp. As in all despot- 
isms, especially in the East, there was a 
rapid rise and fall of unworthy favourite 
whose vices, exactions, and oppres io 


were unsparingly laid open by hostile wri- ne 


ters directly as they had lost the protect- 
ing favour of the court. Men then found 
out that the enormous wealth, the splen- 
dour, the voluptuousness, in which a Eu- 
tropius or a Rufinus had indulged, had 
been obtained by the sale of appoint- 
ments, by vast bribes from provincial 
governors, by confiscations, and every 
abuse of inordinate power.* 

Christianity had not the power to ele- 
vate despotism into a wise and beneficent 
rule, nor to dignify its inseparable conse- 


caught the infection . 


Ἄ, 


ine Bie 


quence, court favouritism; yet, after all, _ 


feeble and contemptible as are many of the ~ 


Christian emperors, pusillanimous even in — 


their vices; odious as was the tyranny of 
their ministers, they may bear no unfa- 
vourable comparison with the heathen 
emperors of Rome. Human nature is not 


so outraged; our belief in the possible de- 


pravity of man is not so severely tried as 
by the monstrous vices and cruelties of a 
Tiberius, a Caligula, or a Nero. 'Theo- 
dora, even if we credit the malignant sat- 
ire of Procopius, maintained some decen- 
cy upon the throne. The superstitions of 
the emperors debased Christianity; the 
Christian bishop was degraded by being 
obliged at times to owe his promotion to 
a eunuch or a favourite; yet even the 
most servile and intriguing of the hie- 
rarchy could not be entirely forgetful of | 


their high mission; there was still a kind — 


of moral repugnance, inseparable from the 
character they bore, which kept them 
above the general debasement. 
The aristocratical life at this period 
seems to have been character- ypanners of 


ized by gorgeous magnificence the aristoc- — 


without grandeur, inordinate lux- τοῖν: ‘ 
ury without refinement, the pomp and 
prodigality of a high state of civilization 
with none οἵ 105. ennobling or humanizing 
effects. The walls of the palaces were 
lined with marbles of all colours, crowded 


* Hic Asiam villA-pactus regit; 116 redemit _ 
Conjugis ornatu Syriam ; dolet ille paterna 
Bithynos mutasse domo. Suffixa patenti 
Vestibulo pretiis distinguit regula gentes. 

Claud. in Eutrop., i., 199. 
Clientes 
Fallit, et ambitos ἃ principe vendit honores, 
* * * 


Congeste cumulantur opes, orbisque rapinas 
Accipit una domus. Populi servire coacti 
Plenaque privato succumbunt oppida regno. 

; In Rufin., i., 179-193. 


“- 


ow 


a 


am 


» 
ΤΊ 
ite “9 
> 


ΠῚ ἕρ' a . r 4 
ν ᾿ΒΙΒΤΌΠΥ OF CHRISTIANITY. 3. 441.” 
᾿ 4 ὦ Ὁ oD th "ΑΗ +” ᾽ 
with statues of inferior workmanship; mo- vagant. But it was rather the Roman 
_ Saies, of which the merit consisted in the Geert than the influence of Christian- 
gh aiangement of the stones; the cost, rath-|ity which was thus fatal to the refine- 
_ er than the beauty or elegance, was the | ments of life. The degeneracy of taste 
“ excellence and the object of admi- | was almost complete before the predom- 
on. They were surrounded with hosts | inance of the new religion. The manners 
Parasites or servants.. ‘ You. reckon | of ancient Rome had descended from the ὁ 


»,” Chrysostom thus addresses ἃ patri- 
cian, ““so many acres of land, ten or 
twenty palaces, as many baths, a thou- 
sand or two thousand slaves, chariots pla- | 
ted with silver or overlaid with gold.”* 

Their banquets were merely sumptuous, 

without social grace or elegance. 
The dress of the females, the fond- 
ness for false hair, sometimes wrought up 
to an enormous height, and especially af- 
fecting the golden dye, and for paint, from 
which irresistible propensities they were 
not to be estranged even by religion, ex- 
cite the stern animadversion of the ascetic 
Christian teacher. ‘“ What business have 
rouge and paint on a Christian cheek ? 
Who can weep for her sins when her tears 
wash her face bare and mark furrows on 
her skint With what trust can faces be 
lifted up towards heaven which the Ma- 
ker cannot recognise as his workman- 
ship?’+ Their necks, heads, arms, and 
fingers were loaded with golden chains 
and rings; their persons breathed pre- 
cious odours, their dresses were of gold 
stuff and silk’ and in this attire they ven- 
tured to enter the Church. Some of the 
wealthier Christian matrons gave a reli- 
gious air to their vanity, while the more 
profane wore their thin silken dresses em- 
broidered with hunting-pieces, wild beasts, 
or any other fanciful device ; the more pi- 
ous had the miracles of Christ, the mar- 
riage in Cana of Galilee, or the paralytic 
carrying his bed. In vain the preachers 
urged that it would be better to emulate 
these acts of charity and love than to 
wear them on their garments. 

It might indeed be supposed that Chris- 
tianity, by the extinction of that feeling 
for the beauty, grandeur, and harmony of 
outward form, which was a part of the re- 
ligion of Greece, and was enforced by the 
purer and loftier philosophy, may have 
contributed to this total depravation of 
the taste. Those who had lost the finer 
feeling for the pure and noble in art and in 
social life, would throw themselves into 
the gorgeous, the sumptuous, and the ex- 


stantinople were in most respects an els 
orate imitation of those of Rome.) 
The provincial cities, according to the 
national character, imitated the old and 
new Rome; and in all, no doubt the no- 
bility or the higher order were of the 
same character and habits. ἐν i 8 es 
On the appointment to the incial 
governments, and the high ciyil offices of 
the empire, Christianity see, CxS 
cised by no means a comman ing, cer- 
tainly no exclusive, influence. Either su- 
perior merit, or vm a or favour 
bestowed civil offices with impartial hand 
on Christian and pagan. ‘The Rufinus or 


Females. 


bribe was offered by a worshipper in the 
Church or in the temple. The heathen 
Themistius was appointed prefect of Con- 
Stantinople by the intolerant Theodosius ; 
Pretextatus and Symmachus held the high- 
est civil functions in Rome. The prefect 
who was so obstinate an enemy to Chry- 
sostom was Optatus,a pagan. Ata later 
period, as we have observed, a statue was 
raised to the heathen poet Merobaudes. 

But, besides the officers of the imperial © 
government, of the provinces and the mu- 
nicipalities, there now appeared a new 
order of functionaries, with recognised, if 
undefined’ powers, the religious magis- 
trates of the religious community. In 
this magisterial character the new hie- 
rarchy differed from the ancient priest- 
hoods at least of Greece and Rome. _ In 
Greece they were. merely the officiating 
dignitaries in the religious ceremonial; in 
Rome, the pontifical was attached to, and 
in effect merged in, the important civil 
function. But Christianity had its own 
distinct and separate aristocracy, which 
not merely officiated in the Church, but 
ruled the public mind, and mingled itself 
with the various affairs of life far beyond 
this narrow sphere of religious ministra- 
tion. Kis 

The Christian hierarchy was complete- 
ly organized and established in the minds 


» 


under Constantine, legalized Christianity, 


* Τὶ vii, p. 533. | 
+ Hieronym., Epist. 54. Compare Epist. 19, vol. | and, under Theodosius and his successors, 
i., p. 284. : 


* Compare the description of the manners and 
habits of the Roman nobles in Ammianus Marcel- 
linus, so well transferred into English in the 31st 
chapter of Gibbon, vol. ii., p. 245-248. 


1 Miller, p.112. ‘There are several statutes pro- 
hibiting the use of gold brocade or dresses of silk in 
the Theodosian Code, x., tit. 20. Other statutes 
regulate the dress in Rome, xiv., 10, 1. 


of men before the great revolutions which, ~ 


earlier empire,* and the manners of Coy: Ν 
abd= “ 


the Eutropius cared little whether the | 


« 


. 


oF 


. 


442 


identified the Church and state. The 
strength of the sacerdotal power was con- 
solidated before it came into inevitable 
collision, or had to dispute its indefinable 
limits with the civil authority. Mankind 
was now submitted to a double dominion, 
the civil supremacy of the emperor and 
his subordinate magistrates, and that. of 
the bishop with his inferior priesthood. 
Up to the establishment of Christianity, 
Gradual de.. the clerical order had been the 
velopmentof sole magistracy of the new 
the hierarchi- communities. But it is not 
ea" power alone from the scantiness of au- 
thentic documents concerning the earliest 
Christian history, but from the inevitable 
nature of things, that the development of 
the hierarchical power, 85. has already 


been partially shown,* was gradual and | 


untraceable. In the infant Christian com- 
munity we have seen that the chief teach- 
er and the ruler, almost immediately, if 
not immediately, became the same person. 
It was not so much that he was formally 
invested in authority, as that his advice, 
his guidance, his control, were sought on 
all occasions with timid diffidence, and 
obeyed with unhesitating submission. In 
the Christian, if it may be so said, the civil 
was merged in the religious being ; he 
abandoned willingly his rights as a citizen, 
almost as a man, his independence of 
thought and action, in order to be taught 
conformity to the new doctrines which he 
had embraced, and the new rule of life. to 
which he had submitted himself. Com- 
munity of sentiment, rather than any strict 
federal compact, was the primary bond of 
the Christian republic ; and this. general 
sentiment, even prior, perhaps, to any for- 
mal nomination or ordination, designated 
the heads and the subordinate rulers, the 
bishops, the presbyters, and the deacons ; 
and, therefore, where all agreed, there was 
no question in whom resided the right of 
conferring the title. 

The simple ceremonial of “ laying on of 
hands,” which dedicated the individual for 
his especial function, ratified and gave its 
religious character to this popular election, 
which took place by a kind of silent ac- 
clamation; and without this sacred com- 
mission by the bishop, no one, from the 
earliest times of which we have any rec- 
ord, presumed, it should seem, to invest 
himself in the sacred office.{ The civil 


* Book ii., ch. 4. 

+ The growth of the Christian hierarchy, and the 
general constitution of the Church, are developed 
with learning, candour, and moderation by Planck, 
in his Geschichte der Christlich-Kirchlichen Ver- 
fassung, Hanover, 1803-1809, 6 vols. 

1 Gradually the admission to orders became a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


and religious power of the hierarchy grew 
up side by side, or intertwined with each 
other, by the same spontaneous vital en- _ 
ergy. Everything in the primary forma- 
tion of the communities tended to increase 

the power of their ecclesiastical superiors. — 
The investiture of the blended teacher and 
ruler in a sacred, and at length in a sacer- 
dotal character, the rigid separation of this 
sacred order from the mass of the believ- 
ers, could not but arise out of the unavoid- 
able development of the religion. It was 
not their pride or ambition that withdrew 
them, but the reverence of the people 
which enshrined them ina separate sphere : 
they did not usurp or even assume their 
power and authority ; it was heaped upon 
them by the undoubting and prodigal con- 
fidence of the community. The hopes and 


fears of men would have forced this hon- 


our upon them had they been humbly re- 
luctant to accept it. Man, in his state of 
religious excitement, imperiously required 
some authorized interpreters of those mys- 
terious revelations from Heaven which he 
could read himself but imperfectly and ob- 
scurely; he felt the pressing necessity of 
a spiritual guide. ‘The privileges and dis- 
tinctions of the clergy, so far from being 
aggressions on his religious independence, 
were solemn responsibilities undertaken 
for the general benefit. The Christian 
commonalty, according to the general sen- 
timent, could not have existed without 
them, nor could such necessary but grave 
functions be intrusted to casual or com- 
mon hands. No individual felt himself 
safe except under their superintendence. 
Their sole right of entering the sanctuary 
arose as much out of the awe of the peo- 
ple as their own self-invested holiness of 
character. The trembling veneration for 
the mysteries of the sacrament must by 
no means be considered as an artifice to 
exalt themselves as the sole guardians and 
depositaries of these blessings ; it was the 
genuine.expression of their own profound- 
est feelings. If they had not assumed the 
keys of heaven and hell; if they had not 
appeared legitimately to possess the pow- 
er of pronouncing the eternal destiny of 


subject not merely of ecclesiastical, but of civil reg- 
ulation. It has been observed that the decurion was 
prohibited from taking orders in order to obtain ex- 
emption from the duties of his station.—Cod. 
Theod., xii., 1, 49. No slave, curialis, officer of 
the’ court, public debtor, procurator, or collector of 
the purple dye (murilegulus), or one involved in 
business, might be ordained, or, if ordained, might 
be reclaimed to his former state.—Cod. Theod., ix., 
45,3. This was a law of the close of the fourth 
century, A.D. 398. The Council of Illiberis had 
made a-restriction that no freedman, whose patron 
was a Gentile, could be ordained; he was still too 
much under control.—Can. Ixxx. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


man—to suspend or excommunicate from 
those Christian privileges which were in- 
separably connected in Christian belief 
with the eternal sentence, or to absolve 
and readmit into the pale of the Church 
‘and of salvation—among the mass of be- 
lievers, the uncertainty, the terror, the ag- 
ony of minds fully impressed with the 
conviction of their immortality, and yearn- 
ing by every means to obtain the assu- 
rance of pardon and peace, with heaven 
and hell constantly before their eyes and 
agitating their inmost being, would have 
been almost insupportable. However they 
might exaggerate their powers, they could 
not extend them beyond the ready acqui- 
escence of the people. They could not 
possess the power of absolving without 
that of condemning ; and men were con- 
tent to brave the terrors of the gloomier 
award for the indescribable consolations 
and confidence in their brighter and more 
ennobling promises. 

_The change in the relative position of 
Christianity to the rest of the world tend- 
ed to the advancement of the hierarchy. 
At first there was no necessity to guard 
the admission into the society with rigid 
or suspicious jealousy, since the profes- 
sion of Christianity in the face of a hos- 
tile world was in itself almost a sufficient 
test of sincerity. Expulsion from the so- 
ciety, or a temporary exclusion from its 
privileges, which afterward grew into the 
awful forms of interdict or excommunica- 
tion, must have been extremely rare or 
unnecessary,* since he who could not en- 
dure the discipline, or who doubted again 
the doctrines of Christianity, had nothing 
to do but to abandon a despised sect and 
revert to the freedom of the world. The 
older and more numerous the community, 
severer regulations were requisite for the 
admission of members, the maintenance 
of order, of unity in doctrine, and propri- 
ety of conduct, as well as for the ejection 
Expulsion or Of unworthy disciples. As men 
excommuni- began to be Christians, not from 
cation, leti 

personal conviction, but from 
hereditary descent as children of Chris- 
tian parents; as the Church was filled 


* The casein St. Paul’s Epistle to the Corinthi- 
ans (1 Cor., v., 5), which seems to have been the 
first of forcible expulsion, was obviously an act of 
apostolic authority [or, rather, was an act which 
apostolic injunction authorized them to perform]. 
This, it is probable, was a Jewish convert ; and 
these persons stood in a peculiar position ; they 
would be ashamed, or would not be permitted, to 
return into the bosom of the Jewish community, 
which they had abandoned, and, if expelled from 
the Christian Church, would be complete outcasts. 
Not so the heathen apostate, who might one day 
leave, and the next return, to his old religion, with 
all its advantages. 


x 


x’ 


443 


with doubtful converts, some from 

love of novelty, others, when they incur- 
red less danger and obloquy, from less 
sincere faith; some, no doubt, of the base 
and profligate, from the desire of parta- 
king of the well-known charity of the 
Christians to their poorer brethren; many 
would become Christians, having just 
strength of mind enough to embrace its 
tenets, but not to act up to its duties; a 
more severe investigation, therefore, be- 
came necessary for admission into the 
society, a more summary authority for 
the expulsion of improper members.* 
These powers naturally devolved on the 
heads of the community, who had either 
originally possessed, and transmitted by 
regularly-appointed descent, or held by 
general consent, the exclusive adminis- 
tration of the religious rites, the sacra- 
ments, which were the federal bonds of 
the community. Their strictly Inerease in 
civil functions became likewise their eivil 
more extensive and important, uence. 
All legal disputes had from the first been 
submitted to the religious magistracy, not 
as interpreters of the laws of the empire, 
but as best acquainted with the higher 
principles of natural justice and Christian 
equity. The religious heads of the com- 
munities were the supreme and univer- 
sally recognised arbiters in all the trans- 
actions of life. When the magistrate be- 
came likewise a Christian, and the two 
communities were blended into one, con- 
siderable difficulty could not but arise, as 


we shall hereafter see, in the limits of 


5 


their respective jurisdictions. 
But the magisterial or ruling part of the 
ecclesiastical function became thus more 
and more relatively important; govern- 
ment gradually became an affair of as- 
serted superiority on one hand, of exact- 
ed submission on the other; but still the 
general voice would long be in favour of 
the constituted authorities. The episcopal 
power would be a mild, a constitutional, 
an unoppressive, and, therefore, unques- 
pee «εἰν λων ay. a ὦ τ 5 


* It is curious to find that both ecclesiastical and 
civil laws against apostacy were constantly neces- 
sary. The Council of Elvira readmits an apostate 
to communion who has not worshipped idols, after 
ten years’ penance. The laws of Gratian and 
Theodosius, and even of Arcadius and Valentinian 
IIl., speak a more menacing language: the Chris- 
tian who has. become’a pagan forfeits the right of 
bequeathing by will; his will is null and void— 
Cod. Theod., xvi., 7, 1, 22. A law of Valentinian 
II. inflicts the same penalty (only with some limita- 
tion) on apostates to Judaism or Manicheism. 
The laws of Arcadius and Valentinian III. prove, 
by the severity of their prohibitions, not only that 
cases of apostacy took place, but that sacrifices 
were still frequently offered.—Cod. Theodos., xvi. 
tit. de Apostatis. 


rs .* 


, ae 


“ys 


nde 


444 


eignty ; for, in 
, what was the 
nate degree, the 


tioned and unlimited ἢ 
¥ ge in the earlier pe 
shop; and in a subore 


Ἧ sbyter, or even the deacont He was 


eligious superior; elected by general 
lamation, or, at least, by general con- 
sent, as commanding that station by his 
unrivalled religious qualifications’; he was 
solemnly invested in his office by a reli- 
gious ceremony ; he was the supreme ar- 
biter in such civil matters as occurred 
among the members of the body, and 
thus the conservator of peace; he was 
the censor of morals, the minister.in holy 
The bishop Tites, the instructer in the doc- 
in the early trines of the faith, the adviser 
community. in all scruples, the consoler in all 
sorrows; he was the champion of .the 
truth, in the hour of trial the first victim 
of persecution, the designated , martyr. 
Of a being so sanctified, so ennobled to 
the thought, what jealous, suspicion would 
arise, what power would be withholden 
from one whose commission would seem 
ratified by the Holy Spirit of God? Pow- 
‘er might generate ambition, distinction 
might be attended by pride, but the tran- 
sition would not be perceived by the daz- 
zled sight of respect, of reverence, of ven- 
eration, and of love. 

Above all, diversities of religious opin- 
Didsensions 10n would tend to increase the 
in the Church influence and the power of those 
the cause of - who held the religious suprem- 
‘sacerdotal acy. It hasbeen said,not with- 

ower: out some authority, that the es- 
~ tablishment of episcopacy in the apostolic 
times arose from the control of the dif- 
ferences with the Judaizing converts.* 
The multitude of believers would take 
refuge under authority from the doubts 
and perplexities thus cast among them ; 
they would be grateful to men who would 
think for them, and in whom their confi- 
dence might seem to be justified by their 
station; a formulary of faith for such 
persons would be the most acceptable 
boon to the Christian society. This 
would be more particularly the case when, 
as in the Asiatic communities, they were 
not merely slight and unimportant, but 
vital points of difference. The Gnosti- 
-eism which the bishops of Asia Minor and 


of Syria had to combat was not a Chris- 


tian sect or heresy, but another religion, 
although speaking in, some degree Chris- 
tian language. ‘The justifiable alarm of 
these dangerous encroachments would in- 
duce - he teachers and governors to as- 
+N doubt this kind of ‘constant and of natural 
appeal ‘supreme religious functionary must 
have mat ly tended to strengthen and 
this power.—See page 196, and note. 
. i" * ** 


confirm 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


sume a loftier and more dictatorial tone, 
those untainted by the new opinions would 
vindicate and applaud their acknowledg- 
ed champions and defenders. Hence we 
account for the strong language in the. 
Kpistles of Ignatius, which appears to 
claim the extraordinary rank of actual 
representatives, not merely of the apos- 
tles, but of Christ himself, for the bishops, 
precisely in this character, as maintainers 
of.the true Christian doctrine.* In the 
pseudo-Apostolic Constitutions, which be- 
long probably to the latter end of the third 
century, this more than apostolic authori- 
ty is sternly and unhesitatingly asserted.t 
Thus, the separation between the clergy 
and laity continually widened ; the teach- 
er or ruler of the community became. the 


* My own impression is decidedly in favour of 
the genuineness of these Epistles—the shorter 
ones, | mean—which are’ vindicated by Pearson ; 
nor do [ suspect that these passages, which are too 
frequent, and too much in the style and spirit of 
the whole, are later interpolations. Certainly the 
fact of the existence of two different copies of ‘these 
Epistles throws doubt on the genuineness of both; 
but I receive them partly from an historical argu- 
ment,which I have.suggested, p. 222, partly from 
internal evidence. Some of their expressions, e. g., 
‘Be ye subject to the bishop as to Jesus Christ” 
(ad Trall., c. 2), ‘‘ Follow your bishop as Jesus 
Christ the Father, the presbytery as the apostles ; 
reverence the deacons as the ordinance of -God” 
(ad Smyrn, c. 8); taken as detached sentences, 
and without regard to the figurative style and ar- 
dent manner'of the writer, would seem so extraor- 
dinary a transition from the tone of the apostles, as 
to throw still farther doubts on the authenticity at 
least of these sentences. But it may be observed- 
that in these strong expressions the object of the 
writer does not seem to be to raise the sacerdotal 
power, but rather to enforce Christian unity, with 
direct reference to these fatal differences of doc- 
trine. In another passage he says, “‘ Be ye subject 
to the bishop and to each other (τῳ ἐπισκόπῳ καὶ 
ἀλλήλοις), as Jesus Christ tothe Father, and the 
apostles to Christ, to the Father and to the Spirit.” 
1 cannot, indeed, understand the inference that 
all the language or tenets of Christians who may 
have heard the apostles are to be considered of 
apostolic authority. “Ignatius was a vehement and 
strongly figurative writer, very different in his tone, 
according to my judgment, to the apostolic wri- 
tings. His eager desire for martyrdom, his-depre- 
cating the interference of the Roman Christians in 
his behalf, is remarkably at variance with the sober 
dignity with which the apostles did not seek, but 
submitted to, death. That which may have been 
high-wrought metaphor in Ignatius, is repeated by 
the author of the Apostolic Constitutions without 
‘reserve or limitation. This, [ think, may be fairly 
taken as indicative of the language prevalent at the 
end of the third or beginning of the fourth century : 
ὑμῖν ὁ ἐπίσκοπος εἷς Θεόν τετιμήσθω.--- ΤῊ bish- 
op is to be honoured as God, ii., 30. The language 
of Psalm lxxxi., “Ye are gods,” is applied to 
them; they are as much greater than the king as 
the soul is superior to the body ; στέργειν ὀφειλέτε 
ὡς πατέρα,---φοθεῖσθαι ὡς βασιλεα. 

+ Οὗτος ὑμῖν ἐπίγειος Θεὸς μετὰ Heod.—Lib. 


6 bg) tigen 26,0.) 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ant 


dictator of doctrine, the successor, not of 
the bishop, appointed by apostolic author- 
ity* or according to apostolic usage, but 
the apostle ; and at length took on himself 
a sacerdotal name and dignity. A strong 
corporate spirit, which arises out of asso- 
ciations formed for the noblest as well as 
for the most unworthy objects, could not 
but actuate the hierarchical college which 
was formed in each diocese or each city 
by the bishop and more or less numerous 
presbyters and deacons. The control on 
the autocracy of the bishop, which was 
exercised by this senate of presbyters, 
without whoin he rarely acted, tended to 
strengthen rather than to invalidate the 
authority of the general body, in which all 
particular and adverse interests were ab- 
sorbed in those of the clerical order.t 
The language of the Old Testament, 
Language of Which was received perhaps 
the Old Tes- with greater readiness, from the 
armel contemptuous aversion in which 
it was held by the Gnostics, on this as on 
other subjects, gradually found its way into 
the Church.{ But the strong and marked 
Clergy and line between the ministerial or 
Jaity. magisterial order (the clergy) and 
the inferior Christians, the people (the la- 
ity), had been drawn before the bishop be- 
came a pontiff (for the heathen names were 
likewise used), the presbyters, the sacer- 
dotal order, and the deacons, a class of 
men who shared in the indelible sanctity 
of the new priesthood. The common 


priesthood of all Christians, as distinguish-. 


ing them Ly their innocent and dedicated 
character from the profane heathen, as- 
serted in the Epistle of St. Peter, was the 
only notion of the sacerdotal character at 
first admitted into the popular sentiment.§ 
The appellation of the sacerdotal order 
began to be metaphorically applied to the 


* The full apostolic authority was claimed for 
the bishops, I think, first distinctly at a later pe- 
riod.—See the letter from Firmilianus in Cyprian’s 
works, Epist. Ixxv. . Potestas peccatorum remit- 
tendorum apostolis data est * * et episcopis qui 
eis vicaria ordinatione successerunt. 

+ Even Cyprian enforces his own authority by 
that of his concurrent college of presbyters : 
Quando ἃ primordio episcopatis mei statuerem, 
nihil sine consilio vestro, et cum consensu plebis, 
mea privatim sententia gerere.—KEpist.v. In other 
passages he says, Cui rei non potui me solum ju- 
dicem dare. He had acted, therefore, cum collegis 
meis, et cum plebe ipsa universi.— Fpist. xxviii. _ 


+ It is universally adopted in the’ Apostolic Con- 


stitutions. The crime of Korah is significantly ad- 
duced ; tithes are mentioned, | believe, for the first 
time, ii, 25. Compare vi., 2 ; : 

§ See the well-known passage of Tertullian : 
Nonne et laici sacerdotes suinus? * * Differen- 
tiam inter ordinem et plehem constituit ecclesie 
auctoritas. Tertullian evidently Montanizes ints 
treatise, de Exhort. Castit.,c. 7, yet seems to 


liver these as maxims generally acknowledged. ] 
, “hs 


- 
~ > 


ΤῸ ἢ 


Christian clergy,* but soon became reai 
titles; and by the close of the third cen-_ 
tury they were invested in the names and 
claimed the rights of the Levitical priest- τὸ 
hood in the Jewish theocracy.t ‘The Epis- 
tle of Cyprian to Cornelius, bishop of 
Rome, shows the height to which the epis- 
copal power had aspired before the reli- 
gion of Christ had become that of the Ro- 
man empire. The passages of the Old 
Testament, and even of the New, in which 
honour or deference is paid to the He- 
brew pontificate, are recited in profuse | 
detail; implicit obedience is demanded for 
the priest of God, who is the sole infallible 
judge or delegate of Christ. 

Even if it had been possible that, in their 
state of high-wrought attachment and 
reverence for the teachers and guardians 
of their religion, any mistrust could have 
arisen in the more sagacious and far-sight- 
ed minds of the vast system of sacerdotal 
domination, of which they were thus lay- 
ing the deep foundations in the Roman 
world, there was no recollection or tradi- 7 
tion of any priestly tyranny from which. 
they could take warning or imbibe cau- — 
tion. ‘These sacerdotal castes were obso- 
lete or Oriental; the only one within their 
sphere of knowledge was that of the Ma- 
gians in the hostile kingdom of Persia. 
In Greece, the priesthood had sunk into 
the neglected ministers of the deserted . 
temples ; their highest dignity was to pre- 
side over the amusements of the people 
The emperor had now at length disdain- 
fully cast off the supreme pontificate 
the heathen world, which had long been a 
title and nothing more. Even among the * 
Jews, the rabbinical hierarchy, which had 
gained considerable strength even during 
our Saviour’s time, but after the fall of 
the Temple and the publication of the 'Fal- 
muds had assumed a complete despotism 
over the Jewish mind, was not a priest- 
hood; the rabbins came promiscuously 

* We find the first appearance of this in the fig- 
urative Ignatius. Tertullian uses the term summi 
sacerdotes. 

+ The passage in the.Fpistle of Clemens (ad Ro- 
man, ¢., 40), in which the analogy of the ministe- 


rial offices of the Church with the priestly func- ; 
tions of the Jewish temple is distinctly developed, Με 
is rejected as.an interpolation by all judicious and 
impartial scholars. ; ptt 
t See his 68th Epistle, in which he draws the 
analogy between the legitimate bishop and the sa- 
cerdos of the law, the irregularly elected and Corah, 
Dathan, and Abiram: Neque enim alinnde hereses 
obort# sunt, aut nata sunt schismata, quam inde 
quod sacerdoti Dei non obtemperatur, nec unus in ec- ; 
clesia ad tempus sacerdos, et ad tempus Judea, vice 
Christi cogitatus: cui si secundum magisteria divi- 
‘Da obtemperaret fraternitas nniversa, memo adver- 


‘sum sacerdotium collegium quic vam moverat.— 
‘Ad Cornel., Bpist. lv a core δὲ “ 
Ν ἂν a! * “ ; δι ᾿ 7 
δ > » i 
3 ς 
” sy 
ᾶ΄ ΤΑ Δ. ἣν ἃ 
ΩΝ ek ys 


— 446 


from all the tribes; their claims rested on 
learning and on knowledge of the tradi- 
tions of the fathers, not on Levitical de- 
scent. 

Nor, indeed, could any danger be appa- 
rent, so long as the free voice of the com- 
munity, guided by fervent piety, and rarely 
perverted by less worthy motives, sum- 
moned the wisest and the holiest to these 
important functions. The nomination to 
the sacred office experienced the same, 
more gradual, perhaps, but not less inevi- 
table, change from the popular to the self- 
electing form. The acclamation of the 
united, and seldom, if ever, discordant 
voices of the presbyters and the people 
might be trusted with the appointment to 
the headship of a poor and devout com- 
munity, whose utmost desire was to wor- 
ship God, and to fulfil their Christian du- 
ties in uninterrupted obscurity. But as 
Change in the episcopate became an object 
themole of Of ambition or interest, the dis- 
election. —_ turbing forces which operate on 
the justice and wisdom of popular elec- 
tions could not but be called forth; and 
slowly the clergy, by example, by influ- 
ence, by recommendation, by dictation, by 
usurpation, identified their acknowledged 
right of consecration for a particular office 
with that of appointment to it. This was 
one of their last triumphs. In the days 
of Cyprian, and towards the close of the 
third century, the people had the right of 
electing, or at least of rejecting, candidates 
for the priesthood.* In the latter half of 
the fourth century the streets of Rome 
ran with blood, in the contest of Damasus 
and Ursicinus for the bishopric of Rome ; 
both factions arrayed against each other 
the priests and the people who were their 
respective partisans.t Thus the clergy 
had become a distinct. and recognised 
class in society, consecrated by a solemn 
ceremony, the imposition of hands, which, 
however, does not yet seem to have been 
indelible.{ But each church was still a 


* Plebs ipsa maximé habeat potestatem vel eli- 
gendi dignos sacerdotés, vel indignos recusandi.— 
Epist. Ixvii.. Cornelius was testimonio cleri, ac 
suffragio populi electus.—Compare Apostol. Con- 
stit., viii, 4. The Council of Laodicea (at the be- 
ginning of the fourth century) ordains that bishops 
are to be appointed by the metropolitans, and that 
the multitude, οἱ ὄχλοι, are not to designate per- 
sons for the priesthood. 

+ Ammianus Marcell., xxvii., 3. 
Chron. Compare Gibbon, vol. ii, 94. 

+ A canon of the Council of Chalcedon (can. 7) 
prohibits the return of a spiritual person to the lai- 
ty, and his assumption of lay offices in the state. 
—Seealso Cone. Turon.,i.,c.5. The laws of Jus- 
tinian confiscate to the Church the property of any 
priest who has forsaken his orders.— Cod. Just., i., 
tit. iii, 53; Nov., v., 4, 125, c. 15. This seems to 


Hieron. in 


"» 
᾿ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


separate and independent community ; the 
bishop as its sovereign, the presbyters, and 
sometimes the deacons, as a kind of reli- 
gious senate, conducted all its internal con- 
cerns. Great deference was paid from the 
first to the bishops of the more important 
sees ; the number and wealth of the con- 
gregations would give them weight and 
dignity; and, in general, those prelates 
would be men of the highest character and 
attainments ; yet promotion to a wealthier 
or more distinguished see was looked upon 
as betraying worldly ambition. The ene- 
mies of Eusebius, the Arian or semi-Arian 
bishop of Constantinople, bitterly taunted 
him with his elevation from the less im- 
portant see of Nicomedia to the episcopate 
of the Eastern metropotis. This transla- 
tion was prohibited by some councils.* 

The level of ecclesiastical or episcopal 
dignity gradually broke up; Some ypetropol- 
bishops emerged into ἃ higher itan bish- 
rank; the single community over 9PS- 
which the bishop originally presided grew 
into the aggregation of several communi- 
ties, and formed a diocese ; the metropol- 
itan rose above the ordinary bishop, the 
patriarch assumed a rank above the met- 
ropolitan, till at length, in the regularly- 
graduated scale, the primacy of Rome was 
asserted, and submitted to by the humble 
and obsequious West. _ 

The diocese grew up in two ways: 1. 
In the larger cities, the rapid in- formation 
crease of the Christians led ne- of the dio- 
cessarily to the formation of sep- “S* 
arate congregations, which, to a certain 
extent, required each its pro, er organi- 
zation, yet invariably remained subordi- 
nate to the single bishop. In Rome, to- 
wards the beginning of the fourth century, 
there were above forty churches render- 
ing allegiance to the prelate of the me- 
tropolis. 

2. Christianity was first established in 
the towns and cities, and from each centre 
diffused itself with more or less success 
into the adjacent country. Insome Gyorepis- 
of these country congregations copi. 
bishops appear to have been established, 
yet these chorepiscopi, or rural bishops, 
maintained some subordination to the 
head of the mother church; or, where 
the converts were fewer, the rural Chris- 
tians remained members of the mother 
church in the city.{ In Africa, from the 


imply that the practice was not uncommon even at 
that late period.-—Compare Planck, vol. i., 399. 

* Synod. Nic.,can.15. Conc. Sard.,c. 2. Cone, 
Arel., 21. 4) 

+ See in Bingham, Ant., Ὁ. ii., c. 14, the contro- 
versy about the chorepiscop! or rural bishops. 

1 Justin Martyr speaks of the country converts: 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 447 


immense number of bishops, each com- 
munity seems to have had its own supe- 
rior; but this was peculiar to the prov- 
ince. In general, the churches adjacent 
to the towns or cities either. originally 
were, or became, the diocese of the city 
bishop ; for, as soon as Christianity be- 
came the religion of the state, the powers 
of the rural bishops were restricted, and 
the office at length was either abolished 
or fell into disuse.* 

The rank of the metropolitan bishop, 
who presided over a certain number of 
inferior bishops, and the convocation of 
ecclesiastical or episcopal synods, grew 
up apparently at the same time and from 
the same causes. The earliest authentic 
synods seem to have arisen out of the dis- 
putes about the time of observing Easter ;+ 
but before the middle of the third century, 
these occasional and extraordinary meet- 
ings of the clergy in certain districts took 
the form of provincial synods. These be- 
gan in the Grecian provinces, but extend- 
ed throughout the Christian world. In 
some cases they seem to have been as- 
semblies of bishops alone, in others of 
the whole clergy...They met once or 
twice in the year; they were summoned 
by the metropolitan bishop, who presided 
in the meeting, and derived from or con- 
firmed his metropolitan dignity by this 
presidency.§ 

As the metropolitans rose above the 
bishops, so the archbishops or 
patriarchs rose above the met- 
ropolitans. These ecclesiastical 
dignities seem to have been formed ac- 
cording to the civil divisions of the em- 
pire.|| “The patriarchs of Antioch, Jeru- 
salem, Alexandrea, Rome, and, by a -for- 
mal decree of the Council of Chalcedon, 
Constantinople, assumed even a_ higher 
dignity. They asserted the right, in some 


Archbishops 
and patri- 
archs. i 


Παντῶν κατὰ πόλεις. ἢ ἄγρους μενόντων, ἐπὶ τὸ 
αὐτὸ συνέλευσις yivetat.—Apolog., i., 67. 

* Woncil. Antioch., can. 10. Concil. Ancyr., c. 13. 
Conc. Laod., c. 57. ( 

+ See the list of earlier synods chiefly on this 
subject.—Labbe, Concilia, vol. 1., p. 595, 650, edit. 
Paris, 1671. ; ‘ 

+ See the remarkable passage in Tertullian, de 
Jejunio, with the ingenious commentary of Mo- 
sheim, De Reb. Christ. ante Const. M., p. 264, 268 
[and Instit. of Ε΄. H., i, 116,n.(2)]. 

ὁ Necessario apud nos fit, ut per singulos annos 
senlores et prepositi in unum conveniamus, ad dis- 
ponenda ea, que cure nostra commissa sunt.— 
Firm. ad Cyprian, Ep. 75. ; 

|| Bingham names thirteen or fourteen patriarchs. 
Alexandrea, Antioch, Cesarea, Jerusalem, Ephe- 
sus, Constantinople, Thessalonica, Sirmium, Rome, 
Carthage, Milan, Lyons, Toledo, York. But their 
respective claims do not appear to have been equal- 
ly recognised, or at the same period. 


ν᾽ 


cases, of appointing, in others of deposing, 
even metropolitan bishops.* 
While Antioch, Alexandrea, and Con- 
stantinople contested the supremacy of 
the East, the two former as more ancient 
and apostolic churches, the latter as the 
imperial city, Rome stood alone, as in 
every respect the most eminent church 
in the West. While other churches might 
boast their foundation by a single apostle 
(and those churches were always held in 
peculiar respect), Rome asserted that she 
had been founded by, and preserved the 
ashes of two, and those the most distin- 
guished of the apostolic body. Before the 
end of the third century, the lineal de- 
scent of her bishops from St. Peter was 
unhesitatingly claimed, and obsequiously 
admitted by the Christian world.t The 
name of Rome was still imposing and pome. 
majestic, particularly in the West; τ᾿ 
the wealth of the Roman bishop probably 
far surpassed that of other prelates, for 
Rome was still the place of general con- 
course and resort; and the pious stran- 
gers who visited the capital would not 
withhold their oblations to the metropol- 
itan church. Within the city he presided 
over above forty churches, besides the 
suburbicarian districts. The whole cler- 
ical establishment at Rome amounted to 
forty-six presbyters, seven deacons, seven 


‘| sub-deacons, forty-two acolyths, fifty-two 
exorcists, readers, and doorkeepers. It 


comprehended fifteen hundred widows and 
poor brethren, with a countless multitude 
of the higher orders and of the people. 
No wonder that the name, the importance, 
the wealth, the accredited apostolic found- 
ation of Rome, arrayed her in pre-eminent 
dignity. Still,in his correspondence with 


the Bishop of Rome, the general tone of 


Cyprian, the great advocate of Christian 
unity, is that of an equal; though he 
shows great respeet to the Church of 
Rome, it is to the faithful guardian of an 


* Chrysostom deposed Gerontius, metropolitan 
of Nicomedia.—Sozomen, viii., 6. 

+ The passage of Irenaus (lib. 11., c.3), as is well 
known, is the first distinct assertion of any primacy 
in Peter, and derived from him to the see of Rome. 
This passage would be better authority if it existed 
in the original language, not in an indifferent trans 
lation ; if it were the language of an Fastern, not 
a Western prelate, who might acknowledge a su: 
premacy in Rome which would not have been ad 
mitted by the older Asiatic sees ; still more if it dic 
not assert what is manifestly untrue, the founda 
tion of the Church of Rome by St. Peter and St. 
Paul (see p. 188); and, finally, if Ireneus could 
be conclusive authority on such a subject. Planck 
justly observes that the potior principalitas of 
the city of Rome was the primary reason why 8 
potior principalitas was recognised in the see of 
Rome. 


e 


ie 


448 4 
uninterrupted ‘tradition, not as invested 
with superior authority.* . 

As the hierarchical pyramid tended to 
a point, its base spread out into greater 
width. The greater pomp of the services, 
the more intricate administration of affairs, 
the greater variety of regulations required 
by the increasing and now strictly separ- 
ated classes of votaries, imposed the ne- 
cessity for new functionaries, besides the 
bishops, priests, and deacons. These were 
the archdeacon and the five subordinate 
officiating ministers, who received a kind of 
New sacred. Ordination. 1. The sub-deacon, 
offices. who in the Eastern Church col- 
lected the alms of the laity and laid them 
upon the altar, and in the Western acted 
as a messenger or bearer of despatches. 
2. The reader, who had the custody of the 
sacred books, and, as the name implies, 
read them during the service. 3. ‘The 
acolyth, who was an attendant on the 
bishop, carried the lamp before him, or 
bore the eucharist to the sick. 4. The 
exorcist, who read the solemn forms over 
those possessed by demons, the energou- 
menoi, and sometimes at baptisms. 5. 
The ostiarius or doorkeeper, who assigned 
his proper place in the church to each 
member, and guarded against the intrusion 
of improper persons. ἢ 

As Christianity assumed a more mani- 
fest civil existence, the closer correspond- 
ence; the more intimate sympathy between 
its remote and scattered members, became 
indispensable. to its strength and consist- 
ency. Its uniformity of development, in 
all parts of the world arose out of, and 
tended to promote, this. unity. It led to 
that concentration of the governing power 
in a few, which terminated at length in 
the West in the unrestricted power of one. 

The internal unity of the Church, or 
Unity of | Universally disseminated body 
the Church. of Christians, had been main- 
tained by the general similarity of doctrine, 
of sentiment, of its first simple usages 
and institutions, and the common dangers 
which it had endured in all parts of the 


* While I deliver my own conclusions without 
fear or compromise, | would avoid all controversy 
on this as well as on other subjects. It is but 


right, therefore, for me to give the two apparently 
conflicting passages in Cyprian on the primacy of 
St. Peter: Nam nec Petrus quem. primim Domi- 
nus elegit, et super quem edificavit ecclesiam suam 
* * vindicavit sibi aliquid insolenter aut arro- 
ganter assumpsit, ut diceret se primatum tenere, 
et obtemperari ἃ novellis et posteris sibi potius 
oportere,”—Epist, xxi. Hoc erant utique ceteri 
apostoli, quod fuit Petrus, pari consortio praditi et 
honoris et potestatis; sed exordium ab unitate pro- 
ficiscitur, et primatus Petro datur, ut una Christi 
ecclesia, et cathedra una monstretur.—De Unit. 
Eccles. 


ἊΣ 


τονε 
ες a ἢ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


se 

world. It possessed its consociating prin 

ciples in the occasional correspondence be- 
tweenits remote members, in those recom- 
mendatory letters with which the Chris- 
tian who travelled was furnished to ‘his’ 
brethren in other parts of the empire; 
above all, in the common literature, which, 
including the sacred writings, seem to 
have spread with more or less regularity 
through the various communities. No- 
thing, however, tended so much, although 
they might. appear to exacerbate and per- 
petuate diversities of opinion, to the main- 
tenance of this unity, as the assemblage 
and recognition of general coun- General 

cils as the representatives of uni- councils. 

versal Christendom.* The bold imper- 


* The earliest councils (not c@cumenic) were 
those of Rome (1st and 2d) and the seven held at 
Carthage, concerning the lapsi, the schism of Nova- 
tianus, and the rebaptizing of heretics. The sev- 
enth in Routh, Reliquie Sacre (Labbe, Concilia 
III.), is the first of which we have anything like a 
report ; and from this time, either from the. canons 
which they issue or the opinions delivered by the 
bishops, the councils prove important authorities, 
not merely for the decrees of the Church, but for 
the dominant tone of sentiment, and even of man- 
ners. 
ing in this council, which decided the validity of 
heretical baptism. “Christ,” says one bishop, — 
“ founded the Church, the Devil heresy. How can 
the synagogue of Satan administer the baptism of 
the Church?” Another subjoins, ‘‘He who yields 
or betrays the baptism of the Church to heretics, 
what is he but a Judas of the spouse of Christ?” 
The Synod or Council of Antioch (A-D. 269) con- 
demned Paul of Samosata. The Council of [lliberis 
(Elvira or Granada), A.D. 303, affords some curi- 
ous notices of the state of Christianity in that re- 
mote province. Some of the heathen flamines ap- 
pear to have attempted to reconcile the perform- 
ances of some of their religious duties, at least their 
presiding at the games, with Christianity. There 
are many- moral regulations which do not give a 
high idea of ‘Spanish virtue. The bishops and, 
clergy were not to be itinerant traders ; they might 
trade within the province (can. xvilil.), but were on 
no. account to take upon usury. The Jews were 
probably settled in great-numbers in Spain; the 
taking foo with them is interdicted, as also to per- 
mit them to reap the harvest. Gambling*is forbid- 
den. 'The councils of Rome and of Arles were held 
to settle the Donatist controversy ;. but of the latter 
there are twenty-two canons chiefly of ecclesiastical 


regulations. The Council of Ancyra principally re- - 


lates to the conduct of persons during the time of 
persecution. The Council of Laodicea has some. 
curious general canons. The first cecumenic coun- 
cil was that of Nice—See book iii., c. iv. It was 
followed by the long succession of Arian and anti- 
Arian councils at Tyre, Antioch, Rome, Milan,” 
Sardica, Rimini, &c. The Arian Council of An- 
tioch is very strict in its regulations for the resi- 
dence of the bishops and the clergy, and their Te- 
striction of their Jabours to their own dioceses or 
cures (A.D. 341) —Apud Labbe, vol. ii., 559. The 
first of Constantinople was the second cecumenic 
council (A.D. 381). Jt re-established Trinitarian- 
ism as the doctrine-of the Hast; it elevated the 
bishopric of Constantinople into a patriarchate, to 
rank after Rome. The two other of the cecumenic 
ve 


ar 


i 
—* 


ow 


Abhorrence of heresy is the prevailing feel- τς 


z 


- — 


ve hd 


e. Fe sh 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


* 
sonation, the Church, seemed now to as- 
sume a more imposing visible existence. 
Its vital principle was no longer that un- 
seen and hidden harmony which had united 
the Christians in all parts of the world with 
their Saviour and with each other. By 
the assistance of the orthodox emperors, 
and the commanding abilities of its great 
defenders, one dominant form of doctrine 
had obtained the ascendancy ;. Gnosticism, 
Donatism, Arianism, Manicheism, had been 
thrown aside; and the Church stood; as it 
were, individualized or idealized, by the 
side of the other social impersonation, the 
State...The emperor was the sole ruler 
of the latter, and at this period the aris- 
tocracy of the superior clergy, at a later 
the autocracy of the pope, at least as the 
representative of the Western Church, be- 


came the supreme authority of the former. | 


The hierarchical power, from exemplary, 
persuasive, amiable, had become. authori- 
tative, commanding, awful. When Chris- 
tianity became the most powerful religion, 
when it became the religion of the many, 
of the emperor, of the state, the convert 
or the hereditary Christian had no strong 
pagan party to receive him back into its 
bosom when outcast from the Church, If 
he ceased to believe, he no longer dared 
cease to obey. No course remained but 
prostrate submission, or the endurance of 
any penitential duty which might be en- 
forced upon him; and on the penitential 
system and the power of excommunica- 
tion, to which we shall revert, rested the 
unshaken hierarchical authority over the 
human soul. ὁ 

With their power increased both those 
Increase Other sources of influence, pomp 
inpomp. and wealth. Distinctions in sta- 
tion and in authority naturally lead to dis- 
tinctions in manners, and those adventi- 
tious circumstances of dress, carriage, and 
habits which designate different ranks. 
Confederating upon equal terms, the su- 
perior authorities in-the Church and state 
began to assume an equal rank. In the 


Christian city the bishop became a per- 


sonage of the highest importance; and 
the clergy, as a kind of subordinate reli- 


' gious magistracy, claimed, if a different 


kind, yet an equal share of reverence with 


_ the civil authority ; where the civil magis- 


trate had his-insignia of office, the natural 
respect of the people and the desire of 
maintaining his official dignity would in- 
vest the religious functionary likewise 
with some peculiar symbol of his charac- 
ter. With their increased rank and esti- 


councils are beyond the bounds of the present his- 


3L 


oe 


' 449 


mation, the clergy could not but assume 
a more imposing demeanour; and that 
majesty in which they were arrayed du- 
ring the public ceremonial could not be 
entirely thrown off when they returned to 
ordinary life. The reverence of man ex- 
acts dignity from those who are its ob- 
jects. The primitive apostolic meanness 
of appearance and habit was altogether 
unsuited to their altered position, as equal 
in rank, more than equal in real influence 
and public veneration, to the civil officers 
of the empire or municipality. The con- 
sciousness of power will affect the best 
disciplined minds, and the unavoidable 
knowledge that salutary authority is main- 
tained over a large mass of mankind by 
imposing manners, dress, and mode of 
living, would reconcile many to that which 

herwise might appear incongruous to 
their sacred character.. There was, in fact, 
and always has been among the more pi- 
ous clergy, a perpetual confliet between 
a conscientious sense of the importance 
of external dignity and a desire, as con- 
scientious, of retaining something of out- 
ward humility. The monkish and ascetie 
waged implacable war against that secu- 
lar distinction which, if in some cases 
eagerly assumed by pride and ambition, 
was forced upon others by the deference, 
the admiration, the trembling subservience 
of mankind. The prelate who looked the 
most imperious and spoke most sternly 
on his throne, fasted and underwent the 
most humiliating privations in his cham- 
ber or his cell. Some prelates supposed 
that, as ambassadors of the Most High, as 
supreme governors in that which was of 
greater dignity than the secular empire, 
the earthly kingdom of Christ, they ought 
to array themselves in something of im- 
posing dignity. The bishops of Rome ear- 
ly affected state and magnificence ; Chry- 
sostom, on the other hand, in Constanti- 
nople, differing from his predecessors, con- 
sidered poverty of dress, humility of de- 
meanour, and the most severe austerity 
of life as more becoming a Christian prel- 
ate who was to set the example of the 
virtues which he inculeated, and to show 
contempt for those worldly distinctions 
which. properly belonged to the civil pow- 
er. Others, among whom was Ambrose 
of Milan, while in their own persons and 
in private they were the plainest, simplest, 
and most austere of men, nevertheless 
threw into the service of the Church all 
that was solemn and magnificent ; and, as 
Officiating functionaries, put on for the 
time the majesty of manner, the state of 
attendance, the splendour of attire, which 
seemed to be authorized by the gorgeous- 


450 


ness of dress and ceremonial pomp 1n the 
Old Testament.* | 

* With the greater reverence, indeed, pe- 
culiar sanctity was exacted, and no doubt, 
in general, observed by the clergy. They 
were imperatively required to surpass the 
general ‘body of Christians in purity of 
morals, and, perhaps even more, in all 
religious performances. As the. outward 
ceremonial, fasting, public prayer during 
almost every part of the day, ahd the rest 
of the ritual service; were more: com- 
pletely incorporated with Christianity, they 
were expected to maintain the public de- 
votion by their example, and to encourage 
self-denial by their more rigid austerity. 

Wealth as well as pomp followed in the 
Wealth of train of power.. The desire to 
the clergy. command wealth (we must not 
yet use the ignoble term covetousness) 
not merely stole imperceptibly into inti- 
mate connexion with religion, but appear- 
ed almost a part of religion itself. The 
individual was content to be disinterested 
in his own person ;-the interest which he 
felt in the opulence of the Church, or even 
of his own order, appeared not merely ex- 
cusable, but a sacred duty. In the hands 
of the Christian clergy, wealth, which ap- 
peared at that period to be lavished on the 
basest of mankind, and squandered on the 
most criminal and ignominious objects, 
might seem to be hallowed to the noblest 
purposes. It enabled Christianity to vie 
with paganism in erecting splendid edifi- 
ces for the worship of God, to provide an 
imposing ceremonial, lamps for midnight 


‘service, silver or golden vessels for the 


* The clergy were long without any distinction 
of dress, except, on ceremonial occasions. At the 
end of the fourth century, it was the custom for 
them in some churches to wear black.—Socr., H. 
E., vi, 22. Jerome, however, recommends that 
they should neither be distinguished by too bright 
or too sombre colours.—Ad Nepot. ‘The proper 
habits were probably introduced at the end of the 
fifth century, as they are recognised by councils in 
the sixth.—Conc. Matise., A.D. 581, can. 1, 5. 
Trull., c. 27. The tonsure began in the fourth 
century. Prima del iv. secoloi semplici preti non 
avevano alcun abito distinto dagli altri o pagani o 
Cristiani, se non in quanto: la professata lore umil- 
ta faceva una certa pompa de abjezione e de poverta. 
—Cicognara, Storia de Scultura, t.i., p. 271. Count 
Cicognara gives a curious account of the date and 
origin of the different parts of the clerical dress. 
ἄν tp is of the eighth century, the tiara of the 
tenth. 

The fourth Council of Carthage (A.D. 398) has 
some restrictions on dress. The clericus was not 
to wear long hair or beard (nec comam habeat nec 
barbam, can. xliv.); he was to approve his profes- 
sion by his dress and walk, and not to study the 
beauty of his dress or sandals. He might obtain 
his sustenance by working as an artisan or in agri- 
culture, provided he did not neglect his duty.— 
Can. li., lil. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ἊΨ “4 
«- ‘ it ὦ 


& 


altar, veils; hangings, and priest] 
it provided for the wants of the 
poor, whom misgovernment, war, Wist?, 
and taxation, independent of the was ap- 
ordinary calamities of human life, Pie? 
were grinding to the earth. ‘To each 
church were attached numbers of widows 
‘and other destitute persons; the redemp- 
tion of slaves was an object on which the 
riches of the Church were freely lavished: 
the sick in the hospitals and prisons, and 
destitute strangers, were under their espe- 
cial care. ‘“ How many captives has the 
wealth of the pagan establishment releas- 
ed from bondage?” This is among the 
triumphant questions of the advocates of 
Christianity.* . The maintenance of chil- 
dren exposed by their parents, and taken 
up and educated by the Christians, was 
another source of generous ‘expenditure. 
When, then, at first the munificence of 
the emperor, and afterward the gratitude 
and superstitious fears of the people, heap- 
ed up their costly offerings at the feet of 
the clergy, it would have appeared not 
merely ingratitude and folly, but impiety 
and uncharitableness to their brethren to 
have rejected them. ‘The clergy, as soon 
as they were set apart from the ordinary 
business of life, were maintained by the 
voluntary offerings of their brethren. The 
piety which embraced Christianity never 
failed in liberality. The payments seem 
chiefly to have been made in kind rather 
than in money, though on extraordinary 
occasions large sums were raised for some 
sacred or charitable object. One of the 
earliest acts of Constantine was to make 
munificent grants to the despoiled and 
destitute Church. A certain portion of 
the public stores of corn and other prod- 
uce, which was received in kind by the 
officers of the revenue, was assigned to 
the Church and clergy.{ This was with- 
drawn by Julian, and, when regranted by 
the Christian emperors, was diminished 
one third. 

The law of Constantine which empow- 
ered the clergy of the Church to paw of Con- 
receive testamentary bequests, stantine em- 
and to hold land, was a gift powermsme 
which would scarcely have been receive be- 
exceeded if he had granted them @°s's: 
two provinces of the empire.§ Itbecame 
almost a sin to die without some bequest 
to pious uses; and before a century had 
elapsed, the mass of ‘gett elite had 
passed over to the Church was so enor- 
mous, that the most pious of the emperors — 
were obliged to issue a restrictive law, 

* Ambros. contra Symmachum. ites 

+ Euseb, H.E.,x.,6. 1 Sozomen, H. E., Υ͂. 5. 8 

§ This is the observation of Planck. ae 


5505: 


τ 


. 
» 
. 
- 


ie 


eh ¢ 


-" 


a; 
et most ardent of the fathers 
were constrained to approve. Jerome ac- 
knowledges, with the bitterness of shame, 
the necessity of this check on ecelesiasti- 
Restrictive " Cal avarice.* “1 complain not 
edict of Val- of the law, but that we have de- 
ΡΟ served such a law.” ‘The as- 
cetic father and the pagan historian de- 
scribe the pomp and avarice of the Roman 
clergy in the fourth century. Ammianus, 
while he describes the sanguinary feud 
which took place for the prelacy between 
Pope Da- Damasus and Ursicinus, intimates 
masus. that the magnificence of the prize 
may account for the obstinacy and feroci- 
ty with which it was contested. He dwells 
on the prodigal offerings of the Roman 
matrons to their bishop ; his pomp, when 
in elaborate and elegant attire he was 
borne in his chariot through the admiring 
streets ; the costly luxury of his almost 
imperial banquets. But the just historian 


contrasts this pride and luxury of the Ro- 


man pontiff with the more temperate life 
and dignified humility of the provincial 
bishops. Jerome goes on sternly to charge 
the whole Roman clergy with the old vice 
of the heathen aristocracy, heredipety or 
legacy-hunting, and asserts that they used 
the holy and venerable name of the Church 
to extort for their own personal emolu- 
ment the wealth of timid or expiring dey- 
oees. The law of Valentinian justly 
withheld from the clergy and the monks 
alone that privilege of receiving bequests 
which was permitted to the “lowest of 
mankind, heathen priests, actors, chariot- 
eers, and harlots.” 

Large parts of the ecclesiastical reve- 
nues, however, arose from more honoura- 
ble sources. Some of the estates of the 
heathen temples, though in general con- 
fiscated to the imperial treasury, were 
alienated to the Christian churches. The 
Church of Alexandrea obtained the reve- 
nue of the temple of Serapis.} 


* Valentinian II., de Episc. Solis clericis et 
monachis hac lege prohibetur, et prohibetur non ἃ 
persecutoribus sed a principibus Christianis; nec de 
lege conqueror, sed doleo cur meruerimus hanc le- 
gem.—Hieronym. ad Nepot. He speaks also of the 
provida severaque legis cautio, et tamen non sic re- 
frenatur avaritia. Ambrose (. ii., adv. Symm.) ad- 


5 : 
anh 


a HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


+ 
451 


These various estates and properties 
belonged to the Church in its 4 pplication of 
corporate capacity, not to the the wealth of 
clergy. They were charged ‘e Church. 
with the maintenance of the fabric of the 
Church, and the various charitable purpo- 
ses, including the sustenance of their own 
dependant poor. Strong enactments were 
made to prevent their alienation from those 
hallowed purposes ;* the clergy were even 
restrained from bequeathing by will what 
they had obtained from the property of the 
Church. The estates of the Church were 
liable to the ordinary taxes, the land and 
capitation tax, but exempt from what were 
called sordid and extraordinary charges, 
and from the quartering of troops.f 

The bishops gradually obtained almost 
the exclusive management of this proper- 
ty.. In some churches a steward (eco- 
nomus) presided over this department, but 
he would, in general, be virtiallgeuinter 
the controlofthe bishop. In most church- 


es the triple division began to be obsery- 
ed; one third of the revenue to the bishop, . 


one to the clergy, the other to the fabric 
and the poor; the Church of Rome added 
a fourth, a separate portion for the fabric.f 

The clergy had become a separate com- 
munity ; they had their own laws of inter- 
nal government, their own special regula- 
tions, or recognised proprieties of life and 
conduct. Their social delinquencies were 
not as yet withdrawn from the civil juris- 
diction; but, besides this, they were ame- 
nable to the severe judgments of ecclesi- 
astical censure; the lowest were liable 
to corporeal chastisement. Flagellation, 


many other accidental claims on their benevolence. 
—Chrysostom, Oper. Montfaucon, in his disserta- 
tion, gives the references. "he 

* Conc. Carth., ili, 40. Antioch, 24. Constit. 

Apost.,40. Cod. Theodos., de Episc. et Clericis, 
33, + Planck, vol. i., p. 293, 294. 
1 By a law of Theodosius and Valens, A.D. 434, 
the property of any bishop, presbyter, deacon, dea- 
coness, subdeacon, &c., or of any monk who died 
intestate: and without legal heirs, fell, not to the 
treasury, as in ordinary.cases, but to the church or 
monastery to which he belonged. The same priv- 
ilege was granted to the corporation of decurions. 
—Codex Theodos., v. iii., 1. 

§ Sozomen states that Constantine gave his cler- 
gy the privilege of rejecting the jurisdiction of the 
civil tnbunal, and bringing their causes to the bish- 
op.—H. E.,i.,9. But these were probably disputes 
between clergyman and clergyman. All others 
were cases of arbitration by mutual agreement ; but 
the civil power was to ratify their decree. In a 
Novella of Valentinian, A.D. 452, it is expressly 

aid, Quoniam constat episcopos et presbyteros fo- 
rum legibus non habere * * nec de aliis causis pra- 
ter religionem posse cognoscere.—Compare Planck, 
i, p. 300. The clericus was bound to appear, if 
summoned by a layman, before the ordinary judge. 


is-| Justinian made the change, and that only in a lim- 


ited manner, — 


oe 


452 


which was administered in the synagogue, 
and was so common in Roman society, 
was by no means so disgraceful as to ex- 
empt the persons at least of the inferior 
clergy from its infliction. But the more 
serious punishment was degradation into 
the vulgar Wiss of worshippers. To them 
it was the most fearful condemnation to 
be ejected from the inner sanctuary and 
thrust down from their elevated station.* 

As yet they were not entirely estranged 
Celibacy of from society; they had not be- 
the clergy. come a caste by the legal enforce- 
ment or general practice of celibacy. 
Clement of Alexandrea asserts and vindi- 
cates the marriage of some of the apos- 
tles.t| The discreet remonstrance of the 
old Egyptian bishop perhaps prevented the 
Council. of Nice from imposing that heavy 
burden onthe reluctant clergy. 'The aged 


Paphnutius, himself unmarried, boldly as- 


serted that the conjugal union was chas- 
tity.t But that which in the third century 
is asserted to be free to all mankind, cler- 
gy as well as laity, in Egypt,§ in the fourth, 
according to Jerome, was prohibited or 
limited by vows of continence. It has 
been asserted,|| and without refutation, that 
there was, no ecclesiastical law or regula- 
tion which compelled the celibacy of the 
clergy for the first three centuries. Clem- 
ent of Alexandrea, as we see, argues 
against enforced celibacy from the exam- 
ple of the apostles. Married bishops and 
presbyters frequently occur in the history 
of Eusebius. The martyrdom of Numidi- 
cus was shared and not dishonoured by 
the companionship of his wife. It wasa 
sight of joy and consolation to the husband 


* The decrees of the fourth council of Carthage 
show the strict morals and humble subordination 
demanded of the clergy at the close of the fourth 
century. 

+."H καὶ τοὺς ᾿Αποστόλους ἀποδοκιμάζουσι ; 
Πέτρος μὲν γὰρ καὶ Φίλιππος ἐπαιδοποιήσαντο. 
Φίλιππος δὲ καὶ τὰς ϑυγατέρας ἀνδράσιν ἐξέδω- 
κεν, καὶ ὅγε Παῦλος ove ὀκνεῖ ἔν τινι ἐπιστολῆ 
τὴν αὐτὸν προσαγορεύειν σύζυγον, ἣν οὐ περιεκό- 
μιζεν διὰ τὸ τῆς ὑπηρεσίας evoTaAéc.—Strom., 1. 
111., c.6. On the question of the marriage of the 
apostles and their immediate followers, almost eve- 
rything is collected in a note of Cotelerius, Patres 
Apostolici, 11., 241. 

t Gelasii., Histor. Conc. Nic., ce. xxxii. 
1,11. Sozomen, i., 23. 
being Greek fable. 

ὁ Nai μὴν καὶ τὸν τῆς μίας γύναικος ἄνδρα πανὺ 
ἀποδέχεται κἂν πρεσθύτερος ἡ, κἂν διάκονος, κἂν 
λαΐκος, ἀνεπιλήπτως γάμῳ χρωμένος. Σώθησέ- 
ται δὲ διὰ τῆς TeKVoyoviac.—Strom., iii., 19, 9. 

|| By Bingham, book iv. 

4 Numidicus presbyter uxorem adherentem la- 
teri suo, concrematam cum ceteris, vel conserva- 
tam potius dixerim, letus aspexit.—Cyprian, p. 525. 
See in Basnage, Dissertatio Septima, a list of mar- 
ried prelates. 


Socrat., 
Baronius insists upon this 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


to see her perishing in the same flames. 
The wives of the clergy are recognised, 
not merely in the older writings, but also 
in the public documents of the Church.* 
Council after council, in the East, introdu- 
ced regulations which, though intended to 
restrict, recognise the legality of these 
ties.t| Highly as they exalt the angelic 
state of celibacy, neither Basil in the Kast 
nor Augustine in the West positively pro- 
hibits the marriage of the clergy.} 

Butin the fourth century, particularly in 
the latter half, the concurrent influence of 
the higher honours attributed to virginity 
by all the great Christian writers; of the 
hierarchical spirit, which, even at that time, 
saw how much of its corporate strength 
depended on this entire detachment from 
worldly ties; of the monastic system, 
which worked into the clerical. partly by 
the frequent selection of monks for ordi- 
nation and for consecration to ecclesias- 
tical dignities, partly by the emulation of 
the clergy, who could not safely allow 
themselves to be outdone in austerity by 
these rivals for popular estimation; all 
these various influences introduced vari- 
ous restrictions and regulations on the 
marriage of the clergy, which darkened at 
length into the solemn ecclesiastical inter- 
dict. First, the general sentiment repudi- 
ated a second marriage as a monstrous act 
of incontinence, an infirmity or asin which 
ought to prevent the Christian from ever 
aspiring to any ecclesiastical office. The 
next offence against the general feeling 
was marriage with a widow ; then follow- 
ed the restriction of marriage after enter- 
ing into holy orders ; the married priest 
retained his wife, but to condescend to 
such carnal ties after ordination was re- 
volting to the general sentiment, and was 


* Conc. Gang., c.4. Conc. Ancyr.,c.10. This 
law allows any deacon to marry. 

+ In the West, the Council of Elvira commands 
the clergy to abstain from connubial intercourse 
and the procreation of children.—Can. xxxtii. This 
was frequently re-enacted. Among others, Conc. 
Carthag , v. 2. Labbe, ii., 1216. ; 

1 Basil speaks of a presbyter who had contuma 
ciously contracted an unlawful marriage.—Can. ii., 
c. 27. On Augustine, compare Theiner, p. 154. 

§: Athenagoras laid down the general principle, 
ὁ yap δεύτερος (γάμος) εὐπρεπὴς ἐστι μοίχεια .---- 
De Resurr. Carn. Compare Orig. contr. 6[8.. vii., 
and Hom. vi, in Num xviii, in Luc., xviii, in 
Matt. Tertull. ad Uxor., 1-5. This was almost a 
universal moral axiom. Epiphanius said, that since 
the coming of Christ no digamous clergyman had 
ever been ordained. Barbeyrac has collected the 
passages of the fathers expressive of their abhor- 
rence of second marriages.—Morale des Peres, p. 
1, 29, 34, 37, ἄς. The Council of Neo Cesarea 
forbade clergymen to be present at a second mar- 
riage: πρεσθύτερον εἰς γάμους διγαμοῦντων μὴ 
ἐστιᾶσθαι.--.--ΟΔη. vii. 


Se oe 


a te ee 


3.» 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


considered to imply a total want of feel- 
ing for the dignity of their high calling. 
Then was generally introduced a demand 
of abstinence from sexual connexion from 
those who retained their wives: this was 
imperatively required from the higher or- 
ders of the clergy. It was considered to 
render unclean, and to disqualify even from 
prayer for the people, as the priest’s life 
was to be a perpetual prayer.* Not that 
there was as yet any uniform practice. 
The bishops assembled at the Council of 
Gangrat condemned the followers of Eu- 
stathius, who refused to receive the sac- 
raments from any but unmarried priests. 
The heresy of Jovinian, on the other hand, 
probably called forth the severe regula- 
tions of Pope Siricius.{ This sort of en- 
cyclical letter positively prohibited all 
clergy of the higher orders from any inter- 
course with their wives. A man who liv- 
ed to the age of thirty the husband of one 
wife, that wife, when’ married a virgin, 
might be an acolyth or subdeacon; after 
five years of strict continence, he might 
be promoted to a priest; after ten years 
more of the same severe ordeal, a bishop. 
A clerk, any one in holy orders, even of 
the lowest degree, who married a widow 
or a second wife, was instantly deprived : 
no woman was to live in the house of a 
clerk. 

The Council of Carthage, reciting the 
canon of a former council, commands the 
clergy to abstain from all connexion with 
their wives. The enactment is perpetually 
repeated, and in one extended to subdea- 
cons.§ The Council of Toledo prohibited 
the promotion of ecclesiastics who had 
children. The Council of Arles prohibited 
the ordination of a married priest,|| unless 
he made a promise of divorce from the 
married state. Jerome distinctly asserts 


* Such is the distinct language of Jerome. Si 
laicus et quicunque fidelis orare non potest nisi ca- 
rent officio conjugali, sacerdoti, cul semper pro 
populo offerenda sunt sacrificia semper orandum 
est. Si semper orandum est, semper carendum 
matrimonio.--Adv. Jovin., p. 175. 

+ The Council of Gangra, in the preamble and 
in the first canon, do not appear to refer necessarily 
to the wives of the clergy. They anathematize 
certain teachers (the Eustathians) who had blamed 
marriage, and said that a faithful and pious woman 
who slept with her husband could not enter’into 
the kingdom of heaven. A sacred virgin is prohib- 
ited from vaunting over a married woman, canon 
x. Women are forbidden to abandon their hus- 
bands and children. f ; Ped | 

+ The letter of Siricius in Mansi, Concil. iii., 
635, A.D. 385. 

§ These councils of Carthage are dated A.D. 
390, 418, and 419. y : 

|| Assumi aliquem ad sacerdotium non posse in 
vinculo conjugii constitutum, nisi primum fuerit 
promissa conversio, A.D. 452. 


453 


that 1t was the universal regulation of the 
East, of Egypt, and of Rome,* to ordain 
only those who were unmarried, or who 
ceased to be husbands. But even in the 
fourth and the beginning of the fifth cen- 
turies, the practice rebelled against this 
severe theory. Married clergy- jtarrica 
men, even married bishops, and bishops and 
with children, occur in the ec- “ery. 
clesiastical annals. Athanasius, in his 
letter to Dracontius, admits and allows the 
full right of the bishop to marriage.+ Greg- 
ory of Nazianzen was born after his father 
was bishop, and had a younger brother 
named Cesarius.{ Gregory of Nyssa 
and Hilary of Poictiers were married. 
Less distinguished names frequently oc- 
cur: those of Spyridon{ and Eustathius.|| 
Synesius, whose character enabled him 
to accept episcopacy on his own terms, 
positively repudiated these unnatural re- 
strictions on the freedom and holiness of 
the conjugal state. ‘God and the law, 
and the holy hand of Theophilus, bestowed 
on me my wife. I declare, therefore, sol- 
emnly, and call you to witness, that I will 
not be plucked from her, nor lie with her 
in secret, like an adulterer. But I hope 
and pray that we may have many and vir- 
tuous children.”"9 

The Council of Trulla only demanded 
this high test of spirituality, absolute celi- 
bacy, from bishops. and left the inferior 
clergy to their freedom. But the earlier 
Western Council of Toledo only admitted 
the deacon, and that under restrictions, to 
connubial intercourse: the presbyter who 
had children after his ordination could not 
be a bishop.** 

This overstrained demand on the virtue, 
not of individuals in a high state Moral conse- 
of enthusiasm, but of a. whole quences. 
class of men; this strife with nature, in 
that which, in its irregular and lawless in- 
dulgence, is the source of so many evils 
and of so much misery, in its more moder- 
ate and legal form is the parent of the 


* Quid facient Orientis Ecclesie ? quid Aigypti, 
et sedis Apostolice, que aut virgines clericos ac- 
cipiunt aut continentes; aut si uxores habuerint, 
mariti esse desistunt.— Adv. Vigilantium, p. 281. 
Jerome appeals to Jovinian himself:. “ Certé con- 
fiteris non posse esse episcopum qui in episcopatu 
filios faciat, alioqui si deprehensus fuerit, non quasi 
vir tenebitur, sed quasi adulter damnabitur.—Adv. 
Jovin., 175. Compare Epiphanius, Heres., liv. 4. 

+ Athanasii Epistola ad Dracontium. 

1 Gregory makes his father thus address him: 

Οὔπω τοσοῦτον ἐκμεμέτρηκας βίον 
Ὅσος διῆλθε ϑυσίων ἐμοὶ χρόνος. 
᾿ ' Α De Vita Sua, v. 512. 

ὁ Sozom.,i.,11. Socrat.,i.,12. || Socrat., tl., 43. 
« 4 Synesii, Epist. 105., ᾿ 

** Conc. Tolet., A.D. 400, can. 1. 


“,, 


454 ae 
purest affections and the holiest charities; 
this isolation from those social ties, which, 
is times they might withdraw them from 
total dedication to their sacred duties, in 
general- would, by their tending to soften 
and humanize, be the best school for the 
gentle and affectionate discharge of those 
duties: the enforcement of the celibacy of 
the clergy, though not yet by law, by. 
dominant opinion, was not slow in pro- 
ducing its inevitable evils. Simultaneous- | 
Mulierés subs Ly with the sterner condemna- 
introducte. tion Of marriage, or, at least, 
the exaggerated praises of chastity, we 
hear the solemn denunciations of the law, 
the deepening remonstrances of the more 
influential writers, against those secret | 
evasions by which the clergy endeavoured 
to obtain the fame without the practice of 
celibacy, to enjoy some of the pleasures 
and advantages without the crime of mar- 
riage. From the middle of the third 
century, in which the growing aversion 
to the marriage of the clergy begins to’ 
appear, we find the ““ sub-introduced” fe- 
males constantly. proscribed.* The inti- 
mate union of the priest with a young, 
often a beautiful female, who still passed 
to the world under the name of a virgin, 
and was called by the priest by the un- 
suspected name of sister, seems, from the 
strong and reiterated language of Jerome,t 


— 


* They are mentioned in the letter of the bishops 
of Antioeh against Paul of Samosata.. The Coun- 
cil of Illiberis (incautionsly) allowed a sister, or a 
virgin dedicated to God, to reside with a bishop or 
presbyter, not a stranger. 

+ Unde sine nuptiis aliud nomen uxorum? Imo 
unde novum concubinarum genus? Plus inferam. 
Unde meretrices univire? Eadem domo, uno cubi- 
culo, sepe uno tenentur et lectulo. ᾿ς Et suspiciosos 
nos vocant, si aliquid existimamus. Frater sororem 
virginem deserit : celibem spernit virgo germanum : 
fratrem querit extraneum, et cum in eodem pro- 
posito esse se simulent querunt alienorum spiritale 
‘solatium, ut domi habeant carnale commercium. 


_—Hieronym., Epist. xxii., ad\Eustochium. If the 
_vehemence of Jerome's language betrays his own 
ardent character and his monkish-hostility to the 


clergy, the general charge is amply borne out by 
other writers. Many quotations may be found in 
Gothofred’s Note on the Law of Honorius. Greg- 
ory of Nazianzen says, [ἄρσενα παντ᾽ ἀλέεινε, συν- 
eloaktov Te μάλιστα. The language of Cyprian, 
however, even in the third century, is the strongest : 
Certé ipse concubitus, ipse amplexus, ipsa confabu- 
latio, et inosculatio, et conjacentium duorum turpis 
et foeda dormitio quantum dedecoris et criminis con- 
fitetur. Cyprian justly observes, that such intimacy 
would induce a jealous husband to take to his 
sword.— Epist. lxil., ad Pomponium. 

But the canon of the Council of Nice, which 
prohibits the usage, and forbids the priest to have a 
subintroducta mulier, unless a mother, sister, or 
aunt, the only relationships beyond suspicion; and 
the still stronger tone of the law, show the frequency, 
as well as the evil, of the practice. Unhappily, they. 
were blind to its real cause. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, — ah th 


% 


Gregory Nazianzen, Chrysostom, and oth- 
ers, to have been almost general. It was 
interdicted by an imperial law.* P 
Thus, in every city, in almost every” 
town and every village of the Roman 
empire, had established itself a new per- 
manent magistracy, in a certain sense in- 
dependent of the government, with con- 
siderable inalienable endowments, and fill-’ 
ed by men of a peculiar and sacred char- . 
acter, and recognised by the state. Their 
authority extended far beyond their juris- 
diction; their influence far beyond their 
authority.. The internal organization was 
complete. The three great patriarchs in 
the East, throughout the West the bishop 
of Rome, exercised a supreme and, in some 
points, an appellant jurisdiction. Great 
ecclesiastical causes could be removed to 
their tribunal. Under them the metropol- 
itans, and in the next rank the bishops, 
governed their dioceses and ruled the 
subordinate clergy, who πον began to 
form parishes, separate districts to which 
their labours were to be confined. In the 
superior clergy had gradually become 
vested, not the ordination only, but the 
appointment, of the inferior; they could 
not quit the diocese without letters from 
the bishop, or be received or exercise their 
functions in another without permission. 
On the incorporation of the Church with 
the state, the co-ordinate civil pnion 
and religious magistracy main- of Church 
tained each its separate powers. 2"4 state. 
On one side, as far as the actual celebra- 
tion of the ecclesiastical ceremonial, and 
in their own internal affairs in general; 
on the other, in the administration of the 
military, judicial, and fiscal affairs of the 
state, the bounds of their respective au- 
thority were clear and distinct. Asa citi- 
zen and subject, the Christian, the priest, 
and the bishop were amenable to the laws 
of the empire and to the imperial decrees, 
and liable to taxation, unless specially ex- 
empted, for the service of the state.} The 


* Eum qui probabilem seculo disciplinam agit 
decolorari consortio sororiz appellationis non decet. 
But this law of Honorius, A.D. 420, allowed the 
clergy to retain their wives if they had been mar- 
ried before entering into orders. See the third and 
fourth canons of the Council of Carthage, A.D. 348. 

t The law of Constantius, which appears to with- 
draw the bishops entirely from the civil jurisdiction, 
and to give the privilege of being tried upon all 
charges by a tribunal of bishops, is justly consider- 
ed by Gothofred as a local or temporary act, proba- 
bly. connected with the feuds concerning Arianism. 
—Cod. Theod., xvi., 2, 12, with Gothofred’s note. 
Valens admitted the ecclesiastical courts to settle 
religious difficulties and slight offences, xvi., 2, 23. 
The same is the scope of the more explicit law of 
Honorius, xvi., 2,201. The immunity of the cler- 
gy from the civil courts was of very much later date. 


“ 


« 


> oe 


“ee 


Christian statesman, on the other hand, of 
the highest rank, was amenable to the ec- 
clesiastical censures, and was bound to 
submit to the canons of the Church in 
matters of faith and discipline, and was 
entirely dependant on their judgment for 
his admission or rejection from the privi- 


leges and hopes of the Christian. 


So far the theory was distinct and per- 
fect ; each had his separate and exclusive 
sphere ; yet there could not but appear a 
debatable ground on which the two au- 
thorities came into collision, and neither 
could altogether refrain from invading the 
territory of his ally or antagonist. 

The treaty between the contracting par- 
Union of the ties was’ in fact formed with 
Church and_ such haste and precipitancy that 
the state. - the rights of neither party could 
be defined or secured; eager for immedi- 
ate union and impatient of delay, they 
framed no deed of settlement, by which, 
when their mutual interests should be 
less identified, and jealousy and estrange- 
ment should arise, they might assert their 
respective rights and enforce their several 
duties. 

- In ecclesiastical affairs, strictly so call- 
ed, the supremacy of the Christian magis- 
tracy, it has been said, was admitted. 
They were the legislators of discipline, or- 
der, and doctrine. The festivals, the fasts, 
the usages and canons of the Church, the 
government of the clergy, were in their 
exclusive power; the decrees of particu- 
lar synods and councils possessed undis- 
puted authority as far as their sphere ex- 
tended; general councils were held bind- 
ing on the whole Church. But it was far 
more easy to define that which did belong 
to the province of the Church than that 
which did not. Religion asserts its au- 
thority, and endeavours to extend its in- 
fluence over. the whole sphere of moral 
action, which is, in fact, over the whole 
of human life, its habits, manners, con- 
duct. Christianity, as the most profound 
moral religion,“exacted the most com- 
plete and universal obedience ; and as the 
acknowledged teachers and guardians of 
Christianity, the clergy, continued to draw 
within their sphere every part of human 
life in which man is actuated by moral or 
religious motives, the moral authority, 
therefore, of the religion, and, consequent- 
ly, of the clergy, might appear legitimate- 
ly to extend over every transaction in 
life, from the legislation of the sovereign, 
which ought, in a Christian king, to be 
guided by Christian motives, to the domes- 
tic duties of the peasant, which ought to 
be fulfilled on the principle of Christian, 
love. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


455 


But, on the other hand, the state was 
supreme over all its subjects, even over 
the clergy, in their character of citizens. 
The whole tenure of property, to what use 
soever dedicated (except in such cases as 
itself might legalize on its first principles, 
and guaranty, when bestowed, as by gift 
or bequest), was duner its absolute con- 
trol; the immunities which it conferred 
it might revoke; and it would assert the 
equal authority of the constitutional laws 
over every one who enjoyed the protec- 
tion of those laws. Thus, though in ex- 
treme cases these separate, bounds of ju- 
risdiction were clear, the tribunals of ec- 
clesiastical and civil law could not but, in 
process of time, interfere with and ob-_ 
struct each other. τ 

But there was another prolific source of 
difference. The clergy in one sense, from 


being the representative body, had begun . 


to consider themselves the Church; but 
in another and more legitimate sense, the 
state, when Christian, as comprehending 
all the Christians of the empire, became 
the Church. Which was the legislative 
body: the whole community of Christians, 
or the Christian aristocracy, who were in 
one sense the admitted rulers? And who 
was to appoint these rulers? It is quite 
clear that from the first, though the con- 
secration to the religious-office was in the 
bishop and clergy, the laity had a voice in 
the ratification, if not in the appointment. 
Did not the state fairly succeed to all 
the rights of the laity, more particularly 
when privileges and endowments, attach- 
ed to the ecclesiastical offices, were con- 
ferred or guarantied by the state, and 
therefore might appear in justice revoca- 
ble, or liable to be regulated by the civil 
power! 
This vital question at this time was still 
farther embarrassed by the rash eagerness 
with which the dominant Church called 
upon the state to rid it of its internal ad-. 
versaries. -When once the civil power 
was recognised as cognizant of ecclesi- 
astical offences, where was that power to 
end? The emperor who commanded his 


subjects to be of one religion, might com- — 


mand them, by the same title, to adopt 
another. The despotic head of the state 
might assert his despotism as head of the 
Church. It must be acknowledged. that 
no theory which has satisfactorily har- 
monized the relations of these two at 
once, in- One sense separate, in another 
identical, communities, has satisfied the 
reasoning and dispassionate mind; while 
the separation of the two. communities, 
the total dissociation, as it were, of the 
Christian and the citizen, is an experiment 


ae 


a} 


. 


456 


apparently not likely to advance or perpet- 
uate the influence of Christianity.* 

At all events, the hasty and unsettled 
compact of this period left room for con- 
stant jealousy and strife. As each was 
the stronger, it encroached upon and ex- 
tended its dominion into the territory of 
the other. In general, though with very 
various fortunes, in different parts of the 

- world and at different periods, the Church 
was in the ascendant, and for many cen- 
turies confronted the state, at least on 
equal terms. : 

The first aggression, as it were, which 
Marriage the Church made on the state,. 
Biguent wu was in assuming the cognizance 
astical dis» OVer all questions and causes 
cipline. relating to marriage. In sancti- 
fying this solemn contract, it could scarce- 
ly be considered as transgressing its prop- 
er limits, as guardian of this primary ele- 
ment of social virtue and happiness. In 
the early Church, the benediction of the 
bishop or presbyter seems to. have been 
previously sought by the Christian at the 
time of marriage. The heathen rite of 
marriage was so manifestly religious, that 
the Christian, while he sought to avoid 
that idolatrous ceremony, would wish to 
substitute some more simple and conge- 
nial form. In the general sentiment that 
this contract should be public and sacred, 
he would seek the sanction of his own 
community as its witnesses. Marriage 
not performed in the face of his Christian 
brethren was little better than an illicit 
union t¢ ᾿ 

It was an object likewise of the early 
Christian community to restrict the mar- 
riage of Christians to Christians; to dis- 
countenance, if not prohibit, those with un- 


a. 


* [Were Mr. Milman to-visit these United States, 
and witness the complete success of this expen- 
ment, the entire satisfaction it gives to all-denom- 
inations of Christians, and the perfectly healthy 
state of all our churches, he might find occasion 
greatly to alter his views on this subject. ] 

t Ideo penes nos occulte conjunctiones, id est, 
non-prius apud ecclesiain professe, juxta mechiam 
et fornicationem judicari periclitantur.—Tertull., 
de Pudic., ς. 4. 

Though the rite was solemnized in the presence 
of the Christian priest, and the Church attempted 
to impose a graver and more serious dignity, it was 
“not so easy to throw off the gay and festive char- 
acter which had prevailed in the heathen times. 
Paganism, or rather, perhaps, human nature, was 
too strong to submit. The austere preacher of 
Constantinople reproved the loose hymns to Venus, 
which were heard even at Christian weddings. 
The bride, he says, was’ borne by drunken men to 
her husband’s house, among choirs of dancing har- 
lots, with pipes and flutes, and songs full, to her 
chaste ear, of offensive license. [See Chr. Wm. 
Fligge, Geschichte der Kirchlichen Kinsegnung 


_ und Copulation der Ehen, Liineb., 1809, 12mo.] 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


is OB : 
ἁ 


believers.* This was gradually extended 
to marriages with heretics, or members of 
another Christian sect. ‘When, therefore, 
the Church began to recognise five legal 
impediments to narriage, this was the first: 
Difference of religion between Christians 
and infidels, Jews or heretics. The secon 
was the impediment of crime. Persons 
guilty of adultery were not allowed to mar- 
ry according to the Roman law ; this was 
recognised by the Church. A law of Co - 
stantius had made rape, or forcible abduc- 
tion of a virgin, a capital offence ; and, 
even with the consent of the injured fe- 
male, marriage could not take place. 3. 
Impediments from relationship. Here also 
they were content to follow the Roman 
law, which was as severe and precise as 
the Mosaic Institutes.t 4. The civil im- 
pediment. Children adopted by the same 
father could not marry. A freeman could 
not marry a slave; the connexion was 
only concubinage. It does not appear 
that the Church yet ventured to correct 
this vice of Roman society. 5. Spiritual 
relationship between godfathers and their 
spiritual children : this was afterward car- 
ried much farther. To these regulations 
for the repression of improper connexions 
were added some other ecclesiastical im- 
pediments. There were holy -periods in 
the year, in which it was forbidden to con- 
tract marriage. No one might marry 
while under ecclesiastical interdict, nor 
one who had made a vow of chastity. 

The facility of divorce was the primary 
principle of corruption in Roman __ 
social life. Augustus had attempt- Piveree. 
ed to enforce some restrictions on this un- 
limited power of dissolving the matrimo- 
nial contract from eaprice or the lightest 
motive. Probably the severity of Chris- 
tian morals had obtained that law of Con- 
stantine, which was so much too rigid for 
the state of society as to be entirely in- 
effective, from the impossibility of carry- 
ing it into execution.t It was relaxed by 

* A law of Valentinian IL, Theodosius and Ar= 
cadius (A.D. 388), prohibited’ the intermarriage 
Jews and Christians. 
It was to be considered adultery.—Cave, Christi- 
ane, Gentili aut Judo filiam trader +; Cave, in- 
quam, Gentilem aut Judzam atque alienigenam, 
hoc est, hereticam, et omnem alienam ἃ fide tug 
uxorem accersas tibi.—Ambros., de Abraham., c. 9. 
Cum certissimé noveris tradi ἃ nobis Christianam 
nisi Christiano non posse.—Augustin., Ep. 234, ad 
Rusticum. 

The Council of Illiberis had prohibited Christians 
from giving their daughters in marriage to Gentiles 
(propter copiam puellarum), also to Jews, heretics, 
and especially to heathen priests.—Can. xv., XVi., 
XVII. 

+ See the various laws in the Cod. Theod , lib. 
lii., tit. 12, De Incestis Nuptiis. 

1 Codex Theodos., iii., 16, 1. 


See Ρ. 327, 


: re ΕἾ 


ye 


Codex Theodos , ay Ὁ 


y 


ra 


¥ 


Honorius.* The inveterate evil remained. 
A Christian writer, at the beginning of the 
fifth century, complains that men changed 
their wives as quickly as their clothes, 
and that marriage-chambers were set up 
as easily as booths in a market.f Ata 
later period than that to which our history 
extends, when Justinian attempted to pro- 
hibit all divorces except those on account 
of chastity, that is, when the parties em- 

braced the monastic life, he was obliged 
to relax the law on account of the fearful 
crimes, the plots and poisonings, and oth- 
er evils which it introduced into domestic 
life.“ 

But, though it could not -correct or 
scarcely mitigate this evil by public law 
in the general body of society, Christiani- 
ty, in its proper and more peculiar sphere, 
had invested marriage in a religious sanc- 
tity, which at deast, to a limited extent, 
repressed this social evil. By degrees, 
separation from bed and board, even in the 
case of adultery, the only cause which 
could dissolve the tie, was substituted and 
enforced by the clergy instead of legal di- 

_voree. Over all the ceremonial forms, 
and all expressions which related to mar- 
riage, the Church threw the utmost so- 
lemnity ; it was said to resemble the mys- 
tic union of Christ and the Church; till at 
length marriage grew up into a sacrament 
indissoluble until the final separation of 
death, except by the highest ecclesiastical 


* By the law of Honorius, 1. The woman who 
demanded a divorce without sufficient proof forfeit- 
ed her dowry, was condemned to banishment, could 
not contract a second marriage, was without hope 
of restoration to civil rights. 2. If she made out 
only a tolerable case (convicted her husband only 
of mediocris culpa), she only forfeited her dowry, 
and could not contract a second marriage, but was 
liable to be prosecuted by her husband for adultery. 
3. If she made a strong case (gravis causa), she 
retained her dowry and might marry again after 
five years. The husband, in the first case, forfeit- 
ed the gifts and dowry, and was condemned to per- 
‘petual celibacy, not having liberty to marry again 
after a certain number of years. In the second, he 
forfeited the dowry, but not the donation, and could 
marry again after two years. In the third, he was 
bound to prosecute his guilty wife. Onconviction, 
he received the dowry, and might marry again im- 
mediately.—Cod. Theodos., iil., xvi., 2. 

+ Mulieres ἃ maritis tanquam vestes subinde 
mutari, et thalamos tam sepe et facile strui quam 
nundinarum tabernas.— Asterius Amasenus apud 
Combefis, Auct., t. i. 

The story has been often quoted from St. Je- 
rome of the man (of the lowest class) in Rome 
who had had twenty wives (not divorced, he had 
buried them all); his wife had had twenty-two 
husbands. There was a great anxiety to know 
which would outlive the other. The man carried 
the day, and bore his wife to the grave in a kind 

of triumphal procession.— Hieronym., Epist. xci., 

. 745. 


3M 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


¥ 
Constantius, and almost abrogated by |auth 


457 


ority.* It is impossible to calculate 
the, effect of this Canonization, as it were, 
of marriage, the only remedy which could 
be applied, first to the corrupt manners of 
Roman society, and afterward to the con- 
sequences of the barbarian invasions, in 
which, notwithstanding the strong moral 
element in the ‘Teutonic character and the ᾿ 
respect for women (which, no doubt, was 
one of the original principles Ἢ chivalry), 
yet the dominance of brute force and the 
unlimited rights of conquest could not but 
lead to the perpetual, lawless, and violent 
dissolution of the marriage tie.t - 
The cognizance of wills, another de- 
partment in which the Church as- wy), 
sumed a power not strictly ecclesi- 
astical, seems to have arisen partly from 
an accidental circumstance. It was- the 
custom among the heathen to deposite wills 
in the temples as a place of security; the 
Christians followed their practice, and 
chose their churches as the depositaries 
of these important documents. . They 7 
thus came under the custody of the cler- > ΠΝ 
gy, who from guardians became, in their 
courts, the judges of. their authenticity or 
legality, and at length a general tribunal 
for all matters relating to testaments. 
‘Thus religion laid its sacred control on 
all the material incidents of human life, 
and around the ministers of religion gath- 
ered all the influenee thus acquired over 
the sentiments of mankind. ‘The font of q 
baptism usually received the Christian in- 
fant, and the form of baptism was uttered 
by the priest or bishop; the marriage was 
unhallowed without the priestly benedic- 
tion ; and at the close of life, the minister 
of religion was at hand to absolve and to 
reassure the departing spirit ; at the funer- 
al he ratified, as it were, the solemn prom- 
isesofimmortality. Butthe great, penitential 
permanent, and perpetual source ‘discipline. 
of sacerdotal authority was the penitential 
discipline of the Church, which was uni- 
versally recognised as belonging exclu- 
sively to the jurisdiction of the clergy. 
Christianity had sufficient power, to a cer- 
tain degree, to engross the mind and heart, 
but not to keep under perpetual restraint 
the unruly passions or the inquisitive mind. 


* The Eastern churches had a horror of second ᾿ 
marriage; a presbyter was forbidden to be present . ' 
at the wedding feast of a digamist.—Can. vil. 

+ Itis curious to trace the rapid fall of Roman »ἃᾧ 
pride. Valentinian made the intermarriage of a Ro- , 
man provincial with a barbarian a capital crime . 
(A.D. 370).—Codex 'Theodos., iii., 14, 1. Under 
Theodosius, Fravitta, the Goth, married’a Roman 9 
woman with the consent of the emperor.—Eunap., 

Excoupee Legat. In another century, the daugh- 
ters of emperors were the willing or the enforsed 
brides of barbarian kings. ᾿ 


458 


The best were most conscious of human 
infirmity, and jealous of their own slight 
aberrations from the catholic belief; the 
bad had not merely their own conscience, 
but public fame and the condemnatory 
voice of the community to prostrate them 
before the visible arbiters of the All-see- 
ing Power. Sin, from the most heinous 
_ delinquency or the darkest heresy, to the 
most trivial fault or the slightest deviation 
from the established belief, could only be 
reconciled by the advice, the guidance, at 
length by the direct authority, of the priest. 
He judged of its magnitude, he prescribed 
the appointed penance. The hierarchy 
were supposed to be invested with the 
keys of heaven and of hell; they undoubt- 
edly held those which unlock the human 
heart—fear and hope. And when once 
the mind was profoundly affected by Chris- 
tianity, when hope had failed to excite to 
more generous obedience, they applied 
the baser and more servile instrument 
without scruple and without remorse. 
The penitential discipline of the Church, 
no doubt, grew up, like other usages, by 
slow degrees ;: its regulations were framed 
into a system to meet the exigences of 


the times: but we discern, at a very early 


period, the awful power of condemning to 
the most profound humiliation, to the most 
agonizing contrition, to the shame of pub- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


in his spiritual course, what progress he 


was making to pardon and peace. The 
penitent was clothed in sackcloth, his 
head was strewn with ashes ; menshaved 
their heads, women left their dishevelled 
hair flung over their bosoms; they wore a 
peculiar veil; the severest attendance on 
every religious service was exacted; all 
diversions were proscribed ; marriage was 
not permitted during the time of penance ; 


the lawful indulgence of the marriage bed . 


was forbidden. Although a regular for- 
mulary, which gradually grew into use, 
imposed canonical penances of a certain 
period for certain offences, yet that period 
might be rigidly required or shortened by 
the authority of the bishop. For some 
offences the penitent, who, it was believ- 
ed, was abandoned to the power of Satan, 
was excluded from all enjoyment, all 
honour, and all society to the close of 
life; and the doors of reconciliation were 
hardly opened to the departing spirit: won- 
derful proof how profoundly the doctrines 
of Christianity had sunk into the human 
heart, and of the enormous power (and 
what enormous power is not liable to 


abuse) in which the willing reverence of 
the people had invested the priesthood. 


But something more fearful still remain- 


‘ed. Over all the community hung the tre- 


mendous sentence of excommunication, 


? 


lic confession, to the abasing supplication 
before the priest, to long seclusion from 
the privileges.and the society of the Chris- 


tantamount to a sentence of spiritual ὁ 
death.* This sentence, though not as yet _ 
dependant on the will, was pronounced and — 


tian community. Even then public con- 
fession was the first process in the fear- 
ful yet inevitable ceremonial. © “‘ Confes- 
sion of sin,” says Tertullian,* “is the 
proper discipline for the abasement and 
humiliation of man; it enforces that mode 
of life which can alone find mercy with 
God; it prescribes the fitting dress-and 
food of the penitent to be in sackcloth and 
ashes, to darken the body with filth, to 
depress the soul with anguish; it allows 
only the simplest food, enough and no 
more than will maintain life. Constantly 
to fast and pray, to groan, to weep, to 
howl day and night before the Lord our 
God, to grovel at the feet of the presbyter, 
to kneel at the altar of God, to implore 
from all the brethren their deprecatory 
supplications.” Subsequently, the more 
complete penitential system rigidly regu- 
lated the most minute particulars; the at- 
titude, the garb, the language, or the more 
expressive silence. The place in which 
the believer stood showed to the whole 
Church how far the candidate for salva- 
tion through Christ had been thrown back 


* De Peenitentia, c. 9. 


executed by the religious magistrate. The 
clergy adhered to certain regular forms of 
process, but the ultimate decree rested 
with them. 

Excommunication was of two kinds: 
first, that which excluded from Excommi- 
the communion, and threw back nication. 
the initiate Christian into the ranks of the 
uninitiate.’ This separation or suspension 


allowed the person under ban to enter the 


church, to hear the psalms and ‘sermon, 
and, in short, all that was permitted to the 
catechumen. 

But the more terrible excommunication 
by anathema altogether banished the de- 
linquent from the church and the society 
of Christians; it annulled forever his hopes 
of immortality through Christ; it drove 


* Interfici Deus jussit sacerdotibus non obtem- 
perantes, judicibus ἃ se ad tempus. constitutis non 
obedientes ; sed tunc quidem gladio occidebantur, 
quando adhuc et circumcisio carnis manebat. Nunc 
autem quia circumcisio spiritalis esse apud fideles 
Deiservos ccepit, spiritali gladio superbi et contu- 
maces necantur, dum de ecclesia ejiciuntur.--Cyp- 
rian., Epist. xii. ΓΝ 

Nunc agit in ecclesia excommunicatio, quod age- 
bat tunc in interfectis.--Augustin., Q. 39, in Deute- 
ron. 


- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


him out as an outcast to the dominion of 
the Evil Spirit. The Christian might not 
communicate with him in the ordinary in- 
tercourse of life; he was a moral leper, 
whom it was the solemn duty of all to 
avoid, lest they should partake in his con- 
tagion. The sentence of one church was 
rapidly promulgated throughout Christen- 
dom ; and the excommunicated in Egypt 
or Syria found the churches in Gaul or 
Spain closed against him: he was an ex- 
ile without a resting-place. As long as 
heathenism survived, at least in equal tem- 
poral power and distinction, and another 
society received with welcome, or at least 
with undiminished respect, the exile from 
Christianity, the excommunicated might 
lull his remaining terrors to rest, and for- 
get, in the business or dissipation of the 
world, his forfeited hopes of immortality. 
But when there was but one society, that 
of the Christians, throughout the world, or, 
at best, but a feeble and despised minor- 
ity, he stood a marked and branded man. 


Those who were, perhaps, not better Chris-. 


tians, but who had escaped the fatal cen- 
sures of the Church, would perhaps seize 


459 


and country. The province groaned and 
bled, without hope of relief, under the hate- 
ful and sanguinary oppression. Synesius 


had tried in vain the milder language of 


persuasion upon the intractable tyrant. 
At length he put forth the terrors of the 
Church to shield the people; and for his 
rapacity, which had amounted to sacrilege, 
and for his inhumanity, the president of 
the whole province was openly condemn- 
ed, by a sentence of excommunication, to 
the public abhorrence, excluded from the 
society and denied the common rights of 
men. He was expelled from the Church, 
as the Devil from Paradise ; every Chris- 
tian temple, every sanctuary, was closed 
against the man of blood; the priest. was 
not even to permit him the rights of Chris- 
tian burial; every private man and every 
magistrate was to exclude him from their 
houses and from their tables. If the rest 
of Christendom refused to ratify and exe- 
cute the sentence of the obscure Church 
of Ptolemais, they were guilty of the sin 
of schism. The Church of Ptolemais 
would not communicate or partake of the 
Divine mysteries with those who thus vio- 


the opportunity of showing their zeal by| lated ecclesiastical discipline. The ex- 


avoiding the outcast: if he did not lose 


civil privileges, he lost civil estimation ; 
he was altogether excluded from human 
respect and human sympathies; he wasa 


_ legitimate, almost a:designated, object of 
Jes, 


scorn, distrust, and aversion. 

The nature, the extent, and some of the 
_._ moral and even political advan- 
tages of excommunication, are il- 
lustrated in the act of the celebrated Syne- 
sius. The power of the Christian bishop, 
in his hands, appears under its noblest and 
most beneficial form. Synesius became 
a Christian bishop without renouncing the 
habits, the language, and, in a great de- 
gree, the opinions of a philosopher. His 
writings, more especially his Odes, blend, 
with a very scanty Christianity, the mys- 
tic theology of the later Platonism ; but it 
is rather philosophy adopting Christian 
language, than Christianity moulding phi- 
losophy to itsown uses. Yet so high was 
the character of Synesius, that even the 
worldly prelate of Alexandrea, Theophilus, 
approved of his elevation to the episcopate 
in the obscure town of Ptolemais, near Cy- 
rene. Synesius felt the power with which 
he was invested, and employed it with a 
wise vigour and daring philanthropy, which 
eommanded the admiration both of philos- 
ophy and of religion. The lowborn An- 
dronicus was the prefect, or, rather, the 
scourge and tyrant of Libya; his exactions 
were unprecedented, and enforced by tor- 


Fp 
Synesius. 


tures of unusual cruelty, even in that age | 12 


communication included the accomplices 
of his guilt, and, by a less justifiable ex- 
tension of power, their families. Andron- 
icus quailed before the interdict, which ᾿ 
he feared might find countenance in the 
court of Constantinople ; bowed before the 
protector of the people, and acknowledged 
the justice of his sentence.* 

The salutary thunder of sacerdotal ex- 
communication might here and there strike 
some eminent delinquent ;} but ecclesias- 
tical discipline, which in the earlier and 
more fervent period of the. religion had 
watched with holy jealousy the whole life 
of the individual, was baffled by the in- 
crease of votaries, which it could no long- ~ 
er submit to this severe and constant su- 
perintendence. The clergy could not com- 
mand, nor the laity .reqnire, the sacred du- 
ty of secession and outward penance from 
the multitude of sinners, when they were 
the larger part of the community. But 
heresy of opinion was more easily detect- 
ed than, heresy of conduct. Gradually, 
from a moral as well asa religious power, 


* Synesii Epistole, lvii., lviii. 

+ There is a canon of the Council of Toledo 
(A.D. 408), that if any man in power shall have 
robbed one in holy orders, or a poor man (quemlibet 
pauperiorem), or a monk, and the bishop shall send 
to demand a hearing for the cause, should the man 
in power treat his message with contempt, letters 
shall be sent to all the bishops of the province, de- 
claring him excommunicated till he has heard the 
cause or made restitution.—Can. xi. Labbe, iL, 

20. 


agi 


= ..., the discipline became almost 
Ecclestas<"¢cal 5 ah 
censures cwss- EXCluSively religious, or, rath- 
ly confined to er, confined itself to the specu- 
πα lative, while it almost aban- 
doned in despair the practical, effects of 
religion. Heresy became the one great 
crime for which excommunication was 
pronounced in its: most awful form; the 
heretic was the one being with whom it 
was criminal to associate, who forfeited 
all the privileges of religion and all the 
charities of life. , 
Nor was this all: in pursuit of the here- 
Executed by tic, the Church was not content 
the state. (0 rest within her,own sphere, 
to wield her own arms of moral tempera- 
ment, and to exclude from her own -terri- 
tory. She formed a fatal alliance with the 
state, and raised that which was strictly 
an ecclesiastical, an offence against the 
religious community, into a civil crime, 
amenable to temporal penalties. The 
Church, when she ruled the mind of a re- 
ligious or superstitious emperor, could not 
forego the immediate advantage of his au- 
thority to further her own cause, and hail- 
ed his welcome intrusion on her own in- 
ternal legislation. In fact, the autocracy 
of the emperor over the Church as well 
as over the state was asserted in all those 
edicts which the Church, in its blind zeal, 
hailed with transport as the marks of his 
allegiance, but which confounded in inex- 
tricable, and, to the present time, in deplo- 
rable confusion, the limits of the religious 
and the civil power. The imperial re- 
scripts, which made heresy a civil offence, 
by affixing penalties which were not pure- 
ly religious, trespassed as much upon the 
real principles of the original religious re- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


tinct, and demanded an entirely different 
and independent system of legislation and 
administration of the law. ‘lhe Christian 
hierarchy bought the privilege of persecu- 
tion at the price of Christian independence. 

It is difficult to decide whether the lan- 
guage of the book in the Theodosian Code. 


entitled “Ομ Heretics,’ contrasts more 
strongly with the comprehensive, equita- 
ble, and parental:tone of the Roman juris- 
prudence, or with the gentle and benevo- 
lent spirit of the Gospel, or even with the 
primary principles of the ecclesiastical 
community.* The emperor, of his sole 
and supreme authority, without any rec- 
ognition of ecclesiastical advice or sanc- 
tion; the emperor, who might himself be 
an Arian, or Eunomian, or Manichean, 
who had so recently been an Arian, de- 
fines heresy the very slightest deviation 
from Catholic verity, and in a succession 
of statutes inflicts civil penalties, and ex- 
cludes from the common rights of men- 
the maintainers-of certain opinions. No- 
thing treasonable, immoral, dangerous to 
the peace of society is alleged; the crime, 
the civil crime, as it now becomes, con- 
sists solely in opinions. The law of Con- 
stantine, which granted special immuni- 
ties to certain of his subjects, might per- 
haps, with some show of equity, confine 
those immunities to a particular class.f 
But the gradually darkening statutes pro- 
ceed from the withholding of privileges to 
the prohibition of their meetings,{ then - 
through confiscation,§ the refusal of the — 
common right of bequeathing property, — 
fine, || exile,{ to capital punishment.** The δ 
latter, indeed, was enacted only against 
some of the more obscure sects and some 


of the Donatists, whose turbulent and se- τ 
ditious conduct might demand the inter- =~ 
ference of the civil power; but still they 


public as against the immutable laws of 
conscience and Christian charity. The 
tremendous laws of ‘Theodosius,* consti- 


tuting heresy a capital offence, 


Civil punish- . ate 

ἘΠῚ ΣΤΟΣ punishable by the civil power, 
clesiastical gre said to have been enacted 
offences, 


only as a terror to evil believ- 


darkening spirit of the times; the next 
generation would execute what the laws 
of the last would enact. ‘The most dis- 
tinguished bishops of the time raised:a 
ery: of horror at the first executions for 
religion; but it was their humanity which 
was startled; they did not perceive that 
they had sanctioned, by the smallest civil 
' penalty, a false and fatal principle; that 
though, by the legal establishment, the 


Church and the state had become in one. 


sense the same body, yet the associating 

principle of each remained entirely dis- 

Se SR ee τ --π“-------- 
* See ch. ix., p. 388. 


are condemned, not as rebels and insur- 
gents, but as heretics.{t eek 


* Hereticorum vocabulo continentur, et latis ad- 


ers; but they betrayed too clearly the’ versus eos-sanctionibus debent succumbere, qui vel 


levi argumento a judicio Catholice religionis et 
‘tramite detecti fuerint deviare. ‘The practice was 
more lenient than the law. 

+ The first law of Constantine restricts the im- 
munities which he grants to Catholics.—Cod. The- 
odos., Xvi. 

t The law of Gratian (IV.) confiscates the hous- 
es or even fields in which heretical conventicles are 
held. See also law of Theodosius, vill. _ 

ὁ Leges xi., xii. || Tbid., xxi. 

4 Ubid., xviii., liii., lviii.' ‘ f 

** The law of Theodosius enacts this, not against 
the general body, but some small sections of Man- 
icheans, “ Summo supplicio et inexpiabili poena ju- 
bemus affligi,” ix. This law sanctions the ill-omen- 
ed name of inquisitors. Compare law xxxv. The 
“‘interminata poena” of law Ix. is against Eunomi- 
ans, Arians, and Macedonians. 


++ Ad Heraclianum, lvi. The :mperial laws 


4 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


In building up. this vast and majestic 


Objects of fabric of the hierarchy, though 
the great de- τ ivi j > 
τοῦ δῖοι καθ᾽ widividuals might be actuated by. 


thehierarch- personal ambition or interest, 
ical power. and the narrow corporate spirit 
might rival loftier motives in the consoli- 
dation of ecclesiastical power, yet the great 
object, which was steadily, if dimly seen, 
was the advancement of mankind in reli- 
gion, and through religion to temporal and 
eternal happiness. Dazzled by the glori- 
ous spectacle of provinces, of nations, 
gradually brought within the pale of Chris- 
tianity, the great men of the fourth century 
of Christianity were not and could not be 
endowed with prophetic sagacity to dis- 
cern the abuses of sacerdotal domination, 
and the tyranny which, long centuries af- 
ter, might be exercised over the human 
mind in the name of religion. We may 
trace the hierarchical principle of Cyprian 
or of Ambrose to what may seem their 
natural consequences, religious crusades 
and the fires of the Inquisition; we may 
observe the tendency of unsocial monas- 
ticism to quench the charities of life, to 
harden into cruelty, grovel into licentious- 
ness, and brood over its own ignorance ; 
we may trace the predestinarian doctrines 
of Augustine darkening into narrow bigot- 
ry or maddening to uncharitable fanati- 
cism; they only contemplated, they only 
could contemplate, a great moral and reli- 
gious power opposing civil tyranny, or at 
least affording a refuge from it; purifying 


‘domestic morals, elevating and softening 


human heart ;* a wholesome and be- 


- against second baptisms are still more singular in- 
- -vasions of tie civil upon the ecclesiastical authori- 


ty, xvi., tit. vi. 
_ * The laws bear some pleasing testimonies to the 
activity of Christian benevolence in many of the ob- 
scure scenes of human wretchedness,. See the hu- 
mane law regarding prisoners, that they might’ have 
proper food, and the use of the bath. Nec deerit 
antistitum Christiane religionis cura laudabilis, que 
ad observationem constitnti judicis hance ingerat 
monitionem. ‘The Christian bishop was to take 
care that the judge did his duty.—-Cod. Theodos., 
ini ΤΥ ΟΝ 

As early as the reign of Valentinian and Valens, 
prisoners were released at Easter (ob diem pasche, 
quem intimo corde celebramus), excepting those 
committed for the crimes of treason, magic, adulte- 
ry, rape, or homicide, ix., 36, 3,4. These statutes 
were constantly renewed, with the addition of some 
more excepted crimes, sacrilege, robbery of tombs, 
and coining. ; ᾿ 

There is a very singular law of Arcadius prohib- 
iting the clergy and the monks from interfering with 
the execution of the laws, and forcibly taking away 
condemned criminals from the hands of justice 
They were allowed, at the same time, the amplest 
privilege of merciful intercession. This was con- 
nected with the privilege of asylum.—Codex Theo- 
dos., ix, 40, 16. ’ 

There is another singular law by which corporeal 
punishments were not to be administered in Lent, 


461 


nevolent force compelling men by legiii- 
mate means to seek wisdom, virtue, and 
salvation ; the better part of mankind with- 
drawing, in holy prudence and wise timid- 
ity, from the corruptions οἵ ἃ foul and cruel 
age, and devoting itself to its own self-ad- 
vancement, to the highest spiritual per- 
fection; and the general pious assertion 
of the universal and unlimited providence 
and supremacy of God, None but the 
hopeful achieve great revolutions; and 
what hopes could equal those which the 
loftier Christian minds might justly enter- 
tain Of the beneficent influences of Chris- 
tianity ? ἜΝ 

We cannot wonder at the growth of 
the ecclesiastical power, if the 
Church were merely considered 
as anew sphere in which human 
genius, virtue, and benevolence 
might develop their unimpeded energies, 
and rise above. the ‘general debasement. 
This was almost the only way in which 
any man could devote great abilities or 
generous activity to a useful purpose with 
reasonable hopes of success. The civil 
offices were occupied by favour and in- 
trigue, often acquired most easily and held 
most permanently by the worst men for 
the worst purposes ; the utter extinction 
of freedom had left no course of honour- 
able distinction, as an honest advocate or 
an independent jurist ; literature was worn 
out; rhetoric had degenerated into techni- 
cal subtlety ; philosophy had lost its hold 
upon the mind; even the great military 
commands were filled by fierce and active 
barbarians, on whose energy Rome relied 
for the protection of her frontiers. In the 
Church alone was security, influence, in- 
dependence, fame, even wealth, and the 
opportunity ofserving mankind. he pul- 
pit was the only rostrum from which the 
orator would be heard; feeble as was the 
voice of Christian poetry, it found an echo 
in the human heart: the episcopate was 
the only office of dignity which could be 
obtained without meanness or exercised 
without fear. Whether he sought the 
peace of a contemplative or the useful- 
ness of an active life, this was the only 
sphere for the man of conscious mental 
strength ; and if he felt the inward satis- 
faction that he was either securing his 
own or advancing the salvation of others, 
the lofty mind would not hesitate what 
path to choose through the darkening and 
degraded world. 

The just way to consider the influence 
of the Christian hierarchy (without which, 
—— 5 -------------------- 


except against the Isaurian robbers, whowere tobe 
dealt with without delay, ix., 35, 5, 6, 7 


Dignity and 
advantage of 
the clerical 
Station. 


462 


General in- 1Π its complete and vigorous or- 


sinners _ ganization, it is clear that the re- 
the clerg¥- igion could not have subsisted 
throughout these ages of disaster and con- 


fusion) is to imagine, if possible, the state 
of things without that influence. A tyran- 
ny the most oppressive and debasing, with- 
out any principles of free or hopeful re- 
sistance, or resistance only attainable by 
the complete dismemberment of the Ro- 
man empire, andits severance into a num- 
ber of hostile states ; the general morals 
at the lowest state of depravation, with 
nothing but a religion totally without in- 
fluence, and a philosophy without author- 
ity, to correct its growing cruelty and li- 
centiousness ; avery large portion of man- 
kind in hopeless slavery, with nothing to 
mitigate it but the insufficient control. of 
fear in the master, or oecasional gleams 
of humanity or political foresight in the 
government, with no inward consolation 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


or feeling of independence whatever. In 
the midst of this, the invasion of hostile 
barbarians in every quarter, and the com- 
plete wreck of civilization, with no com- 
manding influence to assimilate the ad- 
verse races ; without the protection or con- 
servative tendency of any religious feeling 
to soften, at length to reorganize and re- 
create, literature, the arts of building, 
painting, and music; the Latin language 
itself breaking up into as many countless 
dialects as there were settlements of bar- 
barous tribes without a guardian or sacred 
depositary, it is difficult adequately to 
darken the picture of ignorance, violence, 
confusion, and wretchedness ; but-without 
this adequate conception of the probable 
state of the world without it, it is impos- 
sible to judge with fairness or candour the 
obligations of Europe and of civilization to 
the Christian hierarchy.* 


CHAPTER II. 


PUBLIC SPECTACLES. ‘aaa 


Tue Greek and Roman inhabitants of 
Public the empire were attached with 
spectacles. equal intensity to their favourite 
spectacles, whether of more solemn reli- 
gious origin, or of lighter and more festive 
kind. These amusements are perhaps 
more congenial to the southern character, 
from the greater excitability of tempera- 
ment, the less variable climate, which 
rarely interferes with enjoyment in the 
open air, and throughout the Roman world 
had long been fostered by those repub- 
lican institutions which gave to ‘every 
citizen a place and an interest in all pub- 
lic ceremonials, and which, in this respect, 
still survived the institutions themselves. 
The population of the great capitals had 
preserved only the dangerous and per- 
nicious part of freedom, the power of sub- 
sisting either without regular industry or 
with, but moderate exertion. 
τ petual distribution of corn, and the ‘various 
largesses at other times, emancipated 
them in a great degree from the whole- 
some control of their own necessities, 
and a vast and uneducated multitude was 
maintained in idle and dissolute inactivity. 
It was absolutely necessary to occupy 
much of this vacant time with public diver- 
sions ; and the invention, the wealth, and 
the personal exertions of the higher orders 
were taxed to gratify this insatiable appe- 
tite. Policy demanded that which am- 


The per-- 


bition and the love of popularity had freely 
supplied in the days of the republic, and 
which personal vanity continued to offer, 
though with less prodigal and willing mu- 
nificence. The more retired and domestic 
habits of Christianity might in some de- 
gree seclude a sect from the public diver- 


sions, but it could not change the nature | 


or the inveterate habits of a people: it 
was either swept along by, or contented 
itself with giving a new direction to, the 
impetuous and irresistible current; it was 
obliged to substitute some new excite- 
ment for that which it peremptorily pro- 
hibited, and reluctantly to acquiesce in 
that which it was unable to suppress. 
Christianity had cut off that part of the 
public spectacles which belonged exclu- 
sively to paganism. Even if all the tem- 
ples at Rome were not, as Jerome asserts, 
covered with dust and cobwebs,f yet, not- 
withstanding the desperate efforts of the 
old aristocracy, the tide of popular inter- 
est, no doubt, set away from the deserted 
and mouldering fanes of the heathen dei- 
ties, and towards the churches of the 


* [Compare Guizot’s History of Civilization in 
Europe, Lecture v., vi. p. 113-166, ed. New-York, 
1838.] 

+ Fuligine et aranearum telis omnia Rome tem- 
pla cooperta sunt: inundans populus ante delubra 
semiruta, currit ad martyrum tumulos.—Epist. lvii., 
p- 590. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Christians. And if this was the case in 
Rome, at Constantinople and throughout 
the empire the pagan ceremonial was 
either extinct, or gradually expiring, or 
lingering on in unimpressive regularity. 
On the other hand, the modest and unim- 
posing ritual of Christianity naturally, and 
almost necessarily, expanded into pomp 
and dignity. To the deep devotion of the 
early Christians the place and circum- 
stances of worship were indifferent: piety 
finds everywhere its own temple. In the 
low and unfurnished chamber, in the for- 
est, in the desert, in the catacomb, the 
Christian adored his Redeemer, prayed, 
chanted his hymn, and partook of the sa- 
cred elements. Devotion wanted no ac- 
cessories ; faith needed no subsidiary ex- 
citement ; or if it did, it found them in the 
peril, the novelty, the adventurous and 
stirrmg character of the scene, or in the 
very meanness and poverty, contrasted 
with the gorgeous worship which it had 
abandoned ; in the mutual attachment and 
in the fervent emulation which spread 
throughout a small community. 

But among the more numerous and 
hereditary Christians of this period, the 

mple and the solemn service were in- 
dispensable to enforce and maintain the 
devotion. Religion was not strong enough 
to disdain, and far too earnest to decline, 
any legitimate means of advancing her 
Religious Cause. The whole ceremonial 
ceremonial. was framed with the art which 
arises out of the intuitive perception of 
that which is effective towards its end; that 
which was felt to be awful was adopted 
to enforce awe; that which drew the peo- 
ple to the church, and affected their minds 
when there, became sanctified to the use 
of the church. The edifice itself arose 
more lofty with the triumph of the faith, 
and enlarged itself to receive the multiply- 
ing votaries. Christianity disdained that 
its God and its Redeemer should be less 
magnificently honoured than the demons 
of paganism. In the service it delighted 
to transfer and to breathe, as it were, a 
sublimer sense into the common appella- 
tions of the pagan worship, whether from 
the ordinary ceremonial or the more secret 
mysteries. The church became a temple ;* 
the table of the communion an altar; the 
celebration of the Eucharist the appalling 
or the unbloody sacrifice.| The minister- 
ing functionaries multiplied with the vari- 
ety of the ceremonial; each was conse- 
crated to his office by a lower kind of or- 
dination ; but a host of subordinate attend- 


* Ambrose and Lactantius, and even Ireneus, 
use this term.—See Bingham, b. viii., 1, 4. 
+ The gpixrn, or the ἀναίμακτος ϑυσία. 


ἐ 


463 


ants by degrees swelled the officiating 
train. The incense, the garlands, the 
lamps, all were adopted by zealous rivalry, 
or seized as the lawful spoils of vanquished 
paganism, and consecrated to the service 
of Christ. ; ᾿ 

The Church rivalled the old heathen 
mysteries in expanding, by slow degrees, 
its higher privileges. Christianity was it- 
self the great mystery, unfolded gradual- 
ly, and, in general, after a long and search- 
ing probation. It still reserved the pow- 
er of opening at once its gates to the more 
distinguished proselytes, and of jealously 
and tardily unclosing them to more doubt- 
ful neophytes. It permitted its sanctuary, 
as it were, to be stormed at once by em- 
inent virtue and unquestioned zeal; but 
the common mass of mankind were never 
allowed to consider it less than a hard- 
won. privilege to be received into the 
Church ; and this boon was not to be dis- 
pensed with lavish or careless hands.* 
Its preparatory ceremonial of abstinence, 
personal purity, ablution, secrecy, closely 
resembled that of the pagan mysteries 
(perhaps each may have contributed to 
the other); so the theologic dialect of 
Christianity spoke the same language. 
Yet Christianity substituted for the fever- 
ish enthusiasm of some of these rites, 
and the phantasmagoric terrors of others, 
with their vague admonitions to purity, a 
searching but gently-administered ‘moral 
discipline, and more sober religious ex- 
citement. It retained, indeed, much of 
the dramatic power, though under another 
form. 

The divisions between the different or- 
ders of worshippers, enforced by Divisions.of | 
the sacerdotal authority, and ob- ‘he Church. 
served with humble submission by the 
people, could not but impress the mind 
with astonishment and awe. ‘The stran- 
ger, on entering the spacious open court 
which was laid out before the more splen- 
did churches, with porticoes or cloisters on 
each side, beheld first the fountain or tank 
where the worshippers were expected to 
wash their hands, and purify themselves, 
as it were, for the Divine presence. Lin- 
gering in these porticoes, or approaching 
timidly the threshold which they dared 
not pass, or, at the farthest, entering only 
into the first porch or vestibule,t and. 


* It is one of the bitterest charges of Tertullian 
against the heretics, that they did not keep up this 
distinction between the catechumens and the faith- 
ful. ‘“Imprimis quis catechumenus, quis fidelis, 
incertum est: pariter adeunt, pariter orant.” Even 
the heathen were admitted; thus “ pearls were 
cast before swine.”—De Prascript. Heret., c. 41. 

+ There is much difficulty and confusion re- 
specting these divisions of the Church. The fact 


af 


- the narthex. 


464 ᾿ 


pressing around the disciples to ae 
their prayers, he would observe 
The Ee ment Gale. δε μμῆι clad in sack- 
cloth, oppressed with the profound con- 
sciousness of their guilt, acquiescing 1n 
the justice of the ecclesiastical censure, 
which altogether excluded them from the 
Christian community. These were the 
The pen- first class of penitents, men of 
itents. notorious guilt, whom only a long 
period of this humiliating probation could 
admit even within the hearing of the sa- 
cred service. As he advanced to the 
gates, he must pass the scrutiny of the 
doorkeepers, who guarded the admission 
into the church, and distributed each class 
of worshippers into their proper place. 
The stranger, whether heathen or Jew, 
might enter into the part assigned to the 
catechumens or novices and the penitents 
of the second order (the hearers), that he 
might profit by the religious instruction.* 


He found himself in the first division of 


the main body of the church, of 
which the walls were lined by 
Various marbles, the roof often ceiled with 
mosaic, and supported by lofty columns 


The narthex. 


robably is, that, according to the period or the 
ocal circumstances, the structure and the arrange- 
ment were more or less complicated. Tertullian 
says distinctly, “non, modo limine verum onini ec- 
clesie teclo submovemus.” Where the churches 
were of a simpler form, and had no roofed narthex 
or vestibule, these penitents stood in the open court 
before the church; even later, the flentes and the 
hiemantes formed a particular class. » 

A canon of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus gives the 
clearest view of these arrangements: Ἢ πρύσ- 
κλαυσις ἔξω τῆς πύλης τοῦ εὐκτηρίου ἐστὶν, ἔνθα 
ἐστῶτα τὸν ἀμαρτάνοντα χρὴ τῶν εἰσιόντων, δεῖσ- 
θαι πιστῶν ὑπὲρ. αὐτοῦ εὔχεσθαι: ἡ ἀκρόασις 
ἔνδοθι τῆς πύλης ἐν τῷ νάρθηκι, ἔνθα ἐστάναι χρὴ 
τὸν ἡμαρτήκοτα, ἕως τῶν κατηχουμένων, καὶ ἐν- 
τεῦθεν ἐξέρχεσθαι" ἀκούων γὰρ φησὶ τῶν γραφῶν 
καὶ τῆς διδασκαλίας, ἐκθαλέσθω, καὶ μὴ ἀξιούσθω 
προσευχῆς" ἡ δὲ ὑπόπτωσις, ἵνα ἔσωθεν τῆς πύλης 
τοῦ ναοῦ ἱστάμενος, μετὰ τῶν κατηχουμένων ἐξ- 
ἐρχηται" ἡ σύστασις, ἵνα συνίσταται τοῖς πιστοῖς 
καὶ μὴ εξέρχηται μετὰ τῶν κατηχουμένων" τελ- 


“ εὐταῖον ἡ μέθεξις τῶν ἁγιασμάτων.---ΑΡ. Labbe, 


Cone. 1., p. 842. 
* This part of the church was usually called 


century, was not used with great precision, or ra- 
ther, perhaps, was applied to different parts of the 
church, according to their greater or less complex- 
ity of structure. It is sometimes used for the 
porch or vestibule; in this sense there were sev- 
eral nartheces (St. Sophia had four). Mamachi 
(vol..1., p. 216) insists that it was divided from the 
nave by a wall. But this cannot mean the narthex 
into which the dxpodpevor were admitted, as the ob- 
ject of their admission was that they might hear 
the service. 

Episcopus nullum prohibeat intrare ecclesiam, 
et audire verbum Dei, sive hereticum, sive Jude- 
um usque ad missam catechumenorum.—Concil. 
‘Carthag., iv., 6. 84. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


But this term, I believe, of the sixth |. 


a. 


" 


with gilded capitals; the doors were in- 
laid with ivory or silver ; the distant altar 
glittered with precious stones.* In the 
midst of the nave stood the pulpit or read- 
ing-desk (the ambo), around which were 
arranged the singers, who chanted to the 
most solemn music poetry, much of it 
familiar to the Jew, as belonging to his 
own sacred writings, to the heathen full 
of the noblest images, expressive of the 
Divine power and goodness ; adapting it- 
self with the most exquisite versatility to 
every devout emotion, melting into the 
most pathetic tenderness, or swelling out 
into the most appalling grandeur. The 
pulpit was then ascended by one of the 
inferior order, the reader of certain por- 
tions or extracts from the sacred volumes, 
in which God himself spoke to the awe- 
struck auditory. He was succeeded by 


‘an orator of a higher dignity, a presbyter 


or a bishop, who sometimes addressed the 
people from the steps which led up to the 
chancel, sometimes chose the more con- 
venient and elevated position of 
the ambo.t He was a man 
usually of the highest attainments and 
eloquence, and instead of the frivolous 


The preacher. 


and subtle questions which the pagan was 


accustomed to hear in the schools of rhet- 
oric or philosophy, he fearlessly agitated 
and peremptorily decided on such eternal- 
ly and. universally awakening topics as 
the responsibility of man before God, the 
immortality and future destination of the 
soul; topics of which use could not dead- 
en the interest to the believer, but which, 
to an unaccustomed ear, were as startling 
as important. The mute attention of the 
whole assembly was broken only by un- 
controllable acclamations, which frequent- 
ly interrupted the more moving preach- 
ers. Around the pulpit was the last or- 
der of penitents, who prostrated them- 
selves in humble homage during the pray- 
ers and the benediction of the bishop. 
Here the steps of the profane stranger 
must pause ; an insuperable barrier, which 
he could not pass without violence, se 


* Alii wdificent ecclesias, vestiant parietes mar- 
morum crustis, columnarnum moles advehant, ea- 
rumque deaurent capita, pretiosum ornatum non 
sentientia, ebore argentoque valvas, et gemmis dis- 
tinguant altaria. Non reprehendo, non abnuo.— 
Hieronym., Fpist: viii, ad Demetriad. 

+ Chrysostom generally preached from the ambo. 
—Soer, vi., 5.’ Sozomen, viii, 5. Both: usages 
prevailed in the West. 

Seu te conspicuis gradibus venerabilis are 

Concionaturum plebs sedula circumsistat. 

Sid. Apollon., can. xvi. 

Fronte sub adversa gradibus sublime tribunal 

Tollitur, antistes predicat unde Deum. 
Prudent., Hymn. ad Hippolyt. 


ee * 


ε 


ciuded the initiate from the society of the 
less_ perfect. Yet, till the more secret 
ceremonial began, he might behold, at dim 


and aespetiinl distance, the striking scene, 
of the baptiz worshippers in their 


ra 


first οἱ 
order, the fe 
above (the virgins Separate from the ma- 
trons). Beyond Wt still farther secluded 
sanctity, on an elevated semicircle around 
the bishop, sat the clergy, attended by the 
subdeacons, acolyths, and those of inferior 
order. Even the gorgeous throne of the 
emperor was below this platform. Before 
them was the mystic and awful table, the 
altar as it began to be called in the fourth 
century, Over which was sometimes sus- 
pended a richly-wrought eanopy (the ci- 
borium) : it was covered with fine linen. 
In the third century, the simpler vessels 
of glass or other cheap material had given 
place to silver and gold. Im the later per- 
secutions, the cruelty of the heathen was 
stimulated by their avarice; and some of 
the sufferers, while they bore their own 
agonies with patience, were grieved to the 
heart to see the sacred vessels pillaged, 
and turned to profane or indecent uses. 
In the Eastern churches, richly embroider- 
ed curtains overshadowed the approach to 
the altar, or light doors secluded altogether 
the Holy of Holies from the profane gaze 


D 


of the multitude. 

Such was the ordinary Christian cere- 
monial, as it addressed the mass of man- 
kind. But at a certain time the uninitiate 
were dismissed, the veil was dropped 
which shrouded the hidden rites, the doors 
were ¢losed, profane steps might not cross 
the threshold of the baptistery, or linger 
in the chureh when the Liturgy of the 
faithful, the office of the Eucharist, began. 
The veil of concealment was first spread 
over the peculiar rites of Christianity from 
caution. The religious assemblies were, 
Secrecy ofthe Strictly speaking, unlawful, and 
sacraments. they were shrouded in secrecy, 
lest they should be disturbed by the in- 
trusion of their watchful enemies ;* and it 
was this unavoidable secrecy which gave 
rise to the frightful fables of the heathen 
concerning the nature of these murderous 
or incestuous banquets. As they could 
not be public, of necessity they took the 
form of mysteries, and as mysteries be- 
came. objects of jealousy and of awe. As 
the assemblies became more public, that 
seclusion of the more solemn rites was 
retained from dread and reverence which 
was commenced from fear. Though pro- 


* Tot hostes ejus, quot extranei * * quotidié 
obsidemar, quotidié prodimur, in ipsis plurimim 
cetibus et congregationibus opprimimur.—-Tertull., 
Apologet., 7, 


geheral in galleries | 


: ef 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


r 


" . 
Ἢ f 
_*. 
δι 465 
fane curiosity no longer dared to take a 
hostile character, it was repelled from the 
sacred ceremony. Of the mingled multi- 
tude, Jews and heathens, the incipient be- 
lievers, the hesitating converts, who must 
be permitted to hear the Gospel of Christ 
or the address of the preacher, none could 
be admitted to the sacraments. It was 
natural to exclude them, not merely by 
regulation, and the artificial division of 
the church into separate parts, but by the . 
majesty which invested the last solemn 
rites. That which had concealed itself 
from fear became itself fearful: it was no 
longer a timid mystery which fled the 
light, but an λει ἢ communion 
with the Deity, which would not brook 
profane intrusion. ‘It is an extraordinary 
indication of the power of Christianity, 
that rites in themselves so simple, and of 
which the nature, after all the concealment, 
could not but be known, should assume, 
such unquestioned majesty; that, however 
significant, the simple lustration by water, 
and the partaking of bread and wine, shoe 
so affect the awe-struck imagination as te 
make men suppose themselves ignorant 
of what these sacraments really were, and 
even when the high- wrought expectations 
were at length gratified, to experience no 
dissatisfaction at their plain, and, in them- 
selves, unappalling ceremonies. The mys- 
teriousness was no doubt fed and height- 
ened by the regulations of the clergy and 
by the impressiveness of the service,* but 
it grew of itself out of the profound and 
general religious sentiment. The baptis- 
tery and the altar were closed against the 
uninitiate, but if. they had been open men 
would scarcely have ventured to approach 
them. The knowledge of the. nature of 
the sacraments was reserved for the bap- 
tized; but it was because the minds of the 
unbaptized were sealed by trembling rev- 
erence, and shuddered to anticipate the 
forbidden knowledge. *The hearers had a 
vague knowledge of these mysteries float- 


« 


ing around them, the initiate heard it with © 


* This was the avowed object ‘of the clergy. 
Catechumenis sacramenta fidelium non produntar, 
non ideo fit, quod ea ferre non possunt, sed ut ab 
eis tanto ardentiis concupiscantur, quanto honoras 
bilids occultantur.August. in Johan., 96... Mor- 
talium generi natura datum est, ut abstrusa fortiis 
querat, ut negata magis ambiat, ut tardiis adepta 
plus diligat, et eo fag ametur veritas, quo 
vel diutids desideratur, vel laboriosiis queritur, vel 
tardiis invenitur—Claudius Mamert., quoted by 
Casaubon in Baron, p. 497. 

1 The inimitable pregnancy of the Greek lan- 
guage expresses this by two verbs differently com 
pounded, Cyril of Jerusalem, in his Proeatechesis 
states the Catechumens περιηχεῖσθαι, the Faithfu 
ἐνηχεῖσθαι, by the meaning of the mysteries, 


et 


i te 


in.— To add to the impressiveness, night ο 


᾿ 


» 
Ἂν 
ν 
“ον. 
Ψν 
." 
ve, 
a 
"“ 
‘ 
7 ε 


. 4° 
fee 
i, * 


“ 


Ἔ ἢ ‘A 
Py κᾳ 


- 


a 


ν 


py 
: 


fa ? » 


τῶν. 


« 


᾿ 


466 


» was sometimes spread over the Christian 


as over the pagan mysteries.* 

At Easter and at Pentecost,t and in 
_, some places at the Epiphany, the 
ον right of baptism was administered 
publicly (that is, in the presence of the 


Baptism. 


faithful) to all the converts of the year, 


excepting those few instances in which it 
had been expedient to perform the cere- 
mony without delay, or where the timid 


στον Christian put it off till the close of life ;t 


. a practice for a long time condemned in 
' vain by the clergy. But the fact of the 
delay shows how deeply the importance 
and efficacy of the rite were rooted in the 
Christian mind: It was a complete lus- 
tration of the soul. The neophyte emer- 
ged from the waters of baptism in a state 
of perfect innocence. The Dove (the Ho- 
ly Spirit) was constantly hovering over 
the font, and sanctifying the waters to the 
_ mysterious ablution of all the sins of the 
passed life. If the soul suffered no sub- 
sequent taint, it passed at once to the 
realms of purity and bliss ; the heart was 
purified; the understanding illuminated ; 
the spirit was clothed with immortality.§ 
Robed in white, emblematic of spotless 
purity,|| the candidate approached the bap- 
tistery, in the larger churches a separate 
building. ‘There he uttered the solemn 
vows which pledged him to his religion. 
‘The symbolizing genius of the East added 
some significant ceremonies. The cate- 
chumen turned to the West, the realm of 
‘Satan, and thrice renounced his power; 
the turned to.the East to adore the Sun of 
Righteousness,** and to proclaim his com- 


* Noctu ritus multi in mysteriis pergebantur: 
moctu etiam initiatio Christianorum inchoabatur.— 
‘Casaubon, p. 490, with the quotations subjoined. 

+ At Constantinople, it appears from Chrysos- 
tom, baptism did not take place at Pentecost.— 
Montfaucon, Diatribe, p. 179. 

t The memorable example of Constantine may 
for a time not only have illustrated, but likewise con- 
firmed, the practice —See Gibbon’s note (vol.i., p. 
423, 424), and the author's observations. 

_§ Gregory of Nazianzen almost exhausts the co- 
‘piousness of the Greek language in speaking of bap- 


τ tism: δώρον καλοῦμεν, χάρισμα, βάπτισμα, χρισμα, 


φώτισμα, ἀφθαρσίας ἔνδυμα, λοῦτρον παλιγγενε- 
σίας, σφραγίδα, πᾶν ὅτι τίμιον.---Οταῖ. xl., de Bap- 
‘tism. 

Almost all the fathers of this age, Basil, the two 
Gregories, Ambrose (de Sacram.), Augustine, have 
‘treatises on baptism, and vie, as it were, with each 
other in their praises of its importance and efficacy. 

|| Unde parens sacro ducit de fonte sacerdos 

Infantes niveos‘corpore, corde, habitu. 
Paulin. ad Sever. 
4 Chrysostom in two places gives the Eastern 


profession of faith, which was extremely simple: ‘“T 


xenounce Satan, his pomp and worship, and am 

‘united to Christ. I believe in the resurrection of the 

dead.”—See references in Montfaucon, ubi supra. 
** Qyril., Cat. Mystag. Hieron. in Amos, v1., 14. 


e = wl 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. — 


if 


εἰ, 
, *- 
pact with the’ Lord of Life. The mystic 


trinal number prevailed throu out; the 
vow was threefold, and thrice prc anced. 
The baptism ‘was usually by immersion ; 
the stripping off the clothes, was emble- 
matic of “putting off the old n 13” but 
baptism by sprinkling» was allowed, ac- 
cording to the exigency of the case. The 
water itself became, in the vivid language 
of the Church, the blood of Christ: it was 
compared, by a fanciful analogy, to the 


Red Sea: the daring metaphors of some 


of the fathers mightseem to assert a trans- 
mutation of its colour.* 

The sacrament of the Lord’s Supper im- 
perceptibly acquired the solemni- 
ty, the appellation of a sacrifice, | 
The poetry of devotional language kindled 
into the most vivid and realizing expres- 
sions of awe and adoration. No imagery 
could be too bold, no words too glowing, 
to impress the soul more profoundly with 
the sufferings, the divinity, the intimate 
union of ‘the Redeemer with his disci- 


Eucharist. 


ples. The invisible presence of the Lord, 


which the devout felt within the. whole 
church, but more particularly in its more 
holy and secluded part, was gradually con- 
centrated, as:it were, upon the altar. The 
mysterious identification of the Redeemer 
with the consecrated elements was first 


felt by the mind, till, at a later period, a Ὁ 


material and corporeal transmutation be- 
gan to be asserted ; that which the earlier 
fathers, in their boldest figure, called a 
bloodless sacrifice, became an actual obla- 
tion of the body and blood of Christ. But 
all these fine and subtile distinctions be- 
long toa later theology. In the dim vague- 
ness, in the ineffable and inexplicable mys- 
tery, consisted much of its impressiveness 
on the believer, the awe and dread of the 
uninitiate. ; 5 

These sacraments were the sole real 
mysteries ; their nature and effects were 
the hidden knowledge which was revealed 
to the perfect alone.t In Alexandrea, 
where the imitation or rivalry of the an- 
cient mysteries, in that seat of the Platon- 
ic learning, was most likely to prevail, the 
catechetical school of Origen attempted to 
form the simpler truths of the Gospel into 


%, rie lta 
* Unde rubet baptismus Christi, nisi Christi 
sanguine consecratur—August., Tract. In Johan, 
Compare Bingham, xi, 10, 4... ! : 
+ Quid est quod occultum est et non publicum in 
ecclesif, sacramentum baptismi, sacramentoum Eu- 
charistia. Opera nostra bona vident et pagani, 
sacramenta vero occultantur illis— Augustine in 
Psalm 103. Ordination appears to have been a se- 
cret rite.—Casaubon, p. 495. Compare this treatise 
of Casaubon, the xivth of his Exercitationes Anti- 
Baronianz, which in general is profound and judi- 
cious. 


-" - 


ΚΝ : ὦ 


+a 


¢ 


“ 


‘ ἊΨ ae . 
Ra : 
x, Ἶ 
. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 467 


' ¥ ΄ 
δὲ ὡς ον erosive system of devel- 
opment.* The works of Clement of Al- 
ex ea were progressive, addressed to 
the heathen, the catechumen, the perfect 
Christian. But the doctrine which was 
there reserved for the initiate had a 
strange tinge of Platonic mysticism. In 
the Church in general, the only esoteric 
doctrine, as we have said, related to the 
sacraments. After the agitation of the 
Trinitarian question, there seems to have 
been some desire to withdraw that holy 
mystery likewise from the gaze of the pro- 
fane, which the popular tumults, the .con- 
flicts between the Arians and Athanasians 
of the lowest orders in the streets of Con- 
stantinople and Alexandrea, show to have 
been by no means successful. The apoc- 
alyptic hymn, the Trisagion, makes a part, 
indeed, of all the older liturgies, which be- 
long to the end of the third or beginning 
of the fourth century. Even the simple 
prayer of our Lord, which might seem ap- 


_ propriate to universal man, and so intend- 


_ ed by the Saviour himself, was consider- 


ed too holy to be uttered by unbaptized 


lips. It was said that none but the bap- 
tized could properly address the Almighty 
as his Father.t 
That care which Christianity had as- 
hristian SuMed over the, whole life of man, 
erals. jt did not abandon after death. In 
that solemn season it took in charge the 
body, which, though mouldering into dust, 
was to be revived for the resurrection. 
The respect and honour which human 
nature pays to the remains of the dead, 
and which, among the Greeks especially, 
had a strong religious hold upon the feel- 
ings, was still more profoundly sanctified 
by the doctrines and usages of Christian- 
ity. The practice of inhumation which 
prevailed in Egypt and Syria, and in other 
parts of the East, was gradually extended 
over the whole Western world by Christi- 
anity.[ The funeral pyre went out of use, 


* Upon this ground rests the famous Disciplina 
Arcani, that esoteric doctrine within which lurked 
everything which later ages thought proper to dig- 
nify by the name of the traditions of the Church. 
This theory was first fully developed by Schelstrate, 
* De Disciplina Arcani,” and is very clearly stated 
in Pagi, sub Ann., 118. It rests chiefly on a pas- 
sage of Origen (contra Cels.,i., 7), who, after as- 
serting the publicity of the main doctrines of Chris- 
tianity, the incarnation, passion, and resurrection 
of Christ, and the general resurrection to judgment, 
admits that Christianity, like philosophy, had some 
secret and esoteric doctrines. Pagi argues that, as 
the Trinity was not among the public, it must have 
been among the esoteric tenets. 

+ Bingham, i., 4, 7, and x., 5, 9. 

¢ Nec, ut creditis, ullnm damnum sepultur time- 
mus, sed veterem et meliorem consuetudinem hu- 
mandi frequentamus. The speaker goes on, in very 


~. elegant language, to adduce the analogy of the death 
a, 


~ 


7 


and the cemeteries, which from the earli- 
est period belonged to the Christians, were 
gradually enlarged for the general recep- 
tion, not of the ashes only in their urns, 
but for the entire remains of the dead. 
The Eastern practice of embalming was 
so general,* that Tertullian boasts that 
the Christians consumed more of the mer- 
chandise of Saba in their interments 
than the heathens in the fumigations be- 


fore the altars of their gods.t ‘The gen- τὸ 


eral tone of the simple inscriptions spoke 
of death but as a sleep; “he sleeps in 
peace” was the common epitaph: the 
very name of the enclosure, the cemetery, 
implied the same trust in its temporary 
occupancy; those who were committed 
to the earth only awaited the summons 
to a new life.{ Gradually the cemetery 
was, in some places, closely connected 
with the church. Where the rigid inter- 
dict against burying’ within the walls of 
cities was either inapplicable or not en- 
forced, the open court before the church 
became the place of burial.§ 

Christian funerals began early in their 
period of security and opulence to be cel- 
ebrated with great magnificence. Jerome 
compares the funeral procession of Fabi- 
ola to the triumphs.of Camillus, Scipio, or 


and revival of nature: Expectandum etiam nobis 
corporis ver est.—Minuc., Fel., edit. Ouzel, p. 327. 

During the time of the plague in Alexandrea and 
Carthage, the Christians not only buried their own 
dead, but likewise those of the pagans.— Dion. Alex. 
apud Euseb,, Hist., vii., 22.- Pontius, in Vita Cyp- 
riani. Compare a curious essay in the Vermischte 
Schriften of Bottiger, iii, 14: Verbrennen oder 
Beerdigen. . 5 


Titulumque et frigida saxa 
Liquido spargemus odore. 
Prudent., Hym. de Exeq. 
Martyris hi tumulum studeant perfundere nardo 
Et medicata pio referant unguenta sepulcro. 
Paul. Nol. in Nat. C. Fel. 


t Apologet., c. 42. Boldetti affirms that these 
odours were plainly perceptible on opening some 
of the Christian cemeteries at Rome.—See Mama- 
chi, Costumi dei Christiani, iii., p. 82. The judge 
in the acts of Tarachus (Ruinart, p. 385) says, “ you 
expect that your women will bury your body with 
ointments and spices,” 


_Hine maxima cura sepulecris 
Impenditur, hinc resolutos 
’ Honor ultimus accipit artus 
Et funeris ambitus ornat. 
* * * 


Quid nam tibi saxa cavata, 
Quid pulchra volunt monumenta? 
Res quod nisi creditur illis 
Non mortua, sed data somno. 
Prudent. in Exeq. Defunct. 


§ There is a law of Gratian, Valentinian, and 
Theodosius, forbidding burial, or the deposition of 
urns (which shows that cremation was still com- 
mon), within the walls of Constantinople, even 
within the cemeteries of the apostles or martyrs.— 
Cod. Theod., ix., 17, 6. 


- 


τὰ 


-; 


468 


Pompey. ~The character of this female, 
who founded the first hospital in Rome, 
and lavished a splendid fortune in alms- 
giving, may have mainly contributed to 
the strong interest excited by her inter- 
ment. All Rome was poured forth. The 
streets, the windows, the tops of houses, 
were crowded with spectators. Proces- 
sions of youths and of old men, preceded 
the bier, chanting the praises of the de- 
ceased. As it passed, the churches were 
crowded, and psalms were sung, and their 
golden roofs rang with the sublime Al- 
ieluta. 

The. doctrine of the resurrection of the 
Worship or body deepened the common and 
the martyrs. natural feeling of respect for the 
remains.of the dead :* the worship'of the 


* In one of the very curious essays of M. Raoul 
Rochette, Mémoires de |’Académie, he has illus- 
trated the extraordinary care with which the hea- 
then buried along with the remains of the dead 
every kind of utensil, implement of trade, down to 
the dolls of children; even food and knives and 
forks. This appears from all the tombs which are 
opened, from the most ancient Etruscan to the 
most modern heathen sepulchres. ‘Il y avait la 
une notion confuse et grossiére sans doute de |’im- 
mortalité-de l’ame, mais il s’y trouvait aussi la 
preuve sensible et palpable de cet instinct de Phom- 
me, qui repugne ἃ l’idée de la destruction de son: 
étre, et qui y resiste de toutes les forces de son in- 
telligence ét de toutes les erreurs méme de la rai- 
son;” p. 689. But it is a more remarkable fact that 
the Christians long adhered to the same usages, 
notwithstanding the purer and loftier notions of 
another life bestowed by their religion. “1.8 pre- 
miére observation qui s’offre ἃ Boldetti luiméme et 
qui devra frapper tous les esprits, c’est qu’en déco- 
rant les tombeaux de leurs fréres de tant d’objets 
de pur ornament, ou d’usage réel, les Chrétiens 


n’avaient pu étre dirigés que par ce motif. d’espé- | 


rance qui leur faisait considérer le tombeau comme 
un lieu de passage, d’ou ils devaient sortir avec 
toutes les conditions de l’immortalité, et la mort, 
comme un sommeil paisible, au sein duquel il ne 
pouvait leur étre indifférent de se trouver enviror- 
nés des objets qui leur avaient été chers durant la 
vie ou de |’image de ces objets,” tom. xiil., p. 692. 

The heathen practice of burying money, some- 
times large sums, with the dead, was the cause of 
the very severe laws against the violations of the 
tombs. In fact, these treasures were so great as 
to be a source of revenue, which the government 
was unwilling to share with unlicensed plunderers 
Et si aurum, ut dicitur, vel argentum fuerit tua in- 
dagatione detectum, compendio publico fideliter 
vindicabis, ita tamen ut abstineatis a cineribus mor- 
tuorum. Aldificia tegant cineres, columne. vel 
marmora ornent sepulcra: talenta non teneant, qui 
commercia virorum reliquerunt. Aurum-enim justé 
sepulcro detrahitur, ubi dominus non habetur; imo 
culpz genus est inutiliter abdita relinquere mortu- 
orum, unde se vita potest sustentare viventium. 
Such are the instructions of the minister of The- 
odoric.—Cassiod., Var., iv., 34. 

But it is still more strange, that the Christians 
continued this practice, particularly of the piece of 
money in the mouth, which the heathen intended 
for the payment of Charon. It continued to the 
time of Thomas Aguinas, who, according to M, R. 
Rochette, wrote against it. 


- HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


relics of saints and martyrs still farther 
contributed to the same effect. If the 
splendid but occasional ceremony of the 
apotheosis of the deceased emperor was 
exploded, a ceremony which, lavished as it 
frequently had been on the worst and ba- 


sest of mankind, however Ὁ might amuse 


and excite the populace, could not but 
provoke the contempt of the virtuous ; in 
the Christian world a continual, and in 
some respects more rational, certainly 
more modest, apotheosis was constantly 
celebrated. The more distinguished Chris- 
tians were dismissed, if not to absolute 
deification, to immortality, to a state, in 
which they retained profound interest in, 
and some influence over, the condition of 
men. During the perilous and gloomy 
days of persecution, the reverence for 
those who endured martyrdom for the re- 
ligion of Christ had grown up out of the 
best feelings of man’s improved nature. 
Reverence gradually grew into venera- 
tion, worship, adoration. . Although the 
more rigid theology maintained a marked 
distinction between the honours shown to 
the martyrs and that addressed to the Re- 
deemer and the Supreme Being, the line 
was too fine and invisible not to be trans- 
gressed by excited popular feeling. The 


heathen writers constantly taunt the Chris-_ 


tians with the substitution of the new idol- 
atry for the old. The charge of worship- 
ping dead men’s bones and the remains of 
malefactors constantly recurs. A pagan 
philosopher, as late as the fourth century, 
contemptuously selects some barbarous 
names of African martyrs, and inquires 
whether they are more worthy objects of 
worship than Minerva or Jove.* 


- The festivals in honour of the martyrs 


were avowedly instituted, or at 
least conducted on a sumptuous 
scale, in rivalry of the banquets which form- 
ed so important and attractive a part of the 
pagan ceremonial.t Besides the earliest 
agapze, which gave place to the more sol- 


Festivals. 


} 

* Quis enim ferat Jovi fulmina vibranti_preferri 
Mygdonem; Junoni, Minerve, Veneri, Vesteque 
Sanaem, et cunctis (pro nefas) Diis immortalibus 
archimartyrem nymphanionem, inter quos Lucitas 
haud minore cultu suscipitur atque alii intermina- 
to numero; Diisque hominibusque odiosa nomina. 
—See Augustin., Epist. xvi., p. 20. ᾿ : 

+ Cum [δοιὰ pace, turbe Gentilium in Christia- 
num nomen venire cupientes, hoc impedirentur, 
quod dies festos cum idolis suis solerent in abun- 
dantia epularum et ebrietate consumere, nec facile 
ab his perniciosissimis et tam vetustissimis voluptat- 
ibus se possent abstinere, visum fuisse majoribus 
nostris, ut huic infirmitatis parti interim parcere- 
tur, diesque festos, post eos, quos relinquebant, ali- 
os in honorem sanctorum martyrum vel non simili 
sacrilegio, quamvis simili luxu celebrarentur.—Au- 
gustin., Epist. xxix., p. 52. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. , 


emn Eucharist, there were other kinds of 
banquets, at marriages and funerals, called 
likewise agape ;* but those of the mar- 
tyrs were the most costly and magnificent. 
The former were of a more private nature ; 
the poor were entertained at the cost of 
the married couple or the relatives of the 
deceased. The relationship-of the mar- 
tyrs extended to the whole Christian com- 
munity, and united all in one bond of pi- 
ety. They belonged, by a new tie of spir- 
itual kindred, to the whole Church. | 

By a noble metaphor, the day of the 
martyrs’ death was considered that of their 
birth to immortality, and their birthdays 
became the most sacred’and popular fes- 
tivals of the Church.f At their sepul- 
chres,f or, more frequently, as the public 
worship became more costly, in stately 
churches erected either over their sepul- 
chres or in some more convenient situa- 
tion, but dedicated to their honour, these 
holy days commenced with the most im- 
pressive religious service. Hymns were 
sung in their praise (much of the early 
Christian poetry was composed for these 
occasions) ; the history of their lives and 
martyrdoms was read) (the legends which 
grew up into so fertile a subject for Chris- 
tian mythic fable); panegyrical orations 
were delivered by the best preachers. || 
The day closed with an open banquet, in 
which all the worshippers were invited to 
partake. The wealthy heathens had been 
accustomed to propitiate the manes of their 
departed friends by these costly festivals ; 
the banquet was almost an integral part of 
the heathen religious ceremony. The cus- 
tom passed into the Church; and with the 
pagan feeling, the festival assumed a pagan 


* Gregory Nazianzen mentions the three kinds, 
Οὐδ᾽ ἱερὴν ἐπὶ δαῖτα γενέθλιον, ἠὲ ϑανόντος, 
Ἢ τινα νυμφιδίην σῦν πλεονέσσι Gewv.—Carm. x. 


+ Τενέθλια, natalitia. This custom was as ear- 
ly as the time of Polycarp. The day of his martyr- 
dom was celebrated by the Church of Antioch.— 
Euseb., lib. iv., 15. Campare Snuicer, in voce 
γενέθλιον. Tertullian instances the offerings for 
the dead, and the annual celebration of the birthdays 
of the martyrs, as of apostolic tradition. Oblatio- 
nes pro defunctis, in natalibus annua die facimus. 
—De Coron. Mil., c. 2. Campare Exhortat. ad 
Cast.,c.11. In the treatise de Monogamia, he con- 
siders it among the sacred duties of a faithful wid- 
ow, offert annuis diebus dormitionis ejus. 

Ἐ At Antioch, the remains of St. Juventinus and 
St. Maximinus were placed ia a sumptuous tomb, 
and honoured with an annual festival.—Theodoret, 
E. H,. iii, 15. 

ὁ The author of the Acts of Ignatius wrote them, 
in part that the day of his martyrdom might be duly 
honoured.—Act. Martyr. Ign. apud Cotelerium, vol. 
ii, p 161. Compare Acta St. Polycarpi. 

|| There is a law of Theodosius the Great against 


selling the bodies of martyrs.--Cod. Theod , ix., 17,7. | 


469 


character of gayety and joyous excitement, 
and evenof luxury.* In some places, the 
confluence of worshippers was so great 
that;as in the earlier and indeed the more 
modern religions of Asia, the neighbour- 
hood of the more celebrated churches of 
the martyrs became marts for commerce, 
and fairs were established on those holy- 
days.t 

As the evening drew in, the solemn and 
religious thoughts gave way to other emo- 
tions; the. wine flowed freely, and the 
healths of the martyrs were pledged, not 
unfrequently, to complete inebriety. All 
the luxuries of the Roman banquet were 
imperceptibly introduced. Dances were 
admitted, pantomimic spectacles were ex- 
hibited.f the festivals were prolonged till 
late in the evening or to midnight, so that 
other criminal irregularities profaned, if 


not the sacred edifice, its immediate neigh-. 


bourhood. 

The bishops had for some’ time sanc- 
tioned these pious hilarities with their 
presence ; they had freely partaken of the 


banquets, and their attendants were accu-. 


sed of plundering the remains of the feast, 
which ought to have been preserved for 
the use of the poor.§ 


* Lipsius considered these agape derived from 
the silicernium of the ancients.—-Ad Tac., Ann., vi., 
5. “ Quod illa parentalia superstitioni Gentilium es- 
Sent similia. Such is the observation of Ambrose 
apad Augnstin.—Conf., vi., 2. ‘Boldetti, a good 
Roman Catholic and most learned antiquarian, ob- 
serves on this and other usages adopted from pagan- 
ism, Fu anché sentimento de’ prelati di chiesa di 
condescendere con cid alla debelozza de’ convertiti 
dal Gentilesimo, per istaccarli pid soavemente dell’ 
antichi superstizioni, non levando loro affetto ma 

ensi convertendo in buoni i loro divertimenti.—Os- 
servazioni, p. 46. Compare Marangoni’s work ‘dei 
Cose Gentilesche.” 

+ Already had the Montanist asceticism of Ter- 
tullian taken alarm at the abuse of the earlier festi- 
val, which had likewise degenerated from its pious 
use, and with his accustomed vehemence denounces 
the abuse of the agape among the Catholics. Apud 
te agape in seculis fervet, fides in culinis calet, 
spes in ferculis jacet. Sed major his est agape, 
quia per hance adolescentes tui cum sororibus dor- 
miunt, appendices scilicet gula, lascivia atque lux- 
uria est.— De Jejun., c. xvii. 

There are many paintings in the catacombs rep- 
resenting agape.—Raoul Rachetté, Mém. des In- 
scrip., p. 141. The author attributes to the agapx2 
held in the cemeteries many of the cups, glasses, 
&c., found in the catacombs. 

Ἐς Bottiger, in his prolusion om the four ages of 
the drama (Opera Lat., p. 326), supposed, from a 
passage of St. Augustine, that there were scenic 
representations of the deaths of martyrs. Muller 
justly observes that the passage does not bear out 
this inference ; and Augustine would scarcely have 
used such expressions unless of dances or mimes of 
less decent kind. Sanctum locum invaserat pesti- 
lentia et petulantia saltationis; per totam noctem 
cantabantur nefaria, et cantantibus saltabatur.—Au- 
gust. in Natal. Cyprian., p. ql. ree 

§ See the poem of Gn. z., de Div. Vit. Gen- 


> 
2 


Sp 


Pol 


470 ‘ 

But the scandals which inevitably arose 
out of these paganized solemnities awoke 
the slumbering vigilance of the more seri- 
ous prelates. The meetings were gradu- 
ally suppressed: they are denounced, with 
the strongest condemnation of the luxury 
and license with which they were celebra- 
ted in the Church of Antioch, by Gregory 
of Nazianzum* and by Chrysostom. ‘They 
were authoritatively condemned by a can- 
on of the Council of Laodicea.t In the 
West, they were generally held in Rome 
-and in other Italian cities till a later period. 
The authority of Ambrose had discounte- 
nanced, if not entirely abolished, them in 
his diocese of Milan.{ They prevailed to 
the latest time in the churches of Africa, 
where they were vigorously assailed by 
the eloquence of Augustine. The Bishop 
of Hippo appeals to the example of Italy 
-and other parts of the West, in which they 
thad never prevailed, and in which, wher- 
ever they had been known, they had been 
suppressed by common consent. . But Af- 
rica did not surrender them without a strug- 
gle. The Manichean Faustus, in the as- 
cetic spirit of his sect, taunts the orthodox 
with their idolatrous festivals. ‘‘ You have 


but substituted your agape for the sacri- | 


fices of the heathen; in the place of their 
idols you have set up your martyrs, whom 
you worship with the same ceremonies as 
the pagans their gods. You appease the 
manes of the dead with wine and with 
meat-offerings.” The answer of Augus- 
tine indignantly repels the charge of idol- 
atry, and takes refuge in the subtile dis- 
tinction in the nature of the worship offer- 
ed to the martyrs. ‘“ The reverence paid 
to martyrs is the same with that offered to 
holy men in this life, only offered more 
freely, because they have finally triumph- 
ed in their conflict. Weadore God alone ; 
we Offer sacrifice to no martyr, or to the 
soul of any saint or to any angel. * * 
Those who intoxicate themselves by the 
sepulchres of the martyrs are condemned 
by sound doctrine. It is a different thing 
to approve, and to tolerate till we can 
amend. The discipline of Christians is 
one thing, the sensuality of those who 


er. Jerome admits the gross evils which took place 
during these feasts, but ascribes them to the irreg- 
ularities of a youthful people, which ought not to 
raise a prejudice against the religion, or even against 
the usage. The bishops were sometimes called 
νεκροῦοροι, feasters on the dead. 

* Carm. cexyili.,ccxix., and Oratio vi. Chrysos- 
tom, Hom. in. 5. M. Julian 

+ Conc. Harduin, t. i. p. 786. 

+ Ambros., de Jejun.,c. xvii. Augustin., Confes- 
siones, vi., 2. See likewise Augustin., Epist. xxii., 
p. 28. 


ty 7 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


" * 


Γι 


thus indulge in drunkenness and the infirm- 
ity of the weak is another.”* 

So completely, however, had they grown 
into the habits of the Christian community, 
that in many places they lingered on in 
obstinate resistance to the eloquence of 
the great teachers of Christianity. Even 
the councils pronounced with hesitating 
and tardy severity the sentence of con- 
demnation against these inveterate usages, 
to which the people adhered with such 
strong attachment. That-of Car- 
thage prohibited the attendance of 
the clergy, and exhorted them to persuade 
the people, as far as possible, to abstain from 
these festivals; that of Orleans 
condemns the singing, dancing, or 
dissolute behaviour in churches; that of 
Agde (Sens) condemns secular x 
music, the singing of women, and Dey. 
banquets, in that place of which “it is 
written that itis a house of prayer ;” final- 
ly, that of Trulla, held in Constantinople as 
late as the beginning of the eighth century, 
prohibits the decking of tables in churches 
(the prohibition indicates the practice): 
and at length it provoked a formal sen- 
tence of excommunication. 

But, notwithstanding ail its efforts to 
divert and preoccupy the mind profane 
by these graver, or, at least, pri-. spectacles. 
marily religious spectacles, the passion 
for theatrical amusements was too strong 
to be repressed by Christianity. It suc- 
ceeded in some humane improvements, 
but in some parts it was obliged to yield 
to the ungovernable torrent. The popu- 
lace of an empire threatened on all sides 
by dangerous enemies, oppressed by a 
remorseless tyranny, notwithstanding the 
remonstrances of a new and dominant re- 
ligion, imperiously demanded, and reck- 
lessly enjoyed, their accustomed diver- 
sions.t In some places, that which had 

ie 


A.D. 397. 


A.D. 533. 


ἐ 
τα Cont. Faust., lib. xx. 6. xxi. One of the po- 
ems of St. Paulinus of Nola describes the general 
concourse to these festivals, and the riots which 
arose out of them. yoy 


Et nunc ecce frequentes 
Per totam et vigiles extendunt gaudia noctem, 
Letitié somnos, tenebras funalibus arcent. 

Verum utinam sanis agerent hec gaudia volis, 
Nec sua liminibus miscerent gaudia sanctis. 
* * ignoscenda tamen puto talia parcis 
Gaudia que ducant epulis, quia mentibus error 
Irrepit rudibus, nec tantz conscia culpx 
Simplicitas pietate cadit, male credula sanctos 
Perfusis halante mero gaudere = aa 
Carmen ix. in St. Felicem Martyrem. 


+ In the fifth century, Treves, four times deso- 
lated by the barbarians, no sooner recovered its free- 
dom than it petitioned for the games of the circus. 
Ubique facies capte urbis, ubique terror captivitatis, 
ubique imago mortis, jacent reliquie infelicissime 

| plebis super tumulos mortuorum suorum, et tu cir- 


*,* 
εὖ; 


- 
<< 


a 


autumnal, and Easter holydays, 


4 


- 
ἃς 


been a delight became a madness; and it 
was a Christian city which first displayed 
sedition and insurrection, whose streets 
ran with blood, from the rivalry of two 
factions in the circus. The older World 


was degenerate even in its diversions. It | 


was not the nobler drama of Greece, or 
even that. of Rome; neither the stately 
tragedy, nor-even the fine comedy of man- 
ners, for which the mass of the people 
endured the stern remonstrances of the 
Christian orator, but spectacles of far less 
intellectual pretensions, and far more like- 
ly to be injurious to Christian morals. 
These, indeed, were not, as we shall show 
hereafter, entirely obsolete, but compara- 
tively rare and unattractive. 

The heathen calendar still regulated the 
Heathen amusements of the people.* Near- 
calendar. Jy 100 days in the year were set 
apart as festivals: the commencement of 
every month was dedicated to the public 
diversions. Besides these, there were ex- 
traordinary days of rejoicing, a victory, 
the birthday of the reigning emperor or 
the dedication of his statue by the prefect 
or the provincials of any city or district. 
On the accession οἵ ἃ new emperor, pro- 
cessions always took place, which ended 
in the exhibition of games.t The dedica- 
tion of statues to the emperors by differ- 
ent cities, great victories, and other im- 
portant, events, were always celebrated 
with games. The Christians obtained a 
law from Theodosius, that games should 
be prohibited on the Lord’s day. The 
African bishops, in the fifth Council of 
Carthage, petitioned that this prohibition 
might be extended to all Christian holy- 
days. They urged that many members 


_of the corporate bodies were obliged offi- 
cially to attend on these occasions, and) 


prevented from fulfilling their religious 


censes rogas. 
vian, de Gub. Dei, vi. — ΕἼ 

* The ordinary calendar of holydays, on which 
the courts of law did not sit, at the close of the 
fourth century, are given by Godefroy (note on the 
Cod. Theodos., lib. i1., vili., 11): 


Ferie estive (harvest) xxx 
Feriz autumnales (vintage) XXX, 
Kalendz Januarii . " g 5 πὶ, 
Natalitia urbis Rome. ἔ ὃ aah 
“ urbis Constantin. . ὲ i. 
Pasche . : 3 ὁ A Xv. 
Dies Solis,* circiter xli. 


Natalitia [mperatorum Bis fia. AOS, 


CXXV. 
Christmas-day, Epiphany, and Pentecost were not, 
as yet, general holydays. Γ 
+ The Constantinian Calendar (Grevii, Thesaur., 
viii.) reckons ninety-six days for the games, of which 
but few were peculiar to Rome.—Miuller, 11, p. 49. 


* The other Sundays were comprised in the summer, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Compare the whole passage, Sal- 


ἫΝ 


411. 


duties. The law of Theodosius the Elder 
had inhibited the celebration of games on 
Sundays,* one of the Younger 'Theodosius 
added at Christmas, the Epiphany, Easter, 
and Pentecost, and directed that the thea- 
tres should be closed, not only to the Chris- 
tians, but to the impious Jews and super- 
stitious pagans.t But, notwithstanding 
this. law, which must have been imper- 
fectly carried into execution, the indignant 
preachers still denounce the rivalry of the 
games, which withdrew so many of their 
audience.— ‘The ‘Theoretica, or The Theo- 
fund for the expenses of public. retica 

shows and amusements, which existed 
not only in the two capitals, but in all the 
larger cities of the empire, was first con- 
fiscated to the imperial treasury by Jus- 
tinian ; up to that time the imperial policy 
had sanctioned and enforced this expendi- 
ture ; and it is remarkable that this charge, 
which had been so long voluntarily borne 


by the ambition or the vanity of the higher ee 


orders, was first imposed as a direct tax 
on individuals by a Christian emperor. 
By a law of Constantine, the senate of 


Rome and of Constantinople were em- — 


powered to designate any person of a 
certain rank and fortune for the costly 
function of exhibiting games in these two 
great cities. These were in addition to 
the spectacles exhibited by the consuls. 
In the other cities decemvirs were nomi- 
nated to this office, ||. The only exemptions 
were nonage, military or civil service, or a 
special indulgence from the emperor.. Men 
fled from their native cities to escape this 
onerous distinction. But, if the charge 
was thrown on the treasury, the treasury 
could recover from the praetor or decemvir, 
besides assessing heavy fines for the neg- 
lect of the duty ; and they were liable to 
be condemned to serve two years instead 
f one. In the Eastern provinces this 
office had been joined with a kind of high- 
ptiesthood ; such were the, Asiarchs, the 
Syriarchs,{] the Bithyniarchs. _ The most 
distinguished men of the province had 

* Cod. Theod., χνν, 22 Fe 

+ Ib., xv., t. 5, 1. 5, A.D. 425, Miller, p. 50. 

1 See, for the earlier period, Apostolic Constit., 
ii., 60, 61,62; Theophyl. ad Autolyc., ili., p. 396; 
for the later, Chrysostom, pzne passim, Hom, con- 
tra Am.; Hom. in princip., Act i., 58; Hom. in 
Johann. § Zosim., lib. ii., ο. 38. 

|| See various laws of Constantius, regulating the 
office, the expenses, the fines imposed on the pra- 
tors, Cod. Theodos., vi, 3; Laws, i., 1-33. This 
shows the importance attached to the office. These 
munerari well as the actors, were to do penance 
all their lives.—Act. Conc. Illib., can. 3. Compare 
Bingham, xvi., 4,8. This same council condemned 
all who took the office of decemvir to a year’s ex- 
clusion from the communion. —Bingham, ubi supra, 

4 Malala, Chronograph,, lib, xii., in art. Codex 
Theodos,, vi., 3, 1. 


3, 


ἐκ 


472 


been proud of accepting the station of 
chief minister of the gods, at the expense 
of these sumptuous festivities. The office 
remained under the Christian emperors,* 
but had degenerated into a kind of purveyor 
for the public pleasures. A law of Theo- 
dosius enacted that this office should not 
be imposed on any one who refused to 
undertake it.t Another law, from which, 
however, the Asiarchs were excluded, at- 
tempted to regulate the expenditure be- 


tween the mean parsimony of some and. 


the prodigality of others.t Those who 
voluntarily undertook the office of exhibit- 
ing games were likewise exempted from 
this sumptuary law, for there were still 
some ambitious of this kind of popularity. 


. They were proud of purchasing, at this 


enormous price, the honour of seeing their 
names displayed on tablets to the wonder- 
ing multitude,§ and of being drawn in their 
chariots through the applauding city on 
the morning of the festival. 

Throughout the empire, this passion 
prevailed in every city|] and in all classes. 
From early morning to late in the evening 


ἀν» the theatres were crowded in every part. 


ον The artisan deserted his’ work, the mer- 


chant his shop; the slaves followed their 
masters, and were admitted into the vast 
circuit. Sometimes, when the precincts of 


.* The tribunus voluptatum appears as a title on 
a Christian tomb.— Bosio, Roma Sotteranea, p. 106, 
Compare the observations of Bosio. 

¢ Cod. Theodos.; xii, 1, 103. Compare the 
quotations from Libanius, in Godefroy’s Comment- 
ary. There is a sumptuary law of Theodosius II. 
limiting the expenses: “ Nec inconsulta plausorum 
insania curialium vires, fortunas civium, principali- 
um domus, possessorum opes, reipublice robur ev- 

_ellant.” The Alytarchs, Syriarchs, Asiarchs, and 
some others, are exempted from this law.—C. T., 
xv., 9,2. In Italy, at a later period, the reign of 
Theodoric, the public games were provided by the 
liberality of the Gothic sovereign: Beatitudo sit 
temporum letitia populoruam.—Cassiodorus, Epist. 
i., 20. The epistles of Theodoric’s minister are 
full of provisions and regulations for thé celebration 
of the various kinds of games.—Lib. i., epist? 20, 
27, 30, 31, 32, 33; ili., 51; iv., 37. Theodoric es- 
poused the green faction ; he supported the panto- 
mime. ‘There were still tribuni voluptatam at 
Rome, vi., 6. Stipends were allowed to scenici, 
Be 21. * 

~ Symmachns, lib. x., epist. 28, 42. 
Heyne, Opuscula, vi., p. 14. 

§ Basil, in Psal. 61. . Prudent., Hamartigenia. 

|| Muller names the following cities, besides the 
four great capitals, Rome, Constantinople. Antioch, 
and Alexandrea, in which the games are alluded to 
by ancient authors: Gortyna, Nicomedia, Laodicea, 
Ἐ re, Berytus, Cezsarea, Heliopolis, Gazy, Ascalon, 

erusalem, Berea, Corinth, Cirta, Carthage, Syra- 
cuse, Catania, Milan, Aquileia, Ravenna, Mentz, 

Cologne, Treves, Arles.—P. 53. 

4 Augustine, indeed, asserts, “ per- omnes feré 
civitates cadunt theatra cavex turpitudinnm, et pub- 
lice professiones flagitiorum.—De Cons. Evange- 
list., c. 51. 


Compare 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | 


as “' 


»" 4 


ν' 


the circus or amphitheatre were insuffi- 
cient to contain the thronging multitudes, 
the adjacent hills were crowded with spec- 
tators, anxious to obtain a glimpse of the 
distant combatants, or to ascertain the 
colour of the victorious charioteer. The 
usages of the East ‘and of the West differ- 
ed as to the admission of women to these 
spectacles. In the East they were ex- 
cluded by the general sentiment from the 
theatre.* Nature itself, observes St. Chry- 
sostom, enforces this prohibition.t It 
arose, not out of Christianity, but out of 
the manners of the East; it is alluded to, 
not as a distinction, but as a general 
usage.{ Chrysostom laments that wom- 
en, though they did not attend the games, 
were agitated by the factions of the cir- 
cus.) In the West, the greater freedom 
of the Roman women had long asserted 
and still maintained this privilege.|| It is 
well known that the vestal virgins had 
their seats of honour in the Roman spec- 
tacles, even those which might have been 
supposed most repulsive to feminine gen- 
tleness and delicacy ; and the Christian 
preachers of the West remonstrate as 
strongly against the females as against 
the men, on account of their inextinguish- 
able attachment to the public spectacles. 

‘The more austere and ascetic Christian 
teachers condemned alike all these popu- 
lar spectacles.. From the avowed con- 
nexion with paganism as to the time of 
their celebration,§] their connexion with 
the worship of pagan deities, according to 
the accredited notion that all these deities 


* There are one or two passages of the fathers 
opposed to this opinion. Tatian says, τοῦς ὅπως 
δεῖ μοιχεύειν ἐπὶ τῆς σκήνης σοφιστεύοντας alt 
ϑυγάτερες ὕμων καὶ of παίδες ϑεωροῦσι, c. 22. 
Clemens Alex., Strom, lib. 11. 

+ Chrys., Hom. 12, in Coloss., vol. ii., p. 417. 

t Procop., de Bell. Pers., l., c. 42. 

§ It was remarked as an extraordinary occur- 
rence, that, on the intelligence of the martyrdom of 
Gordius, matrons and virgins, forgetting their bash- ἢ 
fulness, rushed to the theatre.—Basil, vol. ti., p. 144, 
147: Ἶ 

|| Que pudica forsitan ad spectaculum matrona 
processerat, de spectaculo revertitur impudica.—Ad 
Donat. Compare Augustine, de Civ. Dei, ii., 4. 
Quid juvenes aut virgines faciant, cum hee et fieri 
sine pudore, et spectari libenter ab omnibus cer- 
nunt, admonentur, quid facere possent, inflamman- 
tur libidines, ac se quisque pro sexu in illis imagin- 
ibus prefigurat, corruptiores ad cubicula revertun- 
tur.—Lact., Diy. Instit , xv., 6, 31. 

4 Dubium enim non est, quod ledunt Deum, ut- 
pote idolis consecrate. Colitur namque et honora- 
tur Minerva in gymnasiis, Venus in theatris, Nep= 
tunus in circis, Mars in arenis, Mercurius in pales- 


.tris.—Salvian, lib. vi. 


A fair collection.of the denunciations of the fa- 
thers against theatrical amusements may be found 
in Mamachi, de’ Costumi de’ Primitivi Cristiani, ii., 
p. 150, et 5644. ἃ 


a 


at - mw A 
ἐν ἄ. «-. - ἱ ‘ 
‘ « t ‘ εἴ : 
ἕω . HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. ( 473 
ν . . 
were demons permitted to delude man-| Theodosius and Arcadius, the theatre of 


kind, the theatre was considered a kind of 
temple of the Evil Spirit.* 
some, however, who openly vindicated 
these public exhibitions, and alleged the 
chariot of Elijah, the dancing of David, 
and the quotations of St. Paul from dra- 
matic writers, as cases in point. 

These publie spectacles were of four 
Fourkindsof kinds, independent of the com- 
Spectacles.” mon and. more vulgar exhibi- 
tions, juggling, rope-dancing, and tum- 
bling.t - 

I. The old gymnastic games. The Olym- 
Gymnastic Pic games survived in Greece till 
games. —_ the invasion of Alaric.{ Antioch 
likewise celebrated this quinquennial fes- 
tivity ; youths of station and rank exhibit- 
ed themselves as boxers and wrestlers. 
These games were also retained at Rome 
and in parts of Africa :§ it is uncertain 
whether they were introduced into Con- 
stantinople.. The various passages of 
Chrysostom which allude to them probably 
were delivered in Antioch. Something of 
the old honour adhered to the wrestlers 


and performers in these games: they ei- 


ther were, or were supposed to be, of re- 
spectable station and unblemished charac- 
ter, ‘The herald advanced into the midst 
of the arena and made his proclamation, 
* that any man should come forward who 
had any charge against any one of the 
men about to appear before them, as a 
thief, a slave, or of bad reputation.”’|| 

I]. Theatrical exhibitions, properly so 
Tragedy and Called. The higher tragedy and 
comedy. comedy were still represented 
on the inauguration of the consuls at Rome. 
Claudian names actors of the sock and 
buskin, the performers of genuine comedy 
and tragedy, as exhibited on the occasion 
of the consulship of Mallius.f During 
the triumph of the Christian emperors 


* See the book de Spect. attributed to St. Cyp- 
rian. 

+ Compare the references to Chrysostom’s works 
on the rope-dancers, jugglers, &c., in Montfaucon, 
Diatribe, p. 194. 

t Liban., de Vocat. ad Festa Olympie. 

Cuncta Palemoniis manus explorata coronis 

Adsit, et Eleo pubes laudata tonanti. 

Claudian, de Fl. Mal: Cons, 288. 

This, however, may be poetic reminiscence. 
These exhibitions are described as conducted. with 
greater decency and order (probably because they 
awoke less passionate interest) than those of the 
circus or theatre. 

§ They were restored in Africa by a law of Gra- 
tian, A.D, 376.-—Cod. Theod., xv., 7, 3. 

|| Compare Montfaucon’s Diatribe., p. 194. 

Qui pulpita socco 
Personat, aut alté graditur majore cothurno. 
In Cons. Mall., 313. 
Pompeiana proscenia delectis actoribus personarent. 
ν᾿ Symmach.,, lib. x., ep. 29. 
30 


There were 


Pompey was filled by chosen actors from 
all parts of the world. Two actors in 
tragedy and comedy* are named as stand- 
ing in the same relation to each other as 
the famous Asopus and the comic Roscius. 
Prudentius speaks of the tragic mask as 
still in use ; and it appears that females 
acted those parts in ‘erence which were 
formerly. represented by men.t ΤῈ 
youthful mind of Augustine took delight 
in being agitated by the fictitious sorrows 


‘of the stage.t Nor was this higher branch 


of the art extinct in)the East: tragic and 
comic actors are named, with other his- 
trionic performers, in the orations of Chry- 
sostom,§ and there are allusions in Liba- - 
nius to-mythological tragic fables and to 
the comedies of Menander.|| But as these 
representations, after they had ceased to 
be integral parts of the. pagan worship, ° 
were less eagerly denounced by the Chris- 
tian teachers,§] the comparatively slight 
and scanty notices in their writings, al- 
most our only records of the mai etiot 
the time, by. no means prove the infrequen- 
cy of these representations ; though it i 


probable, for other reasons, that the bar- ~ 


barous and degraded taste was more eRe 
ified by the mimes and pantomimes, 
chariot-races of the circus, and the wild 


beasts in the amphitheatre.** But tragedy _. 


and comedy, at this period, were probably » 
maintained rather to display the magnifi- 
cence of the consul or pretor, who prided 
himself on the variety of his entertain- 
ments, and were applauded, perhaps,tt by 
professors of rhetoric, and a few faithful 
admirers of antiquity, rather than by the 
people at large. 
that the tragedies written on religious sub- 
jects in the time of Julian were represent- 


* Publius Pollio and Ambivius.—Symmach., 
epist. x.,2. “ + Donatus in Andriam, act iv., 56. 3, 

1 Confess. iii., 2. , 

ᾧ Chrysostom, Hom. 10, ἴῃ Coloss, ν. ii., p. 403; 
Hom. 6, in Terre mot., i., 780 5:1, p. 38; i, 731. 

|| Liban., vol. ii., p. 375. : 

4 Lactantius inveighs with all the energy of the 
first ages against tragedy and comedy: ‘T'ragice 
historia subjiciunt oculis patricidia et incesta rezgum 
malorum, et cothurnata scelera demonstrant. Com- 
ice de stupris virginum et amcitiis meretricum, et 
quo magis sunt eloquentes, eo magis persuadent, 
facillis inherent memorize versus numerosi et or- 
nati.—Instit., vi., 20. 

** Augustine, however, draws a distinction be- 


tween these two classes of theatric representations, , 


and the lower kind: Scenicorum tolerabiliora ludo- ~ 
rum, comeedie scilicet et tragcediw, hoc est fabule 
poétarum, agende in spectaculo multé rerum, tur- 
pitudine, sed nulla saltem, sicut aliz multe, verbo- 
rum obscenitate composite, quas etiam inter studia, 
que liberalia vocantur, pueri legere et discere co- 
guntur a senibus.—De biv. Dei; lib. ii., ¢. 8. 
tt Miiller, p. 139. 


a 


{ἀμ ». " 


Some have supposed . 


x 


4 


474 
+ 


ed on the stage ‘but there is no ground 
for this notion; these were intended as 
schoolbooks, to supply the place of Soph- 
ocles and Menander. ~ 

In its degeneracy, the higher drama had 
long been supplanted by, Ist, the 
mimes. Even this kindof drama, 
perhaps of Roman, or even of earlier Ital- 
lan origin, had degenerated into the coar- 
sest scurrility, and, it should seem, the 
most repulsive indecency. Formerly it 
had been the representation of some inci- 
dent in common life, extemporaneously 
dramatized by the mime, ludicrous im its 
general character, mingled at times with 
sharp or even grave and sententious sat- 
ire. Such were the mimes of Laberius, 
to which republican Rome had listened 
with delight. It was now the lowest kind 
of buffoonery. The mime, or several 
mimes, both male and female, appeared 
in ridiculous dresses, with shaven crowns, 
and pretending still to represent. some 
kind of story, poured forth their witless 
obscenity, and indulged in all kinds of 
practical jokes and manual-wit, blows on 
the face and broken heads. The music 
was probably the great charm; but that 
had become soft, effeminate, and lascivi- 
ous. ‘The female performers were of the 
most abandoned character,* and scenes 
were sometimes exhibited of the most 
abominable indecency, even if we do-not 
give implicit credit to the malignant tales 
of Procopius concerning the exhibitions 
of the Empress Theodora, when she per- 
formed as a dancing-girl in these disgust- 
ing mimes.ft _ 

The pantomime was a kind of ballet in 
Panto- action.{ It was the mimic repre- 
mines. sentation of all the old tragic and 
mythological fables, without words,§ or in- 


Mimes. 


_ * Many passages of Chrysostom might be quoted, 
in which he speaks of the naked courtesans, mean- 
ing probably with the most transparent clothing 
(though women were exhibited at Antioch swim- 
Ming’ in an actual state of nudity), who perform- 
ed in these mimes. The more severe Christian 
preacher is confirmed by the language of the hea- 
then Zosimus, whose bitter hatred to Christianity 
induces him to attribute their most monstrous ex- 
cesses to the reign of the Christian emperor. 
Μῖμοι τὲ yap γελοίων, καὶ of κακῶς ἀπολούμενοι 
ὀρχησταὶ, καὶ πᾶν ὅδ᾽ τι πρὸς αἰσχρότητα καὶ τὴν 
ἅτοπον ταύτην καὶ ἐκμελῆ συντελεῖ μουσικῆν, 
ἠσκήθη τε ἐπὶ τούτου .---Τ 0. iv., c. 33. 

+ Miler, 92,. 103. 

¢ Libanius is indignant that men should attempt 


‘to confound the orcheste or pantomimes with these 


degraded and infamous mimes, vol. iii., p. 350. The 
pantomimes wore masks; the mimes had their fa- 
ces uncovered, and usually had shaven crowns. 
§ The pantomimi or dancers represented their 
parts, 
Clausis faucibus et loquente gestu 
Nutu, crure, genu, manu, rotatu.—Sid. Apoll. 


i HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


termingled with chants orsongs.* These 
exhibitions were got up at times with great 
splendour of scenery, which was usually’ 
painted on hanging curtains, and with mu- 
sical accompaniments of the greatest va- 
riety. ‘The whole cycle of mythology,t 
both of the gods and heroes, was repre- 
sented by the dress and mimic gestures 
of the performer. ‘The deities, both male 
and female—Jupiter, Pluto, and Mars; Ju- 
no, Proserpine, Venus; Theseus and Her- 
cules ; Achilles, with all the heroes of the 
Trojan war; Phedra, Briseis, Atalanta, 
the race of Gidipus ; these are but a few 
of the dramatic personages which, on the 
authority of Libanius,t were personated 
by the pantomimes of the East. Sidonius 
Apollinaris§ fills twenty-five lines with 
those represented in the West by the cel- 


-ebrated dancers Caramalus and Phaba- 


ton.|| These included the old fables of 
Medea and Jason, of the house of Thyes- 
tes, of Tereus and Philomela, Jupiter and 
Europa, and Danae, and Leda, and Gany- 
mede, Mars and Venus, Perseus and An- 
dromeda. In the West, the female parts 
here exhibited were likewise represented 
by women,{ of whom there were no less 
than 3000 in Rome :** and so important 
were these females considered to the pub- 
lic amusement, that, on the expulsion of 
all strangers from the city during a fam- 
ine, an exception was made by the pre- 
tor, in deference to the popular wishes, in 
favour of this class alone. The. profes- 
sion, however, was considered infamous, 
and the indecency of their attire upon the 
public stage justified the low estimate of 
their moral character. Their attractions 
were so dangerous to the Roman youth, 
that a special law prohibited the abduction 
of these females from their public occupa- 
tion, whether the enamoured lover with- 
drew one of them from the stage as a 
mistress, or, as not unfrequently happen- 
ed, with the more honourable title of 
wife.tt{ The East, though it sometimes 


* There was sometimes a regular chorus, with 
instrumental music—Sid. Apoll., xxiii., 268, and 
probably poetry composed for the occasion.—Mul- 
ler, p. 122. 

t Greg. Nyssen in Galland., Bibliothec. Patrum, 
vi., p.610. Ambrose in Hexaem., iii., 1,5. Synes., 
de Prov., ii., p. 128, ed. Petav. Symmach., i, ep. 89. 

1 Liban, pro Salt., v. iii., 391. 

§ Sidon. Apoll., carm. xxiil., v. 267, 299. 

|| Claudian mentions a youth who, before the 
pit, which thundered with applause, 

Aut rigidam Niobem aut flentem Troada fingit. 

q Even in Constantinople women acted in the 
pantomimes. Chrysostom, Hom. 6, in Thessalon., 
denounces the performance of Phedra and Hippoly- 
tus by women : Ὡὥσπὲρ σώματος TUTG φαινομένας. 

** Ammian. Marcell., xiv., 6, 

tt Cod. Thedos., xv., 7, 5. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, 475 


endured the appearance of women in those 
parts, often left them to be performed by 
boys, yet with anything but advantage to 
general morality. The aversion of Chris- 
tianity to the subjects exhibited by the 
pantomimes, almost invariably moulded 
up, as they were, with paganism, as well 
as its high moral sense (united, perhaps, 
with something of the disdain of ancient 
Rome for the histrionie art, which it pat- 
ronised nevertheless with inexhaustible 
ardour), branded the performers with the 
deepest mark of public contempt. ‘They 
were, as it were, public slaves, and could 
not abandon their profession.* They were 
considered unfit to mingle with respecta- 
ble society; might not appear in the fo- 
rum or basilica, or use the public baths ; 
they were excluded even from the theatre 
as spectators, and might not be attended 
by a slave, with a folding-stool for their 
use. Even Christianity appeared to ex- 
tend its mercies and its hopes to this de- 
voted race with some degree of rigour and 
jealousy., The actor baptized in the ap- 
parent agony of death, if he should re- 
cover, could not be forced back upon the 
stage; but the guardian of the public 
amusements was to take care, lest, by 
pretended sickness, the actor should ob- 
tain this precious privilege of baptism, 
and thus exemption from his servitude. 
Even the daughters of actresses partook 
of their mothers’ infamy, and could only 
escape being doomed to their course of 
life by the profession of Christianity, rati- 
fied by a certain term of probationary vir- 
tue. Ifthe actress relapsed from Christi- 
anity, she was invariably condemned to 
her impure servitude.t 

Such was the general state of the the- 
atrical exhibitions in the Roman empire 
at that period. The higher drama, like 
every other intellectual and inventive art, 
had to undergo the influence of Christian- 
ity before it could revive in its splendid 
and prolific energy. Inall European coun- 
tries, the Christian mystery, as it was 
called, has been the parent of tragedy, 
perhaps of comedy. It reappeared as a 
purely religious representation, having re- 
tained no remembrance whatever of pa- 
ganism; and was at one period, perhaps, 
the most effective teacher, in times of 
general ignorance and total scarcity of 
books, both among priests and people, of 
Christian history as well as of Christian 
legend. 

, But at a later period, the old hereditary 
hostility of Christianity to the theatre has 


-..ὉὃΘὃ6ἑῆ 67ῖαοοο͵,͵,.::. ..».ὄ...͵ς..σ».»-..»..ς.-..-----“- ΄“-... 


* Cod. Theodos., xv., 13. | 
+ Cod. Theodos., de Scenicis, xv., 7, 2, 4, 8, 9. 


: 40 
constantly revived. The passages of the 
fathers have perpetually been aoe by 
the more severe preachers, whether fairly 
applicable or not to the dramatic enter- 
tainments of different periods ; and in gen- 
eral it has had the effect of keeping the 
actor in a lower caste of society ; a prej- 
udice often productive of the evil which it 
professed to correct; for men whom the 
general sentiment considers of a low moral 
order will rarely. make the vain attempt 
of raising themselves above it: if they 
cannot avoid contempt, they will care lit- 
tle whether they deserve it. 

III.. The amphitheatre, with its shows of 
gladiators and wild beasts. The amphitheatre. 
suppression of those bloody Gladiatorial 
spectacles, in which human be- S"°W*: 
ings slaughtered each other by hundreds 
for the diversion of their fellow-men, is 
one of the most unquestionable and proud- 
est triumphs of Christianity.. The gladi- 
atorial shows, strictly speaking, that is, 
the mortal combats of men, were never 
intfoduced into the less warlike East, 
though the combats of men with wild 
beasts were exhibited in Syria and other 
parts. They were Roman in their origin 
and to their termination. It might seem 
that the pride of Roman conquest was not 
satisfied with the execution of her desola- 
ting mandates unless the whole city wit- 
nessed the bloodshed of her foreign cap- 
tives; and in her decline she seemed to 
console herself with these sanguinary 
proofs of her still extensive empire: the 
ferocity survived the valour of her martial 
spirit. Barbarian life seemed, indeed, to 
be of no account but to contribute. to the 
sports of the Roman. The humane Sym- 
machus, even at this late period,* reproves 
the impiety of some Saxon captives, who, 
by strangling themselves in prison, esca- 
ped the ignominy of this public exhibi- 
tion.t It is a humiliating consideration 
to find how little Roman civilization had 
tended to mitigate the ferocity of manners 
and of temperament. Not merely did 
women crowd the amphitheatre during 
the combats of these fierce and almost na- 
ked savages or criminals, but it was the 
especial privilege of the vestal virgin, even 
at this late period, to give the signal for 
the mortal blow, to watch the sword 
driven deeper into the palpitating en- 


* Quando prohibuisset privaté custodid desperate 
gentis impias manus, cum viginti novem fractas sine 
laqueo fauces primus ludi gladiatorii dies viderit.— 
Symmach., Jib. ii., epist. 46. 

+ It is curious that at one time the exposure to 
wild beasts was considered a more tgnomintous 
punishment than fighting asa gladiator. The slave 
was condemned to the former for kidnapping; the 
freeman tothe latter—Codex Theod., iv., 18, 1. 


476 Ὁ 


ἈΝ 

trails.* Thestate of uncontrolled phrensy 
worked up even the most sober spectators. 
The manner in which this contagious pas- 
_ sion for bloodshed engrossed the whole soul 
is described with singular power and truth 
by St. Augustine. A Christian student of 
the law was compelled by the importunity 
of his friends to enter the amphitheatre. 
He sat with his eyes closed, and his mind 
totally abstracted from the scene. He 
was suddenly startled from his trance ‘by 
a tremendous shout from the whole audi- 
ence. He opened his eyes, he could not 
but gaze on the spectacle. Directly as 
he beheld the blood, his heart imbibed the 
common ferocity ; he could not turn away ; 
his eyes were riveted on the arena; and 
the interest, the excitement, the pleasure, 
grew into complete intoxication. He look- 
ed on, he shouted, he was inflamed; he 
carried away from the amphitheatre an 
irresistible propensity to return to its cruel 
enjoyments.f ; ᾿ 

Christianity began to assail this deep- 
rooted passion of the Roman world with 
caution, almost with timidity. Christian 
Constantinople was never defiled with the 
blood of gladiators. In the same year as 
that of the Council of Nice, a local edict 
was issued, declaring the emperor’s disap- 
probation of these sanguinary exhibitions 
in time_of peace, and prohibiting the vol- 
unteering of men as gladiators.{ This 
was a considerable step, if we call to mind 
the careless apathy with which Constan- 
tine, before his conversion, had exhibited 
all his barbarian captives in the amphithe- 
atre at Treves.§ This edict, however, 
addressed to the prefect of Phenicia, had 
no permanent effect, for Libanius, several 
years after, boasts that he had not been a 
spectator of the gladiatorial shows still 
regularly celebrated in Syria. Constan- 
tius prohibited soldiers, and those in the 
imperial service (Palatimi), from hiring 
themselves out to the Laniste, the keep- 
ers of gladiators.|| Valentinian decreed 
that no Christian or Palatine should be 
condemned for any crime whatsoever to 
the darena.{] An early edict of Honorius 
prohibited any slave who had been a glad- 
jator** from being admitted into the ser- 
vice of a man of senatorial dignity. But 


‘* Virgo—consurgit ad ictus, 
Et quotiens victor ferram jugulo inserit, ila 
Delicias ait esse suas, pectusque jacentis 
’ Virgo modesta jubet, converso pollice, rumpi ; 
Ni lateat pars ulla anime vitalibus imis, 
Altiis impresso dum palpitat ense secutor. 
ὶ Prudent. adv. Symm., ii., 1095. 


+’August., Conf., vi., 8. 


1 Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 1. § See p. 288. 
|| Codex. Theodos., xv., 12, 2. 
4 Ibid., ix, 40, 8. Ἀπ Thid. 


} 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY 


γ 

Christianity now began to speak in.a more 
courageous and commanding tone.* The 
Christian poet urges on the Christian em- 
peror the direct prohibition of these inhu- 
man and disgraceful exhibitions :+ but a 
single act often affects the public mind 
much more strongly than even the most 
eloquent and reiterated exhortation. An 
Eastern monk named Telemachus travel- 
led all the way to Rome in order to pro- 
test against those disgraceful barbarities. 
In his’: noble enthusiasm, he leaped into 
the arena to separate the combatants ; 
either with the sanction of the prefect or 
that of the infuriated assembly, he was 
torn to pieces, the martyr of Christian hu- 
manity.{ The impression of this awful 
scene, of a Christian, a monk, thus mur- 
dered in the arena, was so profound, that 
Honorius issued a prohibitory edict, put- 
ting an end to these bloody shows. ‘This 
edict, however, only suppressed the mor- 
tal combats of men; the less inhuman, 
though still brutalizing, conflicts of men 
with wild beasts seems scarcely to have 
been abolished|| till the diminution of. 
wealth, and the gradual contraction of the 
limits of the empire, cut off both the sup- 
ply and the means of purchasing these 
costly luxuries. -The revolted or conquer- 
ed provinces of the South, the East, and. 
the North no longer rendered up their ac- 
customed tribute of lions from Libya, leop- 
ards from the East, dogs of remarkable 
ferocity from Seotland, of crocodiles and 
bears, and every kind of wild and rare ani- 
mal. δ Emperor Anthemius prohibited 
the lamentable spectacles of wild beasts 


* Codex Theodos., xv., 12, 3. 

+ Arripe’dilatam tua, dux, in tempora famam, 
Quodque patri superest, successor laudis habeto, 
Ille urbem vetuit taurorum sanguine ting], 

Tu mortes miserorum hominum prohibete litari: 

Nullus in urbe cadat, cujus sit peena voluptas, 

Nec sua virginitas oblectet caedibus ora. 

Jam solis contenta feris infamis arena, 

Nulla cruentatis homicidia ludat in armis. 
Prudent. adv. Symm., 11.) 1121. 


1 Theodoret, v., 26. 

§ The law of Honorius is not extant in the The- 
odosian Code, which only retains those of Constan- 
tine and Constantius. For this reason doubts have 
been thrown on the authority of Theodoret; but 
tHere is no recorded instance of gladiatorial combats 
between man and man since this period. ‘The pas- 
sage of Salvian, sometimes alleged, refers to com- 
bats with wild beasts. Ubi. summum deliciarum 
genus est mori homines, aut quod est mori gravis 
acerbiasque, lacerari, expleriferarum alvos humanis 
carnibus, comedi homines eum cireumstantium la- 
titla, conspicientium voluptate.—De Gub. Dei, lib. 
vi, p. 51. yh clon (Ps) dle 

ἢ Quicquid monstriferis nutrit Getulia campis, 
Alpina quicquid tegitur nive, Gallica quicquid 
Silva timet, jaceat. Largo ditescat arena ' 
Sanguine, consumant totos spectacula montes, 

P Claud, in Cons. Mall., 306. 


i) 
7 . 
ἣν 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


“ee 


on the Sunday ; and Salvian still inveighs 
against those bloody exhibitions. And 
this amusement gradually degenerated, if 
the word may be used, not so much from 
the improving humanity as from the pu- 
sillanimity of the people. Arts were in- 
troduced to irritate the fury of the beast 
without endangering the person of the 
combatant, which would have been con- 
temptuously exploded in the more war- 
like days’of the empire. It became a 


mere exhibition of skill and agility. The| 


beasts were sometimes tamed before they 
were exhibited. 


-seem to have sunk with the Western em- 


ire ;* in the East they lingered on so as 
Ρ y ling 


to require a special prohibition by the} 


Council of Trulla at Constantinople, at the 
close of the seventh century. 


IV. The chariot-race of the circus. If| 


The circus, these former exhibitions were 
Chariot-. prejudicial to the modesty and 
Fages: humanity of the Roman people, 
the chariot-races were no less fatal to 
their peace. ‘This phrensy did not, in- 
deed, reach its height till the middle of 
the fifth century, when the animosities of 
political and religious difference were out- 
done by factions enlisted in favour of the 
rival charioteers in the circus. As com- 
plete a separation took place in society ; 
adverse parties were banded against each 


In the West those games | 


‘oo '? 


other in as fierce opposition ; an insurrec- 
tion as destructive and sanguinary~ took 
place ; the throne of the emperor was as 
fearfully shaken in the collision of the 
blue and green factions, as ever took 
place in defence of the sacred rights of 
liberty or of faith. Constantinople seem- 
ed to concentre on the circus all that ab- 
sorbing interest which at Rome was di- 
vided by many spectacles. The Christian 
city seemed to compensate itself for the 
excitement of those games which were 
prohibited by the religion, by the fury with 
which it embraced those which were al- 
lowed, or, rather, against which Christian- 
ity remonstrated in vain. Her milder 
tone of persuasiveness, and her more au- 
thoritative interdiction, were equally dis- 
regarded where the sovereign and the 
whole people yielded to the common 
‘phrensy. But. this consolation. remained 
to Christianity, that, when it was accused 
of distracting the imperial city with reli- 
gious dissension, it might allege that this, 
at least, was a nobler subject of differ- 
ence ; or, rather, that the passions of men 
seized upon religious distinctions with no 
greater eagerness than they did on these 
competitions for the success Οἵ. ἃ chariot- 
driver in a blue or a green jacket, in or- 
der to gratify their inextinguishable love 
of strife and animosity. 


CHAPTER ITI. 


CHRISTIAN LITERATURE. 


CurisTIANITY Was extensively propa- 
gated in an age in which Greek and Latin 
literature had fallen into hopeless degen- 
eracy; ner could even its spirit awaken 
the dead. Both these languages had al- 
ready attained and passed their full devel- 
opment; they had fulfilled their part in 
the imaginative and intellectual advance- 
ment of mankind,; and it seems, in gen- 
eral, as much beyond the power of the 
genius of a country, as of an individual, 
to renew-its youth. It was not till it had 
created new languages, or, rather, till lan- 
guages had been formed in which the re- 
ligious notions of Christianity were an el- 
ementary and constituent part, that Chris- 

: .- Δ ἐξ"... 


| 


* Agiticourt, Histoire de I’Art, is of opinion that 
Theodoric substituted military games for theatrical 


shows, and that | ne ular games were the ori- 
ments. The wild beast shows 


in of the tourn F 
pac still clebira ed at Rome.—Cassiod., Epist. barbarism. 


v 42. 


tian literature assumed its free and hatu- 
ral dignity. 


coalesced in perfeet and amicable harmo- 
|ny with either the Greek or the Latin 
tongue. In each ease it was a foreign 
dialect introduced into a fully - formed 
and completely-organized language. The 
Greek, notwithstanding its exquisite pli- 
“ancy, with difficulty accommodated itself 
to the new sentiments and opinions. [1 
had either to endure the naturalization of 
new words, or to deflect its own terms to 
| new significations. [ἢ the latter case the 
| doctrines were endangered, in the former 
the purity of the language, more especial- 
ly since the Oriental writers were in gen- 
eral alien to the Grecian mind. The 
‘Greek language had, indeed, long before 
yielded to the contaminating influences of 
From Homer to Demosthe- 
nes it had varied in its style and char- 


The genius of the new religion never 


¥ 


478 
acter, but had maintained its ad- 
Fae of Mirable perfection as the finest, 


Greek litera- the clearest, and most versatile 
ture andlan- instrument of poetry, oratory, or 
guage. : 

; philosophy. But the conquests 
of Greece were as fatal to her language 
as to her liberties. 'The Macedonian, the 
language of the conquerors, was not the 
purest Greek,* and in general, by the ex- 
tension over, a wider surface, the stream 
contracted a taint from’ every soil over 
which it flowed. Alexandrea was prob- 
ably the best school of foreign Grecian 
style, at least in literature ; in Syria, it 
had always been infected in some de- 
gree by the admixture of Oriental terms. 
The Hellenistic style, as it has been call- 
ed, of the New Testament, may be con- 
sidered a fair example of the language, as 
it was spoken in the provinces among 
persons of no high degree of intellectual 
culture. 

The Latin seemed no less to have ful- 
Of Roman, filled: its mission, and to have 
passed its culminating point, in 


‘the verse of Virgil and the prose of Cice- 


ro. Its stern and masculine majesty, its 
plain and practical vigour, seemed as if it 
could not outlive the republican institu- 
tions, in the intellectual conflicts of which 
it had been formed.’ The impulse of the 
Id freedom carried it through the reign 
of Augustus, but no farther; and it had 
undergone rapid and progressive deterio- 
ration before it was called upon to dis- 


charge its second office of disseminating 


and preserving the Christianity of the 
West; and the Latin, like the Greek, had 
suffered by its owntriumphs. Among the 
more distinguished heathen writers sub- 
sequent to Augustus, the largest number 
were of provincial origin, and something 
of their ‘foreign tone still adhered to their 
style. Of the best Latin Christian wri- 
fers, it is remarkable that not one was a 
Roman; not one, except Ambrose, an Ital- 
ian. ‘Tertullian, Cyprian, Arnobius (per- 
haps Lactantius); and Augustine, were 
Africans; the Roman education and su- 
perior understanding of the latter could 
not altogether refine away that rude pro- 
vincialism which darkened the whole lan- 
guage of the former. The writings of 
Hilary are obscured by another dialect of 
barbarism. Even at so ‘late ἃ period, 
whatever exceptions may be made to the 
taste of his conceptions and of his ima- 
gery, with some limitation, the Roman 
style of Claudian, and the structure of his 
verse, carries us back to the time of Vir- 

* Compare the dissertation of Sturz on the Ma- 


cedonian dialect, reprinted in the prolegomena to 
Valpy’s edition of Stephens’s Thesaurus, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


gil; in Prudentius, it is not merely the in- 
feriority of the poet, but something foreign 
and uncongenial refuses to harmonize with 
the adopted poetic language.* 

Yet it was impossible that such an en- 
thusiasm could be disseminated Christian 
through the empire without in literature. 
some degree awakening the torpid lan- 
guages. ‘The mind could not be so deep- 
ly stirred without expressing itself with 
life and vigour, even if with diminished 
elegance and dignity. No. one ean com- 
pare the energetic sentences of Chrysos- 
tom with the prolix and elaborate, if more 
correct, periods of Libanius, without ac- 
knowledging that a new principle of vital- 


ity has been infused into the language.  —— 


But, in fact, the ecclesiastical Greek 
and Latin are new dialects of the ancient 


tongue. ‘Their literature stands entirely _ 
apart from that of Greece orRome. The — 


Greek already possessed the foundation - 


of this literature in the Septuagint ver- 
sion of the Old, and in the original of the 
New, Testament. The Vulgate of Jerome, 
which almost immediately superseded the 
older imperfect or inaccurate versions 
from the Greek, supplied the same ground- 
work to Latin Christendom. There is 
something singularly rich, and, if we may 
so speak, picturesque, in the Latin of the 
Vulgate ; the Orientalism of the Scripture 
is blended up with such curious felicity 
with the idiom of the Latin, that, although 
far removed either from the colloquial 
language of the comedians or the purity 
of Cicero, it.both delights the ear and fills 
the mind. It is an original and somewhat 
foreign, but likewise an expressive and 
harmonious dialect.t It has, no doubt, 
powerfully influenced the religious style, 
not merely of the later Latin writers, but 
those of the modern languages, of which 
Latin is the parent. Constantly quoted, 
either in its express words or in terms 
approaching closely to its own, it contrib- 
uted to form the dialect of ecclesiastical 


* Among the most remarkable productions as to 
Latinity are the Ecclesiastical History and Life of 
St. Martin of Tours, by Sulpicius Severus; the 
legendary matter of which contrasts singularly with 
the perspicuous and almost classical elegance of 
the style. See postea on Minucius Felix. 

+ There appears to me more of the Oriental char- | 
acter in the Old Testament of the Vulgate than in — 


the LXX. That translation having been made by ~ 


Greeks, or by Jews domiciled in a Greek city, 
the Hebrew style seems subdued, as far as possible, 
to the Greek. Jerome seems to have endeavoured 
to Hebraize or Orientalize his Latin. 

The story of Jerome’s nocturnal flagellation for 
his attachment to profane literature rests (as we 
have seen) on his own authority; but his later 
works show that the offending spirit was not ef- 
fectively scourged out of him. 


J 


cP 
"ᾷ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Latin, which became the religious lan- 
guage of Europe; and,as soon as religion 
condescended to employ the modern lan- 
guages in its service, was transfused as a 
necessary and integral part of that which 
related to religion. Christian literature 
was as yet purely religious in its scope; 
though it ranged over the whole field of 
ancient poetry, philosophy, and history, 
its sole object was the illustration or con- 
firmation of Christian opinion. 
For many ages, and, indeed, as long as 
mene it spoke the ancient languages, it 
‘’ was barren of poetry in all its lof- 
tier departments, at least of that which 
was poetry in form as well as in spirit. 


φὰς The religion itself was the poetry of 


A 


» 
a 


Christianity. The sacred books were to 

the Christians what the national epic and 
‘the sacred lyric had been to the other 
races of antiquity. ‘They occupied the 
-place, and proscribed in their superior 
sanctity, or defied by their unattainable 
excellence, all rivalry. The Church suc- 
ceeded to the’.splendid inheritance of 
the Hebrew temple.and synagogue. The 
Psalms and the Prophets, if they depart- 
ed somewhat from their original simple 
cney and grandeur in the uncongenial 
and too polished languages of the Greeks 
and Romans, still, in their imagery, their 
bold impersonations, the power and maj- 
esty of their manner,.as well as in the 
sublimity of the notions of Divine power 
and wisdom, with which they were in- 
stinct, stood alone in the religious poetry 
of mankind. 

The religious books of Christianity, 
Sacred though of a gentler cast, and only 
writings. jn a few short passages (and in the 
grand poetic drama of the Revelations) 
poetical in their form, had much, especially 
in their narratives, of the essence of poe- 
try; the power of awakening kindred 
emotions; the pure simplicity of truth, 
blended with imagery and with language, 
which kindled the fancy. Faith itself was 
constantly summoning the imagination to 
its aid, to realize, to impersonate those 
scenes which were described in the sacred 
volume, and which it was thus enabled to 
embrace with greater fervour and smcer- 
ity. All the other early Christian poetry 


was pale and lifeless in comparison with 


" 


that of thé sacred writers. Some few 
hymns, as the noble ‘Te Deum ascribed to 
Ambrose, were admitted, with the Psalms, 
and the short lyric passages in the New 
Testament, the Magnificat, the Nune Di- 
mittis, and the Alleluia, into the services 
of the Chureh. But the sacred volume 
commanded exclusive adoration, not mere- 
ly by its sanctity, but by its unrivalled 


479 


imagery and sweetness. Each sect had 
its hymns; and those of the Gnosties, 
with the rival strains of the orthodox 
churches of Syria, attained great popular- 
ity. But, in general, these compositions 
were only a feebler echo of the strong and 
vivid sounds of the Hebrew psalms. ‘lhe 
epic and tragic form into which, in. the 
time of Julian, the scripture narratives 
were cast, in order to provide a Christian 
Homer and Euripides for those schools in 
which the originals were interdicted, were 
probably but cold paraphrases, the Hebrew 
poetry expressed in an incongruous cento 
of the Homeric or tragic phraseology. The 
garrulous feebleness of Gregory’s own 
poem does not awaken any regret for the 
loss of those writings either of his own 
composition or of his age.* Even in the 
martyrdoms, the noblest unoccupied sub- 
jects for Christian verse, the poetry seems 
to have forced its way into the legend 
rather than animated the writer of verse. 
Prudentius, whose finest lines (and they 
are sometimes of a very spirited, senten- 
tious, and eloquent, if not poetic cast) occur 
in his other poems, on these, which wouid 
appear at first far more promising sub- 
jects, is sometimes pretty and fanciful, but 
scarcely more.t 


* The Greek poetry after Nazianzen was almost 
silent; some, perhaps, of the hymns are ancient 
(one particularly in Routh’s Reliquiz). See like- 
wise Smith’s account of the Greek Church. The 
hymns of Synesius are very interesting, as illustra- 


tive of the state of religious sentiment, and by no » Ν 
But may we ecail these — 


means without beauty. 
dreamy Platonic raptures Christian poetry ? 

t One of the best, or rather, perhaps, prettiest pas- 
sages, is that which has been selected as a hymn 
for the Innocents’ day: _ : 

Salvete flores martyrum 

Quos lucis ipso in limine, 

Christi insecutor sustulit 

Ceu turbo nascentes rosas. 

Vox, prima Christi victima, 

Grex immolatorum tener, 

Aram ante ipsam simplices 

Palma et coronis luditis. 
But these are only a. few stanzas out of a long 
hymn on the Epiphany. The best verses in Pru- 
dentius are to be found in the books against Sym- 
machus; but their highest praise is that, in their 
force and energy, they approach to Claudian. With 
regard to Claudian, [ cannot refrain from repeating 
what I have stated in another place, as it is so 
closely connected with the subject of Christian poe- 
try. M.Beugnot has pointed out one remarkable 
characteristic of Claudian poetry and of the times, 
his extraordinary religious indifference. ~Here is 
a poet writing at the actual crisis of the complete 
triumph of the new religion, and the visible extinc- 
tion of the old: if we may so speak, a strictly his- 
torical poet, whose works, excepting his mytholo- 
gical poem on the rape of Proserpine, are confined 
to temporary subjects, and to the politics of his own 
eventful times ; yet, excepting in one or two small 
and indifferent pieces, manifestly written by a Chris- 
tian, and interpolated among his poems, there 1s no 


yt 


* 


‘ries in the victories of Theodosius. 


480 


There is more of the essence of poetry 
in the simpler and unadorned Acts of the | 
Martyrs, more pathos, occasionally more | 


Ϊ 


allusion whatever to the great religious strife. No | 
one would know the existence of Christianity at | 
that period of the world by reading the works of | 
Claudian. His panegyric and his satire preserve | 
the same religious impartiality ; award their most 
lavish praise or their bitterest invective on Christian 
or pagan: he insults the fall of Kugenius, and glo- 
Under his child 
-—and Honorius never became more than a child— 
Christianity continued to inflict wounds more and 
more deadly on expiring paganism. Are the gods 
of Olympus agitated with apprehension at the birth 
of their new enemy? ‘They are introduced as re- 
joicing at his appearance, and promising long years 
of glory. The whole prophetic choir of paganism, 
all the oracles throughout the world, are summoned 
to predict the felicity of his reign. His birth is com- 
pared to that of Apollo, but the narrow limits of‘an 
island must not confine the new deity: , : 


Non littora nostro 
Sufficerent angusta Deo. 


Augury and divination, the shrines of Ammon and 
of Delphi, the Persian magi, the Etruscan seers, 
the Chaldean astrologers, the Siby! herself, are de- 
scribed as sull discharging their poetic functions, ' 
and celebrating the natal day of this Christian 
prince.. They are noble lines, as well as curious 
illustrations of the times: P 


Que tunc documenta futuri ? 

Que voces avium? quanti per inane volatus? 
Quis vatum discursus erat? Tibi corniger Ammon, 
Et dvdum taciti rupére silentia Delphi. 
Te Perse cecinére Magi, te sensit Etruscus 
Augur, et inspectis.Babylonius horruit astris: | 
Chaldzi stupuére senes, Cumanaque rursus 
Intonvit rupes, rabide delubra Sibylle. 

Note on Gibbon, ii., 238. 


But Roman poetry expired with Claudian. In the 
vast mass of the Christian Latin poetry of this period, 
independent of the perpetual faults against metre and 
taste, it 1s impossible not to acknowledge that the 
subject matter appears foreign, and irreconcilable 
with the style.of the verse. Christian images and 


“sentiments, the frequent biblical phrases and ex- 


pressions, are not yet naturalized; and it is almost 
impossible to select any passage of considerable 
length frem the whole cycle which can be offered 
as poetry. I except a few of the hymns, and-even 
as to the hymns (Setting aside the Te Deum), paro- 
doxical as it may sound, I eannot but think the 
later and more barbarous the best. There is nothing 
In my judgment to be compared with the monkish 
“ Dies ire, Dies illa,” or even the “ Stabat’ Mater.” 
[ am inclined to select, as a favourable specimen 
of Latin poetry, the following almost unknown lines 
(they are not im the earlier editions of Dracontius). 
I have three reasons for my selection: 1. The real 
merit of the verses compared to most of the Chris- 
tian poetry; 2. Their opposition to the prevailing: 
tenet of celibacy, for which cause they are quoted 
by Vheiner; 3 The interest which early poetry on 
this subject (Adam in Paradise) must possess to the 
countrymen of Milton. f 
Tune oculos per cuncta jacit, miratur amenum 
Sie florere Jocum, sic puros fontibus amnes, 
Qhatuor undisonas stringenti gurgite ripas, 
lre per arboreos saltus, camposque virentes 
Miratur; sed quid sit homo, quos factus ad usus 
Scire cupit simplex, et non habet, unde requirat ; 
Quo merito sibimet data sit possessio mundi, 
Et domus alma nemus per florea regna paratum: 


se 


“HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. Ἢ 


εν." ~ 


- 


grandeur, more touching incident and ex- 
pression, and even, we may venture to. 
say, happier invention, than in the prolix . 
and inanimate strains of the Christian at 
poet. For the-awakened imagination vas 
not content with feasting in silence onits | 
lawful nutriment, the poetry of the Bible; — 
it demanded and received perpetual stim- 
ulants, which increased, instead of satis- 
fying, the appetite. hat peculiar state 

of the human mind had now commenced,: 


Ac procul expectat virides jumenta per agros; 
Et de se tacitus, que sint hee cuncta, requirit, τ 
Et quare secum non sint hec ipsa, volutat: 
Nam consorte carens, cum quo conferret, egebat. 
Viderat Omnipotens, hzc illum corde moventem, 
Et miseratus ait: Demus adjutoria facto; ᾿ 
Participem:- generis :, tanquam si diceret auctor 

Non solum decet esse virum, consortia blanda al 
Noverit, uxor erit,.quum sit tamen ille maritus, 
Conjugium se quisque vocet, dulcedo recurrat 
Cordibus innocuis, et sit sibi pignus uterque 
Velle pares, et nolle pares, stans una voluntas, 
Par animi concors, paribus concurrere votis. 


_ Ambo sibi requies cordis sint, ambo fideles, ; 


Et quicunque datur casus, sit causa duorum. 
ec mora, jam venit alma quies, oculosque supinat 
Somnus, et in dulcem solvuntur membra soporem. 
Sed quum jure Deus, nullo prohibente valeret 
Demere particalam, de quo plus ipse pararat, 
Ne vi oblata daret juveni sua costa dolorem, 
Redderet et. tristem subito, quem Jedere nollet, 
Fur opifex vult esse suus ; nam posset et 1llam — 
Pulvere de simili princeps formare puellam. | 
Sed quo plenus amor toto de corde veniret, 
Noscere in uxore voluit sua membra maritum, 
Dividitur contexta cutis, subducitur una 
Sensim costa viro, sed mox reditura marito. 
Nam juvenis de parte brevi formatur adulta γι 
Virgo, decora, rudis, matura tumentibus annis, 
Conjugi, sobolisque capax, quibus apta probatur, , 
Et sine lacte pio crescit infantia pubes. ae 
Excutitur somno juvenis, videt ipse puellam ae 
Ante oculos wstare snos, pater, inde maritus. 
Non tamen ex costa genitor, sed conjugis auctor. - 
Somnus erat partus, conceptus semine nullo, 
Materiem sopita 4165 produxit amoris, 
Affectusque novos blandi genuére sopores. 
Constitit ante oculos nullo velamine tecta, 
Corpore nuda simul niveo, quasi nympha profundi, 
Cesaries intonsa comis, gena pulchrarubore, = 
Omnia pulchra gerens, oculos, os, colla. manusque, 
Vel qualem possent digiti formare Tonantis 
Nescia mens illis, fier! que causa fuisset ; 
Tunc Deus et princeps ambos, conjunxit it unum 
Et remeat sua costa viro; sua membra recepit ; 


’ 


‘Accipit et feeaus, quum non sit debitor ullus. . 


His datur omnis humus, et quicquid jussa creavit, 
Aéris et pelagi foetus, elementa duorum, 
Arbitrio commissa manent. His, creseite, dixit 
Omnipotens, replete solum de semine vestro, 
Sanguinis ingeniti natos nutrite nepotes, — 
Et de prole novos iterum copulate jugales 
Et dum terra fretum, dum ceelum sublevat aér, 
Dum solis micat axe jubar, dum Juna tenebras 
Riseipat, et puro lucent mea sideraceelo; __ 

umere, quicquid habent pomaria nostra licebit ; 
Nam totum quod terra creat, quod pontus et aér 
Protulit, addictum vestro sub jure manebit, 
Delicieque fluent vobis, et honesta voluptas ; 
Arboris unius tantum nescite saporem. 

Dracontii Presbyt. Hispani Christ., secul. v., sab 

Theodos. M., Carmina, ἃ F. Arevalo, Rome, 179]. 
Carmen de Deo, lib. 1.) v. 348, 415. 


oN 
eb Υ̓ 
_ Legends. 


* 


a 


“΄ : ὡμ : : 
ΕΣ ͵ 
ὲ * . ἔχον " 
‘ag ; : 3 
δ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 481 


in which the imagination so far predom-| Acts. The Recognitions and other tracts 
inates over the other faculties, that truth | which are called the Clementina, partake 


That some 
_.,. Of the Christian legends were de- 
liberate forgeries can scarcely be 
questioned ; the principle of pious fraud 
appeared to justify this mode of working 
on the popular mind; it was admitted and 
_avowed. ‘I’o deceive into Christianity was 
so valuable a service as to hallow deceit 
itself. But the largest portion was prob- 


| believes its own fables. 


ably the natural birth of that imaginative 


excitement which quickens its day-dreams 
and nightly, visions into reality. ‘The 
Christian lived in a supernatural world; 
the notion of the Divine power, the perpet- 
ual interference of the Deity, the agency 
of the countless invisible beings which 
hovered over mankind, was so strongly 
impressed upon the belief, that every ex- 
traordinary, and: almost every ordinary 
incident became a miracle, every inward 
emotion a suggestion either of a good or 
an evil spirit A mythic period was thus 
gradually formed, in which reality melted 
into fable, and invention unconsciously 
trespassed on the province of history. 


cannot help arraying itself in the garb of| more of the nature of religious romance. 
ΓΝ credulity courts fiction, and fic-}Many of the former were -obviously in- 


tended to pass for genuine records, and 
must be proscribed as unwarrantable fic- 
tions; the latter may rather have been 
designed to trace, and so to awaken, reli- 
gious feelings, than as altogether real his- 
tory. The Lives of St. Anthony Lives of 
by Athanasius, and of Hilarion by saints. 

Jerome, are the prototypes of the count- 
less biographies of -saints; and, with a 
strong outline of truth, became imperson- 
ations of the feelings, the opinions, the 
belief of the time. We have no reason to 
doubt that the authors implicitly believ- 
ed whatever. of fiction embellishes their 


own unpremeditated fables; the colouring, : 


though fanciful and inconceivable to our 
eyes, was fresh and living to theirs. 
History itself could only reflect the pro- 
cvedings of the Christian world 
as they appeared to that world. 
We may lament that the annals of Chris- 
tianity found in the earliest times no histo- 
riau more judicious and trustworthy than 
Eusebius ; the heretical sects no less prej- 
udiced and more philosophical chronicle 


ilistory, 


This invention had very early let itself |than Epiphanius; but in them, if not scru- 


Spurious loose in the spurious gospels, or 


gospels. accounts of the lives of the Sa- 
viour and his apostles, which were chiefly, 
we conceive, composed among, or rather 
against, the sects which were less scrupu- 
lous in their veneration for the sacred 
books. Unless Antidocetic, it is difficult 
_ to imagine any serious object in fictions, 
in general so fantastic and puerile.* ‘This 
example had been set by some, probably, 
of the foreign Jews, whose apocryphal 
books were as numerous and as wild as 
those of the Christian sectaries. The 
Jews had likewise anticipated them in the 
interpolation or fabrication of the Sibyl- 
line verses. ‘The fourth book of Esdras, 
the Shepherd of Hermas, and other pro- 
phetic works, grew out of the Prophets 
and the book of Revelations, as the Gos- 
pels of Nicodemus, and that of the Infan- 
cy, and the various spurious acts of the 
different apostles,t out of the Gospels and 


* Compare what has been said on the Gospel of 


the Infancy, page 63; though [ would now ob- 
serve that the antiquity of this gospel is very du- 
bious. ᾿ 

+ Compare the Codex Apocryphus Novi 'Testa- 
menti, by J. A. Fabricius, and Jones on the Canon. 
A more elaborate collection of these curious docu- 
ments has been commenced (I trust not abandoned) 
by Dr. Thilo, Lipsia, 1832. Of these, by far the 
most remarkable in its composition and tts influ- 
ence was the Gospel of Nicodemus. The author 


pulously veracious reporters of the events 
and characters of the times, we possess 
almost all that we could reasonably hope ; 
faithful reporters of the opinions enter- 
tained and the’ feelings excited by both. 
Few Christians of that day would not 
have considered it the sacred duty of a 
Christian to adopt that principle, avowed 
and gloried in by Eusebius, but now made 
a bitter reproach, that he would relate all 
that was to the credit, and pass lightly 
over all which was to the dishonour of 
the faith.* The historians of Christianity 


a ae SRI περ δ 
‘I'he latter part, which describes the descent of the 
Saviour to hell, to deliver “ the spirits in. prison,” 
according tothe hint in the epistle of St. Peter (} 
Peter, iil., 19), is extremely striking and dramatic. 
This ‘harrowing of hell,” as it is ealled in the old 
mysteries, became a favourite topie of Christian le- 
gend, founded on, and tending greatly to establish 
the popular belief in, a purgatory, and to open, as it 
were, to the fears of man the terrors of the penal 
state. With regard to these spurious gospels in 
general, it is a curious question m what manner, so 
little noticed as they are in the higher Christian 
literature, they should -have reached down, and so 
completely incorporated themselves in the dark 
ages with the superstitions of the vulgar. They 
would never have furnished so many subjects te 
patuting if they had not been objects of popular 
elief. 

* “In addition to these things (the appointment 
of rude and unfit persons to episcopal offices and 
other delinquencies), the ambition of many ; the pre- 
cipitate and illegitimate ordinations; the dissen- 
sions among thé confessors; whatever the young- 


of this work was a poet, and of no mean invention. | er and more seditious, so pertinaciously attempted 


3P 


" 


Ὥς 


— —_ 


482 


were credulous, but of that which it would 
have been considered impiety to disbe- 
lieve, even if they had the inclination. 

The larger part of Christian literature 
consists in controversial writings, valuable 
to posterity as records of the progress of 
the human mind and of the gradual devel- 
opment of Christian opinions; at times 
worthy of admiration for, the force, the 
copiousness, and the subtlety of argument ; 
but too often repulsive from their solemn 
prolixity on insignificant subjects, and, 
above all, the fierce, the unjust, and the 
acrimonious spirit with which they treat 
their adversaries. The Christian litera- 
ture in prose (excluding the history and 
hagiography) may be distributed under 
five heads: I. Apologies, or defences of 
the Faith against Jewish, or, more fre- 
quently, heathen adversaries. II. Herme- 
neutics, Or commentaries on the sacred 
writings. III. Expositions of ‘the princi- 
ples and doctrines of the Faith. IV. Po- 
lemical works against the different sects 
and heresies. V. Orations. 

I. We have already traced the manner in 
which the apology for Christianity, from 


against the remains of the Church, introducing in- 
novation after innovation, and unsparingly, in the 
midst of the calamities of the persecution, adding 
new afflictions, and heaping evil upon evil; all 
these things | think it right to pass over, as unbe- 
fitting my history, which, as-I stated in the begin- 
ning, declines and avoids the relation of such things. 
‘But whatsoever things, according to the sacred 
“Scripture, are ‘ honest and of good report:’ if there 
‘be any virtue, and if there be any praise, these 
‘things I have thought it most befitting the history 
of these wonderful martyrs to speak, and to write, 
and to address to the ears of the faithful.” On this 
passage, de Martyr. Palest., c. xii., and that to 
which it alludes, Kk: H., viii., 2, the honesty and ‘im- 
partiality of Eusebius, which was not above suspi- 
-cion.in his own day (Tillemont, M. E., tom i., part 
i, p67), has been severely questioned. {The con- 
text in both passages shows that Eusebius -pre- 
scribed to himeelf this rule, solely in the account of 
the Palestine martyrs, which was intended to edify 
and. rebuke lukewarm Christians, and not, as Mr. 
M. insinuates, throughout his whole ecclesiastical 
‘history.]  Gibbon’s observations on the subject 
gave ‘rise to many dissertations. Miiller, de Fide 
Euseb. Czs., Havnie, 1813. Danzius, de Euseb. 
Ces., H. F., Scriptore, ejusque Fide HistoricA recté 
wstimanda, Jene, 1815. Kestner, Comment. de Eu- 
seb., H. E.. Conditoris Auctoritate et Fide. Seealso 
Reuterdahl, de Fontibus, H. E., Eusebianz, Lond., 
Goth., 1826, and various passages in the Excursus 
of Heinichen. In many passages it is clear that 
Eusebius did not adhere to his own rule of partial- 
ity. His Ecclesiastical History, though probably 
highly coloured in many (parts, is by no means a 
uniform panegyric on the early Christians. Strict 
impartiality could not be expected from a Christian 
writer of that day; and probably Eusebius erred 
more often ‘from credulity than from dishonesty. 
Yet the unbelief produced in later times by the 
fictitious charaeter of early Christian history; may 
show how dangerous, how fatal, may be the least 
departure from truth. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


humbly defensive, became vigor- 


ously aggressive. The calm ap- “Plsies 


| peal to justice and humanity, the ear- 


nest deprecation of the odious calumnies 
with which they were charged, the plea 
for toleration, gradually rise to the vehe- 
ment and uncompromising proscription of 
the folly and guilt of idolatry. ‘Tertullian 
marks, as it were, the period of transition, 
though his fiery temper may perhaps have 
anticipated the time when Christianity, in 
the consciousness of strength, instead of 
endeavouring to appease or avert the wrath 


‘of hostile paganism, might defy it to dead- 


ly strife. The earliest extant apology, that 
of Justin Martyr, is by no means severe in 
argument or vigorous in style, and, though 
not altogether abstaining from recrimina- 
tion, is still rather humble and deprecatory 
in its tone. The short apologetic ora- 
tions—as the Christians had to encounter 
not merely the general hostility of the gov- 


ernment or people, but direct and argu- 


mentative treatises, written against them 
by the philosophic party—gradually swell- 
ed into books. The first of these is per- 
haps the best, that of Origen against Cel- 
sus. The intellect of Origen, notwith- 
standing its occasional fantastic aberra- 
tions, appears to us more suitable to 
grapple with this lofty argument than the 
diffuse and excursive Eusebius, whose 
evangelic Preparation and Demonstration 
heaped together vast masses of curious 
but by no means convincing learning, and 
the feebler and less candid Cyril, in his 
books against Julian. We have already 
noticed the great work which, perhaps, 
might be best arranged under this head, 
the “ City of God” of St. Augustine; but 
there was one short treatise which may 
vindicate the Christian Latin literature 
from the charge of barbarism: perhaps no 
late work, either pagan or Christian, re- 
minds us of the golden days of Latin prose 
so much as the Octavius of Minucius Fe- 
lix. vi 
II. The Hermeneutics, or the interpre- 
tation of the sacred writers, might Hermeneu- 
be expected to have more real tics. 
value and authority than can be awarded 
them by sober and dispassionate judgment. 
But it cannot be denied that almost all 
these writers, including those of the high- 
est name, are fanciful in their inferences, 
discover mysteries in the plainest sen- 


tences, wander away from the clear his- 


torical, moral, or religious Meaning into a 
long train of corollaries, at which we ar- 
rive we know not how. Piety, in fact, 
read in the Scripture whatever it chose to 
read, and the devotional feeling it excited 
was at once the end and the test of the bibli 


ay 


Ὕ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 483 


caleommentary. But the character of the 
age, and the school in which the Christian 
teachers were trained, must here, as in 
other cases, be taken into account. The 
most sober Jewish system of interpreta- 
tion (setting aside the wild cabalistic no- 
tions of the significance of letters, the fre- 
quency of their recurrence, their colloca- 
tion, and all those wild theories which 
were engendered by a servile veneration 
of the very form and language of the sa- 
cred writings) allowed itself at least an 
equal latitude of authoritative inference. 
The Platonists spun out the thoughts or 
axioms of their master into as fine and 
subtle a web of mystic speculation. The 
general principle of an esoteric or recon- 
dite meaning in all works which command- 
ed veneration was universally received ; 
it was this principle upon which the Gnos- 
tic sects formed all their vague and mystic 
theories ; and if in this respect the Chris- 
tian teachers did not bind themselves by 
much severer rules of reasoning than pre- 
vailed around them on all sides, they may 
have been actuated partly by some jeal- 
ousy lest their own plainer and simpler 
sacred writings should appear dry and bar- 
ren in comparison with the rich and im- 
aginative freedom of their adversaries. 

III. The expositions of faith and prac- 
Expositions tice may comprehend all the 
ofFaith. smaller treatises ΟἹ particular 
duties ; prayer, almsgiving, marriage, and 
celibacy. They depend, of course, for their 
merit and authority on the character of 
the writer. 

IV. Christianity might appear, if we 
Polemical Judge by the proportion which the 
writings. controversial writings bear to the 
rest of Christian literature, to have intro- 
duced an element of violent and impla- 
cable discord. Nordoes the tone of these 
polemical writings, by which alone we can 
judge of the ancient heresies, of which 
their own accounts have almost entirely 
perished, impress us very favourably with 
their fairness or candour. But it must be 
remembered that, after all, the field of lit- 
erature was not the arena in which the 
great contest between Christianity and the 
world was waged; it was in the private 
circle of each separate congregation, 
which was constantly but silently enlar- 
ging its boundaries; it was the immediate 
contact of mind with mind, the direct in- 
fluence of the Christian clergy, and even 
the more pious of the laity, which were 
tranquilly and noiselessly pursuing their 
course of conversion.* 


LL Se eee πὰ ee σον 

* | might, perhaps, have made another and a very 
interesting branch of the prose Christian literature, 
the epistolary. The letters of the great writers 


These treatises, however, were princi- 
pally addressed to the clergy, and through 
them worked downward into the mass of 
the Christian people: evén with the more 
rapid and frequent communication which 
took place in the Christian world, they 
were but partially and imperfectly dissem- 
inated; but that which became another 
considerable and important part of their 
literature, their oratory, had in the first 
instance been directly addressed to the 
popular mind, and formed the chief part 
of the popular instruction. . Christian 
preaching had opened a new field for elo- 
quence. 

V. Oratory—that oratory, at least; which 
communicates its own impulses Christian 
and passions to the heart ; which oratory. 
not merely persuades the reason, but 
sways the whole soul of man—had suffer- 
ed a long and total silence. It had every- 
where expired with the republican insti- 
tutions. The discussions in the senate 
had been controlled by the imperial pres- 
ence; and even if the Roman senators 
had asserted the fullest freedom of speech, 
and allowed themselves the most exciting 
fervour of language, this was but one as- 
sembly in a single city, formed out of a 
confined aristocracy. The municipal as- 
semblies were alike rebuked by the awe 
of a presiding master, the provincial gov- 
ernor, and, of course, afforded a less open 
field for stirring and general eloquence. 


The perfection of jurisprudence had prob-- 


ably been equally fatal to judicial oratory ; 
we hear of great lawyers, but not of dis- 
tinguished advocates. The highest flight 
of pagan oratory which remains is in the 
adulatory panegyrics of the emperors, 
pronounced by rival candidates for favour. 
Rhetoric was taught, indeed, and practised 
as a liberal, but it had sunk into a mere, 
art; it was taught by salaried professors 
in all the great towns to the higher youth; 
but they were mere exercises of fluent 
diction, on trite or obsolete subjects, the 
characters of the heroes of the Iliad, or 
some subtle question of morality.* It is 


impossible to conceive a more sudden and Ὁ 


form one of the most valuable parts of their works. 
The Latin fathers, however, maintain. that superi- 
ority over the Greek, which in classical times is as- 
serted by Cicero and Pliny.’ The letters of Cyprian 
and Ambrose are of the highest interest as historical 
documents; those of Jerome for manners; those of 
Augustine, perhaps for style. They far surpass 
those of Chrysostom, which we must, however, rec- 
ollect were written from his dreary and monoto- 
nous’place of exile. Yet Chrysostom’s are superior 
to that dullest of all collections, the huge folio of 
the Jetters of Libanius. 

* The declamations of Quintilian are no doubt 
favotrable specimens both of the subjects and the 
style of these orators. 


ων 


484 


total change than from the school of the 
rhetorician to a crowded Christian church. 
The orator suddenly emerged from a list- 
less audience of brother scholars, before 
whom he had discussed some one of those 
trivial questions according to formal rules, 
and whose ear could require no more than 
terseness or elegance of diction, and a just 
distribution of the argument: emotion 
was neither expected nor could be exci- 
ted. He found himself among a breath- 
less and anxious multitude, whose eternal 
destiny might seem to hang on his lips, 
catching up and treasuring his words as 
those of Divine inspiration, and interrupt- 
ing his more eloquent passages by almost 
involuntary acclamations.* The orator 
in the best days of Athens, the tribune in 
the most turbulent periods of Rome, had 
not such complete hold upon the minds of 
his hearers ; and, but that the sublime na- 
ture of his subject usually lay above the 
sphere of immediate action; but that, the 
purer and loftier its tone, if it found instan- 
taneous sympathy, yet it also.met the con- 
stant inert resistance of prejudice, and ig- 
noranee, and vice to its authority, the 
power with which this privilege of orato- 
ry would have invested the clergy would 
have been far greater than that of any of 
the former political or-sacerdotal domina- 
tions. Wherever the oratory of the pul- 
pit coincided with human passion, it was 
irresistible ; and- sometimes, when it reso- 
lutely encountered it, it might extort an 
unwilling triumph: when it appealed to 
faction, to ferocity, to sectarian animosi- 
ty, it swept away its audience like a tor- 
rent to any vidlence or madness at which 
it aimed; when to virtue, to piety, to 
peace, it at times subdued the most re- 
fractory, and received the homage of de- 
vout obedience. 

The ‘bishop in general, at Jeast when 
the hierarchical power became more dom- 
inant, reserved for himself an office so 
productive of influencé and so liable to 
abuse.f But men like Athanasius or Au- 


* These acclamations sometimes rewarded the 
more eloquent and successful teachers of rhetoric. 
Themistius speaks of the ἐκδοήσεις Te καὶ κρό- 
τους, οἵων ϑαμὰ axo2atovor παρ᾽ ὑμῶν οἱ dat- 
μόνιοι σοφισταί. ---- Βαβδηϊδῖαβ, p. 236, edit Dein- 
dorf. Compare the note. Chrysostom’s works are 
full of allusions to these acclamations. ? 

+ The laity were long permitted to address the 
people in the absence of the clergy. It was object- 
ed to the Bishop Demetrius, that he had permitted 
an unprecedented innovation in the case of Origen: 
he had allowed a layman to teach when +the bishop 
was present.—Euseb,, Τὺ. H., ¥1.,19. Ὁ διδάσκων, 
εἰ καὶ λαϊκὸς 7, ἔμπειρος δὲ Τοῦ λόγον, καὶ τὸν 
τρόπον σεμνὸς, SidacKéTw.—Constit. Apost., “iii., 
32. Laicus, presentibus clericis, nisi illis juben- 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


gustine were not compelled to wait for 
that qualification of rank. ‘hey received 
the ready permission of the bishop to ex- 
ercise at once this important function. In 
general, a promising orator would rarely 
want Opportunity of distinction; and he 
who had obtained celebrity would fre- 
quently be raised by general acclamation, 
or by a just appreciation of his  useful- 
ness by the higher clergy, to an episcopal 
throne. 

But it is difficult to conceive the gen- 
eral effect produced by this devotion of 
oratory to its new office. From this time, 
instead or seizing casual opportunities of 
working on the mind and heart of man, it 
was constantly, regularly, in every part 
of the empire, with more or less energy, 
with greater or less commanding author- 
ity, urging the doctrines of Christianity 
on awe-struck and submissive hearers. 
It had, of course, as it always has had, its 
periods of more than usual excitement, its 
sudden paroxysms of power, by which it 
convulsed soine part of society. The 
constancy and regularity with which, in 
the ordinary course of things, it dischar- 
ged its function, may in some degree have 
deadened its influence ; and, in the period 
of ignorance and barbarism, the instruc- 
tion was chiefly through the ceremonial, 
the symbolic worship, the painting, and 
even the dramatic representation. 

Still, this new moral power, though in- 
termitted at times, and even suspended, 
was almost continually operating, in its 
great and sustained energy, throughout 
the Christian world; though, of course, 
strongly tempered with the dominant spirit 
of Christianity, and, excepting in those 
periods either ripe for or preparing some 
great change in religious sentiment or 
opinion, the living and general expression 
of the prevalent Christianity, it was always 
in greater or less activity, instilling the 
broader principles of Christian faith and 
morals ; if superstitious, rarely altogether 
silent; if appealing to passions which 


tibus, docere non audeat.—Conc. Carth., can. 98. 
Jerome might be supposed, in his indignant remon- 
strance against the right which almost all assumed 
of interpreting the Scriptures, to be writing of later 
days. Quod medicorum est, promittnnt medici, 
tractant fabrilia fabri. Sola Scripturorum ars est, 
quam sibi omnes passim vindicant. Scribimus, in- 
docti doetique poémata passim. Hane garrula anus, 
banc delirus senex, hance sophista verbosus, hane 
universi presumunt, lacerant, docent antequam dis- 
cant. Alii addicto supercilio, grandia verba truti- 
nantes, inter mulierculas de sacris literis philoso- 
phantur. Aliidiscunt, proh pudor ! ἃ feminis. quod 
viros doceant: et ne parum hoc sit quadam facili- 
tate verbornm, imo audacia, edisserunt aliis quod 
ipsi non intelligunt.—Epist. 1., ad Paulinum, vol. 
iv., p. 571. : 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


ought to have been rebuked before its 
voice, and exciting those feelings of hos- 
tility between conflicting sects which it 
should have allayed; yet even then in 
some hearts its gentlerand more Christian 
tones made a profound and salutary im- 
pression, while its more violent language 
fell off without mingling with the uncon- 
genial feelings. The great principles of 
the religion—the providence of God, the re- 
demption by Christ, the immortality of the 
soul, future retribution—gleamed through 
all the fantastic and legendary lore with 
which it was encumbered and obscured in 
the darker ages, Christianity first im- 
posed it as a duty on one class of men to 
be constantly enforcing moral and reli- 
gious truth on all mankind. Though that 
duty, of course, was discharged with very 
different energy, judgment, and success 
at different periods, it was always a strong 
counteracting power, an authorized, and, 
in general, respected remonstrance against 
the vices and misery of mankind. Man 
was perpetually reminded that he was an 


485 


immortal being, under the protection of a 
wise and all-ruling Providence, and des- 
tined for a higher state of existence. 

Nor was this influence only immediate 
and temporary : Christian oratory did not 
cease to speak when its echves had died 
away upon the ear, and its expressions 
faded from the hearts of those to whom it 
was addressed. ‘The orations of the Basils 
and Chrysuostoms, the Ambroses and Au- 
gustines, became one of the most important 
parts. of Christian literature. ‘That elo- 
quence which in Rome and Greece had 
been confined to civil and judicial affairs, 
was now inseparably connected with re- 
ligion. . The oratory of the pulpit took its 
place with that of the bar, the comitia, or 
the senate, as the historical record of that 
which once had powerfully moved the 
minds of multitudes. No part of Christian 
literature so vividly reflects the times, the 
tone of religious doctrine or sentiment, in 
many cases the manners, habits, and char- 
acter of the period, as the sermons of the 
leading teachers. 


CHAPTER IV. 


CHRISTIANITY AND THE FINE ARTS. 


As in literature, so in the fine arts, Chris- 

; tianity had to await that period in 
Fine arts. which it should become complete- 
ly interwoven with the feelings and moral 


being of mankind, before it could put forth | 


all its creative energies, and kindle into 
active productiveness those new principles 
of the noble and the beautiful which it in- 
fused into the human imagination. The 
dawn of a new civilization must be the 
first epoch for the development of Chris- 
tian art. The total disorganization of so- 
ciety which was about to take place, im- 
plied the total suspension of the arts which 
embellish social life. The objects of ad- 
miration were swept away by the destruc- 
tive ravages of barbarian warfare; or, 
where they were left in contemptuous in- 


difference, the mind had neither leisure to. 


indulge, nor refinement enough to feel, 
this admiration, which belongs to a more 
secure State of society, and of repose from 
the more pressing toils and anxieties of 
life, 

This suspended animation of the fine 
arts was of course different in degree in 
the various parts of Europe, in proportion 
as they were exposed to the ravages of 
war, the comparative barbarism of the 


tribes by which they were overrun, the 


Station’ held by the clergy, the security 


which they could command by the sanctity 
of their character, and their disposable 
wealth.- At every period, from Theodoric, 
who dwelt with vain fondhess over the last 
struggles of decaying art, to Charlemagne, 
who seemed to hail, with prophetic taste, 
the hope of its revival, there is no period 
in which the tradition of art was not pre- 
served in some part of Europe, though ob- 
secured by ignorance, barbarism, and that 
still worse enemy, if possible, false and 
meretricious taste. Christianity, in every 
branch of the arts, preserved something 
from the general wreck, and brooded in 
silence over the imperfect rudiments of 
each, of which it was the sole conservator. 
The mere mechanical skill of working 
stone, of delineating the human face, and 
of laying on colours so as to produce some- 
thing like illusion, was constantly exer- 


_cised in the works which religion required 


to awaken the torpid emotions of an ig- 
norant and superstitious people.* 

In all the arts, Christianity was at first, 
of course, purely imitative, and imitative 
of the prevalent degenerate style. It had, 

* The Iconoclasts had probably more influence 


in barbarizing the East than the Barbarians them- 
selves in the West. 


486 ἈΝ, 
not yet felt its strength, and dared not de- 
velop, or dreamed not of, those latent prin- 
ciples which lay beneath its religion, and 
_ which hereafter were to produce works, in 
its own style and its own department, ri- 
valling all the wonders of antiquity ; when 
the extraordinary creations of its proper 
architecture were to arise, far surpassing 
‘In the skill of their construction, in their 
magnitude more than equalling them, and 
in their opposite indeed, but not less ma- 
jestic style, vindicating the genius of Chris- 
tianity ; when Italy was to transcend. an- 
cient Greece in painting as much as the 
whole modern world is inferior in the rival 
art of sculpture. | 
I, Architecture was the first of these arts 
which was summoned to the 
service of Christianity. The 
devotion of the earlier ages did not need, 
and could not command, this subsidiary to 
pious emotion ; it imparted sanctity to the 
-meanest building; now it would not be con- 
tent without enshrining its triumphant wor- 
ship in a loftier edifice. Religion at once 
offered this proof of its sincerity by the sac- 
rifice of wealth to this hallowed purpose ; 
and the increasing splendour of the reli- 
gious edifices reacted upon the general de- 
votion, by the feelings of awe and venera- 
tion which they inspired. Splendour, how- 
ever, did not disdain to be subservient to 
use; and the arrangements of the new 
‘buildings, which arose in all quarters, or 
were diverted to this new object, accom- 
modated themselvés to the Christian cere- 
monial. In the East, we have already 
shown, in the Church of Tyre described by 
Eusebius, the ancient temple lending its 
model to the Christian church; and the ba- 
silica in the West, adapted with still greater 
ease and propriety for Christian worship.* 
There were many distinctive points which 
materially affected the style of Christian 
architecture. The simplicity of the Gre- 
cian temple, as it has been shown,t harmo- 
nized perfectly only with its own form of 
orship; it was more of a public place, 
sometimes indeed hypethral, or open to 
the air. The Christian worship demanded 
more complete enclosure; the church was 
more of a chamber, in which the voice of 
an individual could be distinctly heard ; 
‘and the whole assembly of worshippers, 
‘sheltered from the change or inclemency 
of the weather, or the intrusion of unau- 
thorized persons, might listen in undis- 
turbed devotion to the prayer, the reading 
of the Scriptures, or the preacher. 
One consequence of this was the neces- 


Architecture. 


_ sity of regular apertures for the admission 


FF 
* See p. 269, 270. t See p. 306, 308, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


of light ;* and these imperatively 


demanded a departure from the Widow 


plan of temple architecture. 


Windows had been equally necessary in 
the basilice for the public-legal proceed- 
Ings; the reading legal documents requi- 
red a bright and full hight; and in the basil- 
ice the windows were numerous and large. 
The nave, probably from the earliest period, 
was lighted by cleristory. windows, which 
were above the roof of the lower aisles. t 

Throughout the West, the practice of 
converting the basilica into the church con- 
tinued to a late period; the very name 
seemed appropriate: the royal hall. was 
changed into a dwelling for the GREAT 
KING.{ ’ 

The more minute subdivision of the in- 
ternal arrangement contributed Subdivisions 
to form the peculiar character of the build- 
of Christian architecture. The ™£- 
different orders of Christians were distrib- 
uted according to their respective degrees 
of proficiency. But, besides this, the 
church had inherited from the synagogue, 
and from the general feeling of the East, © 
the principle of secluding the female part 
of the worshippers. Enclosed galleries 
on a higher level were probably common 
in the synagogues; and this arrangement 
appears to have been generally adopted in 
the earlier Christian churches. 

* In the fanciful comparison (in_H. Boxe, 4) 
which Eusebius draws between the different parts 
of the church and the different gradations of cate- 
chumens, he speaks of the most perfect as “shone 
on by the light through the windows:” τοὺς δὲ 
πρὸς TO φῶς ἀνοίγμασι καταυγάζει. He seems to 
describe the temple as full of light, emblematical of 
the heavenly light diffused by Christ; λαμπρὸν καὶ 
φωτὸς ἔμπλεω τὰ Te ἔνδοθεν Kai τὰ ἐκτος : but it 
is not easy to discover where his metaphor ends and 
his fact begins.—See Ciampini, vol. i., Ρ. 74. 

+ The size of the windows has been disputed by 
Christian antiquaries : some asserted that the early 
Christians, accustomed to the obscurity of their 
crypts and. catacombs, preferred narrow apertures 
for light ;-others, that the services, especially read- 
ing the Scriptures, required it to be both bright and 
equally diffused. Ciampini, as an Italian, prefers 
the latter, and sarcastically alludes to the narrow 
windows of Gothic architecture, introduced by the 
“Vandals,” whose first object being to exclude the 
cold of their northern climate, they contracted the 
windows tothe narrowest dimensions possible. In 
the monastic churches the light was excluded, quia 
monachis meditantibus fortasse officiebat, quomi- 
nus possent intento animo soli Deo vacare.—Ciam- 
pini, Vetera Monumenta. The author considers 
that the parochial or cathedral churches may in 
general be distinguished from the monastic by this 
test 

1 Basilice priis vocabantur regum habitacula, 
nunc autem ideo basilice divina templa nominan- 
tur, quia ibi Regi omnium Deo cultus et sacrificia 
offeruntur.—Isidor., Orig.,lib.5. Basilice olim ne- 
gotiis pene, nunc votis pro tua salute susceptis.— 
Auson., Grat. Act. pro Consul. 

9 Populi confluunt ad ecclesias casta celebritate, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. . ν 487 


This greater internal complexity neces- 
sarily led to still farther departure from the 
simplicity of design in the exterior plan and 
elevation. The single or the double row 
of columns, reaching from the top to the 
bottom of the building, with the long and 
unbroken horizontal line of the roof repo- 
Sing upon it, would give place to rows of 
unequal heights, or to the division into 
separate stories. 

The same process had probably taken 
place in the palatial architecture at Rome. 
Instead of one order of columns, which 
reached from the top to the bottom of the 
buildings, rows of columns, one above the 
other, marked the different stories into 
which the building was divided. 

Christianity thus, from the first, either 
at once assumed, or betrayed its tendency 
to, its peculiar character. Its harmony 
was not that of the Greek, arising from 
the breadth and simplicity of one design, 
which, if at times too vast for the eye to 
contemplate at a single glance, was com- 
prehended and felt at once by the mind; 
of which the lines were all horizontal and 
regular, and the general impression a ma- 
jestic or graceful uniformity, either awful 
from its massiveness or solidity, or pleas- 
ing from its lightness and delicate propor- 
tion. , 

The harmony of the Christian building 
(if in fact it attained, before its perfection 
in the medieval Gothic, to that first prin- 
ciple of architecture) consisted in the com- 
bination of many separate parts duly bal- 
anced into one whole; the subordination 
of the accessories to the principal object ; 
the multiplication of distinct objects coa- 
lescing into one rich and effective mass, 
and pervaded and reduced to a kind of 
symmetry by one general character in the 
various lines and in the style of ornament. 

This predominance of complexity over 
simplicity, of variety over symmetry, was 
no doubt greatly increased by the build- 
ings which, from an early period, arose 
around the central church, especially in 
all the monastic institutions. The baptis- 
tery was often a separate building ; and fre- 
quently, in the ordinary structures for wor- 
ship, dwellings for the officiating priest- 
hood were attached to, or adjacent to,the 
church. The Grecian temple appears oft- 
en to have stood alone, on the brow of a 
hill, in a grove, or in some other command- 
ing or secluded situation ; in Rome, many 
of the pontifical offices were held by pa- 
tricians, who occupied their own palaces ; 
out the Eastern temples were in general 


honesta utriusque sexts discretione.—-August., de 
Div. Dei, ii, 28, Compare Bingham, viil., 5,5. 


surrounded by spacious courts, and with 
buildings for the residence of the sacerdo- 
tal colleges. If these were not the mod- 
els of the Christian establishments, the 
same ecclesiastical arrangements, the in- 


stitution of a numerous and wealthy priest- 


ly order attached to the churches, de- 


manded the same accommodation. \ ‘Thus — 


a multitude of subordinate buildings would 
crowd around the central or more eminent 
house of God; at first, where mere con- 
venience was considered, and where the 
mind had not awakened to the solemn im- 
pressions excited by vast and various ar- 
chitectural works, combined by a conge- 
nial style of building, and harmonized by 
skilful arrangement and _ subordination, 
they would be piled together irregularly 
and eapriciously, obscuring that which 
was really grand, and displaying irrever- 
ent confusion rather than stately order. 
Gradually, as the sense of grandeur and 
solemnity dawned upon the mind, there 
would arise the desire of producing one 
general effect and impression ; but,this, no 
doubt, was the later development of a prin- 
ciple which, if at first dimly perceived, 


was by no means rigidly or consistently | 


followed out. We must wait many cen- 
turies before we reach the culminating pe- 
riod of genuine Christian architecture. | 
II. Sculpture alone, of the fine arts, has 
been faithful to its parent pagan- . 
ism. It has never cordially im- ~ 
bibed the spirit of Christianity. The sec- 
ond creative epoch (how poor, compara- 
tively, in fertility and originality!) was 
contemporary and closely connected with 
the revival of classical literature in Eu- 
rope. It has lent itself to Christian sen- 
timent chiefly in two forms; as necessary 
and subordinate to architecture, and as 
monumental sculpture. 5 
Christianity was by no means so intol- 
erant, at least after its first period, of the 
remains of ancient sculpture, or so perse- 
veringly hostile to the art, as might have 
been expected from its severe aversion to 
idolatry. The earlier fathers, indeed, con- 
demn the arts of sculpture and of painting 
as inseparably connected with paganism. 
Every art which frames an image is irre- 
claimably idolatrous ;* and. the stern Ter- 
tullian reproaches Hermogenes with the 
two deadly sins of painting and marrying.t 


* Ubi artifices statuarum et imaginum et omnis 
generis simulachrorum diabolus seculo mtulit ; 
caput facta est idolatrie ars omnis que idolum quo- 
que modo edit.—Tertull , de Idolat., c. ili. He has 
no language to express his horror that makers of 
images should be admitted into the clerical order. 

+ Pingit illicité, nubit assidué, legem Dei in li- 
bidinem defendit, in artem contemnit ; bis falsarius 
et cauterio.et stylo.--In Hermog., cap.i. Cauterio 


culpture. 


ἣ 


ΓΝ 


s 


488; HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


— 


+ 


sf The Council of Elvira proscribed paintings | ple to adorn his capital with images, both 
on the walls of churches,* which never- of gods and men, plundered indiscrimi- 


theless became a common usage during | nately from the temples of Greece. ‘The 
the two next centuries. Christians, indeed, asserted that they were 
Tn all respects this severer sentiment! set up for scorn and contempt. 


was mitigated by time. The civil uses of 


Even Theodosius exempts such statues 


_ Sculpture were generally recognised. The | as were admirable as works of art from the 


Christian emperors erected, or permitted common sentence of destruction.* \ This 
the adulation of their subjects to erect,| doubtful toleration of profane art gradu- 
their statues in the different cities. That ally gave place to the admission of art 
of Constantine on the great porphyry col- | into the service of Christianity. 


umn, with its singular and unchristian con- 


Sculpture, and, still more, Painting, were 


fusion of attributes, has been already no- | received as the ministers of Christian pie- 
ticed. Philostorgius indeed asserts that! ty, and allowed to lay their offerings at 
this statue became an object of worship | the feet of the new religion. 


even to the Christians; that lights and 


But the commencement of Christian art 


frankincense were offered before it, and | was slow, timid, and rude. It long pre- 
that the image was worshipped as that of | ferred allegory to representation, the true 
ἃ tutelary god.{ The sedition in Antioch | and legitimate object of art.t It expand- 
arose out of insults to the statues of the! ed but tardily during the first centuries, 
emperors,{ and the erection of the statue | from the significant symbol to the human 
of the empress before the great church in| form in colour or in marble. 


Constantinople gave rise to the last dis- 


The cross was long the primal, and 


turbance, which ended in the exile of Chry- | even the sole,symbol of Christianity—the 
sostom.§ The statue of the emperor was cross in its rudest and its most artless 
long the representative of the imperial form—for many centuries elapsed before 
presence ; it was reverenced in the capi-|the image of the Saviour was wrought 
tal and in the provincial cities with hon-' upon {τ} It was the copy of the com- 
ours approaching to adoration.|| ‘The mon instrument of ignominious execution 
modest law of Theodosius, by which he) in all its nakedness ; and nothing, indeed, 
attempted to regulate these. ceremonies, |.so powerfully attests the triumph of Chris- 
of which the adulations bordered at times tianity as the elevation of this, which to 
on impiety, expressly reserved the exces-| the Jew and to the heathen was the ba- 
sive honours, sometimes lavished on these sest, the most degrading, punishment of 
Statues at the public games, for the su-| the lowest criminal,t the proverbial ter- 


preme θῖν. 
The statues even of the gods were con- 


* A particular temple was to remain open, in qua 


demned with some reluctance and re- | simulacra feruntur posita, artis pretio quam divin- 


morse. No doubt iconoclasm, under the 


itate metienda.—Ood. Theod., xvi., 10, 8. 


t+ Rumohr., Italienische Forschungen, i., p. 158. 


first edicts of the emperors, raged in the! We want the German words andeutung (allusion or 
provinces with relentless violence. \ Yet | suggestion, but neither conveys the same forcible 
Constantine, we have seen, did not scru-| sense), and darstellung, actual representation or 


placing before the sight. The artists who employ 
refers to encaustic painting. The Apostolic Con-| the first can: only address minds already furnished 


stitutions reckon a maker of idols with persons’ of with the key to the symbolic or allegoric form. 
infamous character and profession, viii , 32. Imitation (the genuine object of art) speaks to all 
* Placuit picturas in ecclesid esse non debere, ne | mankind. 


quod colitur et adoratur, in parietibus depingatur.— 


1 The author has expressed in a former work his 


Can. xxxvi. impression on this most remarkable fact in the his- 


t P. 305. Philostorg., ii., 17. . 
1 P. 396. ὁ Ῥι 404. |, 


tory of Christianity. 


‘In one respect it is impossible now to conceive 


|] Et yap βασιλέως ἀπόντος εἰκὼν ἀναπληροῖ | the extent to which the apostles of the crucified Je- 


χώραν βασιλέως, καὶ προσκυνοῦσιν ἄρχοντες καὶ 
ἱερομηνίαι ἐπιτελοῦνται, καὶ ἄρχοντες ὑπαντῶσι, 
καὶ δῆμοι: προσκυνοῦσιν οὐ πρὸς τὴν σάνιδα βλέπ- 


sus shocked 8}} the feelings of mankind. The pub- 
lic establishment of Christianity, the adoration of 
a 
the cross of Christ an indelible and inalienablé 


ges, the reverence of nations, has thrown around 


ahh 4 ἀλλὰ πρὸς τὸν χαρακτῆρα τοῦ βασιλέως, sanctity. No effort of the imagination can dissi- 
οὐκ ἐν TH φύσει ϑεωρουμένου ἀλλ᾽ ἐν γραφῇ παρα- ] pate the illusion of dignity which has gathered 
decxvuuévov.—Joann. Damascen., de Imagin, orat.| round it; it has been so long dissevered from all 
9. Jerome, however (on Daniel), compares it to| 115 coarse and humiliating associations, that it can- 
the worship demanded by Nebuchadnezzar. Ergo | not be cast back and desecrated into its state of op- 
judices et principes seculi, qui imperatorum statu- probrium and contempt. ‘To the most daring unbe- 
as adorant et imagines, hoc se facere intelligent | liever among ourselves it is the symbol—the absurd 
quod tres pueri facere nolentes placuére Deo. and irrational, he may conceive, but still the an- 

4 They were to prove their loyalty by the respect | cient and venerable symbol—of a powerful and in- 
which they felt for the statue in their secret hearts : | fluential religion. What was it to the Jew and the 
excedens cultura hominum dignitatum Superno nu-| heathen? the basest, the most degrading punish- 


mini reservetur.—Cod. Theod., xv., 4, 1. 


4 


ment of the lowest criminal, the proverbial terror 


” 


* ἂν 


* 


2 


, 
» 


" ~~ 


ror of the wretched slave, into an object | engravings on seals, or on lamps, or glass 
for the adoration of ages, the reverence of | vessels, and, before long, in relief on mar- 


" HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. | - 


nations. “The glowing language of Chry-| ble, or in paintings on the walls of the 


sostom expresses the universal sanctity 
of the cross in the fourth century. ‘“ No- 
thing so highly adorns the imperial crown 
as the cross, which is more precious than 
the whole world: its form, at which, of 
old, men shuddered with horror, is now 
so eagerly and emulously sought for, that 
it is found among princes and subjects, 
men and women, virgins and matrons, 
slaves and freemen ; for all bear it about, 
perpetually impressed on the most hon- 
ourable part of the body, or on the fore- 
head, as on a pillar. ‘This appears in the 
‘Sacred temple, in the ordination of priests: 
it shines again on the body of the Lord, 
and in the mystic supper. It ‘is to be 
seen everywhere in honour, in the private 
house and the public market-place, in the 
desert, in the highway, on mountains, in 
forests, on hills, on the sea, in ships, on 
islands, on our beds and on our clothes, 
on our arms, in our chambers, in our ban- 
quets, on gold and silver vessels, on gems, 
in the paintings of our walls, on the bodies 
of diseased beasts, on human bodies pos- 
sessed by devils, in war and peace, by day, 
by night, in the dances of the feasting, and 
the meetings of the fasting and praying.” 


‘In the time of Chrysostom the legend of 


the Discovery of the True Cross was gen- 
erally received. ‘“ Why do all men vie 
with each other to approach that true 
cross on which the sacred body was cru- 
cified’? Why do many, women as well as 
men, bear fragments of it set in gold as 
ornaments round their necks, though it 
was the sign of-condemnation? Even em- 
perors have laid aside the diadem to take 
up the cross.”* 

A more various symbolism gradually 
grew up, and extended to what 
approached nearer to works of 
Its rude designs were executed in 


of the wretched slave! It was to them what the 
most despicable and revolting instrument of public 
execution is to us. Yet to the cross of Christ men 
turned from deities, in which were imbodied every 
attribute of strength, power, and dignity,” &c.— 
Milman’s Bampton Lectures, p. 279. 

* Chrysost., Oper., vol. 1.7 p. 57, 569. See in 
Miinter’s work (p. 68, et seq), the varlous forms 
which the cross assumed, and the fanciful. notions 
concerning it. ; Gis 

Ipsa species crucis quid est nisi forma quadrata 
mundi? Oriens de vertice fulgens; Arcton dextra 
tenet; Auster in lwv4 consistit; Occidens sub plan- 
tis formatur. Unde Apostolus dicit: ut sciamus, 
quz sit altitudo, et latitudo, et longitudo, et proftin- 
dum. Aves quando volant ad zthera, formam cru- 
cis assumunt; homo. natans per aquas, vel orans, 
forma crucis vehitur. Navis per maria antenna 
cruci similatA sufflatur. Thau litera signum salu- 
tis et crucis describitur.—Hieronym. in Marc., xv. 


Symbolism. 


art. 


cemeteries. ‘Ihe earliest of these were 


the seal rings, of which many now exist, © 


with Gnostic symbols and inscriptions, 
These seals were considered indispensa- 
ble in ancient housekeeping. ‘The Chris- 
tian was permitted, according to Clem- 
ent of Alexandrea, to bestow on his wife 
one ring of gold, in order that, being 
intrusted with the care of his domestic 
concerns, she might seal up that. which 
might be insecure. But these rings must 
not have any idolatrous engraving, only 
such as might suggest Christian or gentle 
thoughts, the dove, the fish,* the ship, the 
anchor, or the apostolic fisherman fishing 
for men, which would remind them of 
children drawn out of the waters of bap- 
tism.t Tertullian mentions a communion 
cup with the image of the Good Shepherd 
embossed uponit. But Christian symbol- 
ism soon disdained these narrow limits, 
extended itself into the whole domain of 
the Old Testament as well as of the Gos- 
pel, and even ventured at times over the 
unhallowed_ borders of paganism. The 
persons and incidents of the Old Testa- 
ment had all a typical or allegorical refer- 
ence to the doctrines of Christianity. 
Adam asleep, while Eve was taken from 


his side, represented the death of Christ; _ ? 


Eve, the mother of all who are born to 
new life; Adam and Eve with the serpent 
had a latent allusion to the new Adam and 
the Cross. Cain and Abel, Noah and the 
ark, with the dove and the olive branch, the. 
sacrifice of Isaac, Joseph sold by his breth- 
ren as a bondslave, Moses by the burning 
bush, breaking the tables of the law, stri- 
king water from the rock, with Pharaoh 
perishing in the Red Sea, the ark of God, 
Samson bearing the gates of Gaza, Job on 
the dung-heap, David and Goliath, Elijah 
in the car of fire, Tobias with the fish, 
Daniel in the lions’ den, Jonah issuing from 
the whale’s belly or under the gourd, the 
three children in the fiery furnace, Ezekiel 
by the valley of dead bones, were favourite 
subjects, and had all their mystic signifi- 
cance. ‘They reminded the devout wor- 
shipper of the sacrifice, resurrection, and 
redemption of Christ. The direct illustra- 
tions of the New Testament showed the 
Lord of the Church on a high mountain, 
with four rivers, the Gospels, flowing from 


* The ἸΧΘΥΣ, according to the rule of the an- 
cient anagram, meant Ἰησοῦς * aii Θεοῦ Ὑἱὸς 


Σωτὴρ. x 9 
t Clem Alex., Pedagog., ili.,2. . 
Ὁ See Mamachi, De Costumi di’ primitivi Chris- 


tiani, lib. i., c. iv. 


489 


490 


it; the Good Shepherd bearing the lamb,* 
and sometimes the apostles and saints of 
a later time, appeared in the symbols. 
Paganism lent some of her spoils to the 
conqueror.t The Saviour was represent- 
ed under the person and with the lyre of 


Orpheus, either as the civilizer of men, or 


in allusion to the Orphic poetry, which had 
already been interpolated with Christian 
images. Hence also the lyre was the em- 
blem of truth. Other images, particularly 
those of animals, were not uncommon.f 
The Church was represented by a ship, 
the anchor denoted the pure ground of 
faith; the stag implied the hart which 
thirsted after the water-brooks ; the horse 
the rapidity with which men ought to run 
and embrace the doctrine of salvation; 
the hare the timid Christian hunted by 
persecutors ; the lion prefigured strength, 
or appeared as the emblem of the tribe of 
Judah; the fish was an anagram,of the 
Saviour’s name; the dove indicated the 
simplicity, the cock the vigilance, of the 
Christian; the peacock and the. phenix 
the resurrection. 

But these were simple and artless me- 
morials, to which devotion gave all their 
value and significance ; in themselves they 


* There is a heathen prototype (see R. Rochette) 
even for this good shepherd, and one of the earliest 
images is encircled with the ‘‘ Four Reasons,” rep- 
resented by genii with pagan attributes —Compare 
Minter, p. 61. Tombstones, and even inscriptions, 
were freely borrowed. One Christian tomb has 
con published by P. Lupi, inscribed “ Diis Man- 
ibus.” ; 

+ In three very curious dissertations in the last 
volume of the Memoirs of the Academy of Inscrip- 
tions on works of art in the catacombs of Rome, M. 
Raoul Rochette has shown how much, either 
through the employment of heathen artists, or their 
yet imperfectly unheathenized Christianity, the 
Christians borrowed from the monumental decora- 
tions, the symbolic figures, and even the inscrip- 
tions of heathenism. M. Rochette says, ‘‘ La phys- 
lonomie presque payenne qu’offre la décoration des 
catacombes de Rome,” p.96. The Protestant trav- 
ellers, Burnet and Misson, from the singular mix- 
ture of the sacred and profane in these monuments, 
inferred that these catacombs were common places 
of burial for heathens and Christians. The Roman 
antiquarians, however, have clearly proved the con- 
trary. Μ. Raoul Rochette, as well as M. Rostelli 
(in an Essay in the Roms Beschreibung), considers 
this point conclusively made out in favour of the 
Roman writers Μ. R. Rochette has adduced mon- 
uments in which the symbolic images and the lan- 
guage of heathenism and Christianity are strangely 
mingled tugether. Minter had observed the Jordan 
represented as a river god. 

1 The catacombs at Rome are the chief authori- 
ties for this symbolic school of Christian art.’ They 
are represented in the works of Bosio, Roma Sot- 
teranea, Aringhi, Bottari, and Boldetti But per- 
haps the best view of them, being in fact a very ju- 
dicious and well-arranged selection of the most cu- 
rious works of early Christian art, may be found in 
the Sinnbilder und Kunstvorstellungen der alten 
Christen, by Bishop Munter. 


i¥* v2 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


Ry 


neither had, nor aimed at, grandeur or 
beauty. They touched the soul by the 
reminiscences which they awakened or 
the thoughts which they suggested ; they 
had nothing of that inherent power over 
the emotions of the soul which belongs to 
the higher works of art.* 

Art must draw nearer to human nature 
and to the truth of life before it can ac- 
complish its object. The elements of this 
feeling, even the first sense of external 
grandeur and beauty, had yet to be infu- 
sed into the Christian mind. The pure, 
and holy, and majestic inward thoughts 
and sentiments had to work into form, and 
associate themselves with appropriate vis- 
ible images. This want and this desire 
were long unfelt. ie Bibb 

-The person of the Saviour was a subject 
of grave dispute among the old- person of 
er fathers. Some took the ex- the Saviour. 
pressions of the sacred writings ina literal 
sense, and insisted that his outward form 
was mean and unseemly. Justin Martyr 
speaks of his want of form and comeli- 
ness.t Tertullian, who could not but be 
in extremes, expresses the same sentiment 
with his accustomed vehemence. The 
person of Christ wanted not merely Divine 
majesty, but even human beauty.{ Clem- 
ent of Alexandrea maintains the same 
opinion.§ But the most curious illustra- 
tion of this notion occurs in the work of 
Origen against Celsus. In the true spirit 
of Grecian art and philosophy, Celsus de- 
nies that the Deity could.dwell in a mean 
form or low stature. Origen is embar- 

* All these works in their different forms are in 
general of coarse and inferior execution. ‘The fune- 
real vases found in the Christian cemeteries are of 
the lowest style of workmanship. The senator 
Buonarotti, in his work “ De’ Vetri Cemeteriali,” 
thus accounts for this: “‘Stettero sempre lontane 
di quelle arti, colle quali avessero potuto-correr pe- 
ricolo di contaminarsi colla idolatria, e da cio avven- 
ne, che pochi, o niuno di essi si diede alla pittura e 
alla scultura, le quali aveano per oggetto principale 
di rappresentare le deita, e le favole de’ gentili. 
Sicche volendo i fedeli adornar con simboli devoti i 
loro vasi, erano forzati per lo pit a valersi di arte- 
fici inesperti, e che professavano altri mestieri.”— 
See Mamachi, vol. 1., p. 275. Compare Rumohr, 
who suggests other reasons for the rudeness of the 
earliest Christian relief, in. my opinion, though by 
no means irreconcilable with this, neither so simple 
nor satisfactory.— Page 170. 

+ Τὸν ἀειδῆ καὶ ἄτιμον ddvevta.—Dial. cum 
Triph., 85 and 88, 100. 

+ Quodcumgue illud corpusculum sit, quoniam 
habitum, et quoniam conspectum sit, si inglortius, si 
ignobilis si inhonorabilis ; meus erit Christus ete 
— Sed species ejus inhonorata, deficiens ultra 
omnes homines.—Contr. Marc., ii., 17. Ne aspec- 
tu quidam honestus.—Adv. Judwos,c.14. Etiam 
despicientium formam ejus hec erat vox. Adeonec 
humane honestatis corpus fuit, nedum ceelestis 
claritatis—De Carn. Christi, c. 9. 

ὁ Padagog., ii, 1. Ψ 


wv 


να. — ἐκνυν.. ὉὉὦ 


7% 
. HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


rassed with the argument; he fears to re- 
cede from the literal interpretation of Isai- 
ah, but endeavours to soften it off, and 
denies that it refers to lowliness of stature, 
or means more than the absence of noble 
form or pre-eminent beauty. He then tri- 
umphantly adduces the verse of the forty- 
fourth Psalm, “ Ride on in thy loveliness 
and in thy beauty.’’* 

But as the poetry of Christianity ob- 
tained more full possession of the human 
mind, these debasing and: inglorious con- 
ceptions were repudiated by the more 
vivid imagination of the great writers in 
the fourth century. The great principle 
of Christian art began to awaken ; the out- 
working, as it were, of the inward purity, 
beauty, and harmony, upon the symmetry 
of the external form, and the lovely ex- 
pression of the countenance. Jerome, 
Chrysostom, Ambrose, Augustine, with 
one voice assert the majesty and enga- 
ging appearance of the Saviour. The lan- 
guage of Jerome first shows the sublime 
conception which was brooding, as it were, 
in the Christian mind, and was at length 
slowly to develop itself up to the gradual 
perfection of Christian art. “ Assuredly 
that splendour and majesty of the hidden 
divinity, which shone even in his human 
countenance, could not but attract at first 
sight all beholders.” ‘Unless he had 
something celestial in his countenance 
and in his look, the apostles would not 
immediately have followed him.”t “The 
heavenly Father foreed upon him in full 
streams that corporeal grace, which is dis- 
tilled drop by drop upon mortal man.” 
Such are the glowing expressions of Chry- 
sostom.{ Gregory of Nyssa applies all 
the vivid imagery of the Song of Solomon 
to the person as well as to the doctrine 
of Christ; and Augustine declares that 
“ He was beautiful on his mother’s bosom, 
beautiful in the arms of his parents, beau- 
tiful upon the cross, beautiful in the sep- 
ulchre.” : 

There were some, however, who, even 


* ’Aunyavov γὰρ ὅτῳ ϑεῖον τι πλέον τῶν ἄλ- 
λων προσῆν, μηδὲν ἀλλοῦ διαφέρειν: τοῦτο δὲ οὐ- 
δὲν ἄλλου διεφέρεν, ἀλλ᾽, ὡς φασὶ, μικρὸν, καὶ 
δυσειδές, καὶ ἀγενὲν 7v.—Celsus apud Origen, vi., 
75. Origen quotes the text of the LXX., in which 
it is the forty.fourth, and thus translated: Τῇ 
ὡρωιὸτητὶ cov, καὶ τῳ κάλλει σου καὶ ἔντεινόν, 
καὶ κατευοδοῦ, καὶ βασίλευε. 

+ Certe fulgor ipsa δὲ majestas divinitatis occul- 
te, que etiam in humana facie relucebat, ex primo 
ad se venientes trahere poterat aspectu. — Hie- 
ronym. in Matth., c. ix., 9. 

Nisi enim habuisset et in vultu quiddam et in 
oculis sidereum, nunquam eum statim secuti fuis- 
sent apostoli.—Epist. ad Princip. Virgimem. 

1 In Psalm xliv. 


491 


at this and to a much later period, chiefly 
among those addicted to monkish auster- 
ity, who adhered to the older opinion, as 
though human beauty were something 
carnal and material. St. Basil interprets 
even the forty-fourth Psalm in the more 
austere sense. Many of the painters 
among the Greeks, even in the eighth cen- 
tury, who were monks of the rule of St. 
Basil, are said to have been too faithful 


to the judgment of their master, or per- 


haps their rude art was better qualified to 
represent a mean figure, with harsh out- 
line and stiff attitude, and a blackened 
countenance, rather than majesty of form 
or beautiful expression. Such are the 
Byzantine pictures of this school. The 
harsh Cyril of Alexandrea repeats the as- 
sertion of the Saviour’s mean appearance, 
even beyond the ordinary race of men, 
in the strongest language.* ‘This contro- 
versy proves decisively that there was no 
traditionary type which was admitted to 
represent the human form of the Saviour. 
The distinct assertion of Augustine, that 
the form and countenance of Christ were 
entirely unknown, and painted with every 
possible variety of expression, is conclu- 
sive as to the West.t In the East we 
may dismiss at once as a manifest fable, 
probably of local superstition, the statue 
of Christ at Cwsarea Philippi, represent-— 
ing him in the act of healing the woman 
with the issue of blood.{ But there can 
be no doubt that paintings, purporting to ~ 
be actual resemblances of Jesus, of Péter, 
and of Paul, were current in the time of 
Kusebius in the East,§ though we are dis- 


* ᾿Αλλὰ τὸ εἶδος αὐτοῦ ἄτιμον, ἐκλείπον παρὰ 
πᾶντας τοὺς υἱοὺς τῶν ἀνθρώπων.--- 6 Nud. Noe., 
lib. 11... t. 1., p. 43. 

+ Qua fuerit ille facie nos penitus ignoramus: 
nam et ipsius Dominic facies carnis innumerabil- 
ium cogitationem diversitate variatur et fingitur, 
que tamen una erat, quecunque erat.—De ‘I'rin., 
lib. vii., 6. 4, 5. - : 

The Christian apologists uniformly acknowledge 
the charge that they have no‘altars or images.— 
Miuuc. Fel. Octavius, x., p. 61. Arnob., vi., post 
init. Origen contra Celsum, viii., p. 389. _Com- 
pare Jablonski (Dissertatio de Origine Imaginum 
Christi, opuscul., vol. ili., p. 377), who well argues 
that, consistently with Jewish manners, there could 
not have been any likeness of the Lord. Compare 
Pearson on the Creed, vol. ii, p. 101. 

t Euseb., H. E, vii., 18, with the Excursus of 
Heinichen. These were probably two bronze fig- 
ures, one of a kneeling woman in the act of sup- 
plication, the other the upright figure of a man, 
probably of a Cesar, which the Christian inhabi- 
tants of Cesarea Philippi transformed into the Sa- 
viour and the woman in the Gospels: Τοῦτον δὲ 
τὸν ἀνδριᾶντα etxova τοῦ Ἰησοῦ φέρειν ἔλεγον. 
Eusebius seems desirous of believing the ‘story. 
Compare Miinter. ‘pea 

ὁ Ὅτε καὶ τῶν ᾿Αποστόλων τῶν αὐτοῦ τὰς εἰ- 
κόνας Παύλου καὶ Πέτρου καὶ αὐτοῦ δὴ τοῦ Χρισ- 


. 


492 


inclined to receive the authority of a later 
writer, that Constantine adorned his new 
city with likenesses of Christ and his 
apostles. 

The earliest images emanated, no doubt, 
Earliest from the Gnostic sects, who not 
images merely blended the Christian and 
Gnostic. pagan, or Oriental notions on their 
gems and seals, engraved with the mys- 
terious Abraxas, but likewise, according 
to their eclectic system, consecrated small 
golden or silver images of all those ancient 
sages whose doctrines they had adopted, 
or had fused together in their wild and 
various theories. The image of Christ 
appeared with those of Pythagoras, Pla- 
to, Aristotle, and probably some of the 
Eastern philosophers.* ‘The Carpocra- 
tians had painted portraits of Christ; and 
Marcellina,t a celebrated female heresi- 
arch, exposed to the view of the Gnostic 
Church in Rome the portraits of Jesus 
and St. Paul, of Homer, and of Pythago- 
ras. Of this nature, no doubt, were the 
images of Abraham, Orpheus, Pythagoras, 
Apollonius, and Christ, set up in his pri- 
vate chapel by the Emperor Alexander 
Severus. These small images,{ which 
varied very. much, it should seem, in form 
and feature, could contribute but little, if 


τοῦ διὰ χρωμάτων ἐν γραφαῖς ᾿ σωζομένας ἰστο- 
υήσαμεν.----ἰὈ]ά., loc. cit. 

~ Treneus, de Her., i., c. 84 (ed. Grabe). 
phan., Heres., xxvii.,6. Augustin., de Heresib, c. 
vii. These images of Christ were said to have 
been derived from the collection of Pontius Pilate. 
Compare Jablonski’s Dissertation. 

+ Marcellina lived about the middle of the sec- 
ond century, or a little later. 

+-Of these Gnostic images of Christ there are 
only two extant which seem to have some claim 
to authenticity and antiquity. Those from the col- 
lection of "Chifflet are now considered to represent 
Serapis. One is:mentioned by M. Raoul Rochette 
(Types Imitatifs de |’Art-du Christianisme, p. 21); 
it is a stone, a kind of tessera with a head of Christ, 


Epi- 


"ἃ young and beardless, in profile, with the word 


ΧΡΙΣΤῸΣ in Greek characters, with the symbolic 
fish below. This is in the collection of M. Fortia 
d’Urban, and is engraved as a vignette to M. R. 
Rochette’s essay, The other is adduced in an 
««Eissay on Ancient Coins, Medals, and Gems, as 
illustrating the Progress of Christianity in the Ear- 
ly Ages, by the Rev. R. Walsh.” This isa kind of 


-medal or tessera of metal, representing Christ as 


he is described in the apocryphal letter of Lentulus 
to the Roitman senate.—Fabric., Cod. Apoc. Nov. 
Test., p. 301, 302. It has a head of Christ, the 


hair parted over the forehead, covering the ears, 


and falling over the shoulders ; the shape is long, 
the beard short and thin. [Ὁ has the name of Jesus 
in Hebrew, and has not the nimbus or glory. , On 
the reverse is an inscription in a kind of cabalistic 
character, of which the sense seems to be, “ ΤῊΘ 
Messiah reigns in peace ; God ismade man.” This 
may possibly be a tessera of the Jewish Christians, 
or modelled after a Gnostic type of the first age of 
Christianity.—See Discours sur les Types Imitatifs 


dc Art du Christianisme, par M. Raoul Rochette. | 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


in the least, to form that type of super- 
human beauty, which might mingle the 
sentiment of human sympathy with rev- 
erence for the divinity of Christ. Chris- 
tian art) long brooded over such feelings 
as those expressed by Jerome and Augus- 
tine before it could even attempt to im- 
body them in marble or colour.* 

The earliest pictures of the Saviour seem 
formed on one type or model. a4. caniest 
They all represent the oval coun- portraits of 
tenance, slightly lengthened ; the’ ‘be Saviour. 
grave, soft, and melancholy, expression ; 
the short, thin beard; the hair parted on 
the forehead into two long masses, which 
fall upon the shoulders.t Such are the 
features which characterize the earliest 
extant painting, that on the vault of the 
cemetery of St. Callistus, in which the 
Saviour is represented as far as his bust, 
like the images on bucklers in use among 
the Romans.{ A later painting, in the 
chapel of the cemetery of St. Pontianus, 
resembles this τὸ and a third was discover- 
ed in the catacomb of St. Callistus by Bol- 
detti, but unfortunately perished while he 
was looking at it, in the attempt to remove 
it from the wall. The same countenance 
appears on some, but not the earliest, re- 
liefs on the sarcophagi, five of which may 
be referred, according to M. Rochette, to 
the time of Julian. Of one, that of Oly- 
brius, the date appears certain—the close 
of the fourth century. ‘These, the paint- 
ings at least, are no doubt the work of 
Greek artists ; and this head may be con- 
sidered the archetype, the hieratic model, 
of the Christian conception of the Saviour, 


* 1 must not omit the description of the person 
of our Saviour in the spurious Epistle of Lentulus 
to the Roman senate (see Fabric., Cod. Apoc. N. 
T.,1., p 301), since it is referred to constantly by 
writers on early Christian art. ,But what proof is 
there of the existence of this epistle previous to the 
great eraof Christian painting? ‘*‘ He was a man 
of tall and well-proportioned form; the counte- 
nance severe and impressive, so as to move the be- 
holders at once to love and awe. His hair was of 
the colour of wine (vinei coloris), reaching to his 
ears, with no. radiation (sine radiatione, without 
the nimbus), and standing up from his ears, clus- 
tering and bright, and flowing down over his shoul- 
ders, parted on the top according-to the fashion of 
the Nazarines. The brow high and open; the 
complexion clear. with a delicate tinge of red; the 
aspect. frank and pleasing ; the nose and mouth 
finely formed; the beard thick, parted, and the 
colour of the hair; the eyes blue, and exceedingly 
bright. * * * His countenance was of wonder- 
fal sweetness and gravity ; no one ever saw him 
laugh, though he was seen to weep ; his stature 
was tall; the hands and arms finely formed * * 
He was the most beautiful. cf the sons of men.” 

+ Raoul Rochette, p. 26. } ἫΝ 

+ Bottari, Pitture e Sculture Sacre, vol. ii., tav. 
1xx.,.p. 42: 


§ This, however, was probably ‘repainted inthe 


| time of Hadrian I. 


͵ . 
- φ a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


imagined in the East, and generally adopt- 
ed in the West.* 

Reverential awe, diffidence in their own 
The Father Skill, the still dominant sense of 
rarely repre- the purely spiritual nature of the 
x Parental Deity,t or perhaps the 
exclusive habit of dwelling upon the Son 
as the direct object of religious worship, 
restrained early Christian art from those 
attempts to which we are scarcely recon- 
ciled by the sublimity and originality of 
Michael Angelo and Raffaelle. Even the 
symbolic representation of the Father was 
rare. Where.it does appear, it is under 
the symbol of an immense hand issuing 
from a cloud, or a ray of light streaming 
from heaven, to imply, it may be presumed, 
the creative and all-enlightening power of 
the Universal Father.{ 

The Virgin Mother could not but offer 
herself to the imagination, and 
be accepted at once as the sub- 
ject cf Christian art. As respect for the 
mother of Christ deepened into reverence, 
reverence bowed down to adoration; as 
she became the mother of God, and her- 
self a deity in popular worship, this wor- 
ship was the parent, and, in some sense, 
the offspring of art. Augustine. indeed 
admits that the real features of the Virgin, 
as of the Saviour, were unknown.$ But 
the fervent language of Jerome shows 
that art had already attempted to shadow 
out the conception of mingling virgin pu- 


The Virgin. 


* Rumobr considers a statue of the Good Shep- 
herd in the Vatican collection, from its style, to be 
a very early work; the oldest monument of Chris- 
tian sculpture, prior to the urn of Junius Bassus, 
which is of the middle of the fourth century.—Ital- 
ienische Forschungen, vol. i., p. 168. In that usu- 
ally thought the earliest, that of Junius Bassus, 
Jesus Christ is represented between the apostles, 
beardless, seated in a curule chair, with a roll half 
unfolded in his hand, and under his feet a singular 
representation of the upper part of a man holding 
an inflated veil with his two hands, a common '‘sym- 
bol or personification of heaven.—See R. Rochette, 
p. 43, who considers these sarcophagi anterior to 
the formation of the ordinary type 

{ Compare Munter, ii., p 49. Nefas habent docti 
ejus (ecclesiz Catholica) credere Deum figura hu- 
mani corporis terminatuin.—Angust., Conf, vi., 11. 

+ M. Emeric David (in his Discours sur les An- 
ciens Monumens, to which | am indebted for much 
information) says that the French artists had first 
the heureuse hardiesse of representing the eternal 
Father under the human form. ‘The instance to 
which he alludes is contained in a Latin Bible (in 


τ the Cabinet Imperial) cited by Montfaucon, but not 


fully described. It was presented to Charles the 
Bold by the canons of the Church of ‘Tours, in the 
year 850. This period is far beyond the bounds of 
ry present history. See, therefore, E. David, p. 43, 


§ Neque enim novimus faciem Virginis Marie.— 
Augustin., de T'rin,, 6. viii. Ut ipsa corporis facies 
simulacrum fuerit mentis, figura probitatis—Am- 
-bros., de Virgin., lib. ii., ς. 2 

vat ; 


493 


rity and maternal tenderness, which as yet 
probably was content to dwell within the 
verge of human nature, and aspired not to 
mingle a divine idealism with these more 
mortal feelings. The outward form and 
countenance could not but be the image 
of the purity and gentleness of the soul 
within: and this primary object of Chris- 
tian art could not but give rise to one of 
its characteristic distinctions from that of 
the ancients, the substitution of mental 
expression for purely corporeal beauty. 
As reverential modesty precluded all ex- 
posure of the form, the countenance was 
the whole picture. ‘This reverence, in- 
deed, in the very earliest specimens of the 
art, goes still farther, and confines itself 
to the expression of composed and digni- 
fied attitude. ‘lhe artists did not even 
venture to expose the face. With one ex- 
ception, the Virgin appears veiled on the 
reliefs on the sarcophagi and in the earli- 
est paintings. The oldest known picture 
of the Virgin is in the catacomb of St. Cal- 
listus, in which she appears seated. in the 
calm majesty and in the dress of a Roman 
matron. It is the transition, as it were, 
from ancient to modern art, which still 
timidly adheres to its conventional type 
of dignity.* But in the sarcophagi, art 
has. already more nearly approximated 
to its most exquisite subject: the Virgin 
Mother is seated, with the Divine child in 
her lap, receiving the homage of the wise 
men. She is still veiled,t but with the 
rounded form and grace of youth, and a 
kind of sedate chastity of expression in 
her form, which seems designed to convey 
the feeling of gentleness and holiness. 
Two of these sarcophagi, one in the Vati- 
can collection and one at Milan, appear to 
disprove the common notion that the rep- 
resentation of the Virgin was unknown 
before the Council of Ephesus.f © ‘That 
council, in its zeal against the doctrines of 
Nestorius, established, as it has been call- 
ed, a hieratic type of the Virgin, which is 
traced throughout Byzantine art and on 
the coins of the Eastern empire. ‘fhis 
type, however, gradually degenerates with 
the darkness of the age and the decline 
of art. The countenance, sweetly smiling 
on the child, becomes sad and severe. 
The head is bowed with a gloomy and al- 
most sinister expression, and the coun- 
tenance gradually darkens, till it assumes 

* Bottari, Pitture ὁ Sculture Sacre, τὶ iii, p. 111, 
tav 218. See Mémoire de M. Raoul Rochette, 
Académ. Inscript. ᾿ 

+ In Bottari there is one picture of the Virgin 
with the head naked, t. ii, tav. exxvi. The only 
one known to M. Raoul Rochetie. , 

t A.D. 431. This opinion is maintained by Bas- 
nage and most Protestant writers. 


υΥ * a » * 
δὲ. φ iw 


494 


a black colour, and seems to adapt itself 
in this respect to.an ancient tradition. At 
length even the sentiment of maternal af- 
fection is effaced, both the mother and 
child become stiff and lifeless, the child is 
swathed in tight bands, and has an expres- 
sion of pain rather than of gentleness or 
placid infancy.* 

The apostles, particularly St. Peter and 
St. Paul, were among the ear- 
lier objects of Christian art. 
Though ‘in one place St. Augustine as- 
serts that the persons of the apostles were 
equally unknown with that of the Saviour, 
in another he acknowledges that their pic- 
tures were exhibited on the walls of many 
churches for the edification of the faithful. 
In a vision ascribed to Constantine, but of 
very doubtful authority, the emperor is 
said to have recognised the apostles by 
their likeness to their portraits.[. A pic- 
ture known to St. Ambrose pretended to 
have come down by regular tradition from 
their time: and.» Chrysostom, when he 
studied the writings, gazed with reverence 
on what he supposed an authentic like- 
ness of the apostle.§. Paul and Peter ap- 
pear on many of the oldest monuments, 
on the glass vessels, fragments of which 
have been discovered, and on which Je- 
rome informs us that they were frequent- 
ly painted. hey are found, as we have 
seen, on the sarcophagus of Junius Bas- 
sus, andon many others. In one of these, 
in which the costume is Roman, St. Paul 
is represented bald, and with the high nose, 
as he is deseribed in the Philopatris,]|| 
which, whatever its age, has evidently ta- 
ken these personal peculiarities of the 
apostle from the popular Christian repre- 
sentations. St. Peter has usually a single 
tuft of hair on his bald forehead.q] Each 
has a book, the only symbol of his apos- 
tleship. St. Peter has neither the sword 


The Apostles. 


* Compare Raoul Rochette, p. 35.. M. R. Ro- 
chette observes much similarity between the pic- 
tures of the Virgin ascribed to St. Luke, the tradition 
of whose painting ascends to the sixth century, and 
the Egyptian works which represent Isis nursing 
Horus. [ have not thought it necessary to notice 
farther these palpable forgeries, though the object, 
in so many places, of popular worship. 

Τ St. Augustine in Genesin, cap. xxii. Quod plu- 
ribus locis simul eos (apostolos) cum illo (Christo) 
pictos viderint * * * in pictis parietibus.—Augus- 
tin., de Cons. Eyang., i., 16. 

1 Hadrian I., Epist. ad Imp. Constantin. et Iren., 
Concil: Nic., 1), art. 2. , 

§ These two assertions rest on the authority of 
Joannes Damascenus, de Imagin. 

|| Τιαλιλαῖος ἀναφαλαντίας Exippivoc.—Philop., 
ο. Xil. 

4 Miinter says the arrest of St. Peter (Acts, xii., 
1, 3) is the only subject from the Acts of the Apos- 
tles among the monuments in the catacombs, ii., p. 
104. : 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


northe keys. Inthe same relief, St. John 
and St. James are distinguished from the 
rest by their youth; already, therefore, 
this peculiarity was established which pre- 
vails throughout Christian art. The maj- 
esty of age, and a kind of dignity of pre- 
cedence, are attributed to Peter and Paul, 
while all the grace of youth, and the most 
exquisite gentleness, are centred in John. 


They seem to have assumed this peculiar. 


character of expression even before their 


distinctive symbols. 


It may excite surprise that the acts of 
martyrdom did not become the Martyrdom 
subjects of Christian art till far not repre- 
down in the dark ages. That of Se? 
St. Sebastian, a relief in terra-cotta, which 
formerly existed in the cemetery of St. 
Priscilla, and that of Peter and Paul in the 
Basilica Siciniana, assigned by Ciampini 
to the fifth century, are rare exceptions, 
and both of doubtful date and authenticity. 
The martyrdom of St. Felicitas and her 
seven children, discovered in 1812 im a 
small oratory within the baths of Titus, 
cannot be earlier, according to M. R. Ro- 
chette, than the seventh century.* 

The absence of all gloomy or distress- 


‘ing subjects is the remarkable and charac- 
teristic feature in the catacombs of Rome © 


and in all the earliest Christian art. A 
modern writer, who has studied'the sub- 
ject with profound attention, has express- 
ed himself in the following language :t 


“The catacombs destined for the sepulture 


of the primitive Christians, for a long time 
peopled with martyrs, ornamented during 
times of persecution, and under the do- 
minion of melancholy thoughts and pain- 
ful duties, nevertheless everywhere rep- 


resent in all the historic parts of these 


paintings only what is noble and exalted,} 
and in that which constitutes the purely 
decorative part only pleasing and graceful 
subjects, the images of the Good Shepherd, 
representations of the vintage, of the agape, 
with pastoral scenes: the symbols are 
fruits, flowers, palms, crowns, lambs, 
doves, in a word, nothing but what excites 
emotions of joy, innocence, and charity. 
Entirely occupied with the celestial rec- 
ompense which awaited them after the 
trials of their troubled life, and often of so 
dreadful a death, the Christians saw in 
death, and even in execution, only a way 
by which they arrived at this everlasting 


* Raoul Rochette, in Mém. de Académie, tom. 
xiil., p. 165. 


ἘΜ. D’Agincourt says, ‘Il n’a rencontré lui- 


méme dans ces souterrains aucune trace de nul au- 
tre tableau (one of barbarian and late design had be- 
fore been noticed) représentant une martyre.— Hist. 
de |’Art. } Des traits héroiques, 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 495 


happiness ; and far from associating with 
this image that of the tortures or priva- 
tions which opened Heaven before them, 
they took pleasure in enlivening it with 
smiling colours, or presented it under 
agreeable symbols, adorning it with flow- 
ers and vine leaves ; for it is thus that the 
asylum of death appears to us in the 
Christian catacombs. There is no sign 
of mourning, no token of resentment, no 
expression of vengeance ; all breathes soft- 
ness, benevolence, charity.”* 

It may seem even more singular, that 
Thecru- the passion of our Lord himself 
cifix. remained a subject interdicted, as 
it were, by awful reverence. . The cross, 
it has been said, was the symbol of Chris- 
tianity many centuries before the cruci- 
fix.t It was rather a cheerful and con- 
solatory than a depressing and melan- 
choly sign; it was adorned with flowers, 
with crowns, and precious stones, a pledge 
of the resurrection rather than a memo- 
rial of the passion. ‘The catacombs of 
Rome, faithful to their general character, 
offer no instance of a crucifixion, nor does 
any allusion to such a subject of art occur 
in any early writer.{ Cardinal-Bona gives 
the following as the progress of the gradu- 
alchange. 1. Thesimplecross. 11. The 
cross with the lamb at the foot of it.§ TIT. 
Christ clothed on the cross, with hands up- 
lifted in prayer, but not nailed to it. IV. 
Christ fastened to the cross with four nails, 
still living, and with open eyes. He was 
not represented as dead till the tenth or 
eleventh century.|| There is some reason 
to believe that the bust of the Saviour first 
appeared on the cross, and afterward the 
whole person; the head was at first erect, 
with some expression of divinity ; by de- 
grees it drooped with the agony of pain, 
the face was wan and furrowed, and death, 
with all its anguish, was imitated by the 
utmost power of coarse art; mere corpo- 


* Gregory of Nyssa, however, describes the he- 
roic acts of St. Theodorus as painted on the walls 
of a church dedicated to that saint. ‘“ ‘fhe painter 
had represented his sufferings, the forms of the ty- 
rants like wild beasts.’ The fiery furnace, the death 
of the athlete of Christ; all this had the painter ex- 
pressed by colours, as in a book, and adorned the 
temple like a pleasant and blooming meadow. The 
dumb walls speak and edify.” : 

+ See, among other authorities, Miinter, page 77 
Fs ist unmoglich das alter der erucifixe genau zu 
bestirnmen. Vor dem Ende des siebenten Jahrhun- 
derts kannte die Kirche sie nicht. 

t The decree of the Quinisextan Council in 695, 
is the clearest proof that up to that pertod the Pas- 
sion had been usually represented under a symbolic 
or allegoric form. het 
ὁ Sub cruce sanguinea niveo. stat Christus in agno, 

Agnus ut innocua injusto datur bostia letho 

᾿ Paul. Nolan, Epist. 32 
|| De cruce Vaticana. 


real suffering without sublimity, all that 
was painful in truth, with nothing that 
was tender and affecting. This change 
took place among the monkish artists of 
the lower empire. Those.of the order of 
St. Basil introduced it into the West; and 
from that time these painful images, with 
those of martyrdom, and every scene of 
suffering which could be imagined by the 
gloomy fancy of anchorites, who could 
not be moved by less violent excitement, 
spread throughout Christendom. It re- 
quired all the wonderful magic of Italian 
art to elevate them into sublimity. 

But early Christian art, at least that of 
painting, was not content with these sim- 
pler subjects; it endeavoured to represent 
designs of far bolder and more intricate 
character. Among. the earliest. descrip- 
tions of Christian painting is that Paintings 
in the Church of St. Felix, by Pau- at Nola. 
linus of Nola.* Τὴ the colonnades of that 
church were painted scenes from the. Old 
Testament: among them were the Pas- 
sage of the Red Sea, Joshua and the ark 
of God, Ruth and her sister-in-law, one 
deserting, the other following her parent 
in fond fidelity ;t an emblem, the poet 
suggests, of mankind, part deserting, part 
adhering to the true faith. ‘The object of 
this embellishment of the churches was to 
beguile the rude minds of the illiterate 
peasants. who thronged with:no very ex- 
alted motives to the altar of St. Felix; to 
preoccupy their minds with sacred sub- 
jects, so that they might be less eager for 
the. festival banquets, held with sueh mu- 
nificence and with such a concourse of 
strangers, at the tomb of the martyr.t 


* The lines are not without merit: 


Quo duce Jordanes suspenso gurgite fixis 
Fluctbus, a facie divine restitit arce 

Vis nova divisit flumen: pars amne recluso 
Constitit, et fluvit pars in mare Japsa cucurrit, 
Destituitque vadum : et validus qui forte ruebat 
Impetus, adstrictas alté cumulaverat undas, 

Et tremula compage minax pendebat aque mons 
Despectaus transire pedes arente profundo ; 

Et medio pedibus siccis in flamine fert? 
Pulverulenta homihum duro vestigia limo. 


If this description is drawn from the.picture, not 
from the book, the painter must have possessed 
soine talent for composition and for landscape, as 
well as for the drawing of figures. 


1 Quum geminz scindunt sese in diversa sorores ; 

Ruth sequitur sanctam, quam deserit Orpa, paren- 
tem: 

Perfidiam nurus una, fidem nurus altera monstrat. 

Prefert una Deum patriz, patriam altera vite. 


t Forte reqniratur, quanam ratione gerendi 
Sederit hee nobis sententia, pingere sanctas 
Raro more domos animantibus adsimulatis. 
jade: - turba frequentior hic est 
Rusticitas non casta fide, neque docta legendi. 
Hee adsueta did sacris servire profanis, : 
Ventre Deo, tandem convertitur advena Christo, 


ve 


" ἂν. 


ὸ ‘Sor 
3 


¥ 

496 , HISTORY OF 
These gross and irreligious desires led 
them to the church; yet, gazing on these 
pictures, they would not merely be awa- 
kened by these holy examples to purer 
thoughts and holier emotions; they would 
feast their eyes instead of their baser ap- 
petites ; an involuntary sobriety and for- 
getfulness of the wine-flagon would steal 
over their souls; atall events, they would 
have less time to waste in the indulgence 
of their looser festivity. 

Christianity has been the parent of mu- 
sic, probably as far surpassing in 
skill and magnificence the composi- 
tions of earlier times, as the cathedral or- 
gan the simpler instruments of the Jewish 
or pagan religious worship. But this per- 
fection of the art belongs to a much later 
period in Christian history. Like the rest 
of its service, the music of the Church no 
doubt grew up from a rude and simple to 
a more splendid and artificial form. The 
practice of singing hymns is coeval with 
Christianity ; the hearers of the apostles 
sang the praises of God; and the first 


Music. 


CHRISTIANITY. 


which had filled the spacious courts of 
the ‘Temple, perhaps answered to those 
sad strains which had been heard beside 
the waters of the Euphrates, or even de- 
scended from still earlier times of glory, 
when Deborah or when Miriam struck 
their harps to the praise of God? ‘This 
question it must be impossible to answer ; 
and no tradition, as far as we are aware, in- 
dicates the source from which the Church 
borrowed her primitive harmonies, though 
the probability is certainly in favour of 
their Jewish parentage. 

The Christian hymns of the primitive 
churches seem to have been confined to 
the glorification of their God and Saviour.* 
Prayer was. considered the language of 
supplication and humiliation; the soul 
awoke, as it were, in \the hymn to more 
ardent expressions of gratitude and love. 
Probably the music was nothing more at 
first than a very simple accompaniment, 
or no more than the accordance of the 
harmonious voices; it was the humble 
subsidiary ofthe hymn of praise, not itself 


sound which reached the pagan ear from 
the secluded sanctuaries of Christianity 
was the hymn to Christ as God... The 
Church succeeded to an inheritance of re- 
ligious lyrics as unrivalled in the history 
of poetry as of religion.* The Psalms 
were introduced early into the public ser- 
vice; but at first, apparently, thongh some 
psalms may have been sung on appropri- 
ate. occasions—the 73d, called the morn- 
ing, and the 141st, the evening psalm—the 
whole Psalter was introduced only as a 
part of the Old Testament, and read in 
the eourse of the service.+ With the po- 
etry did they borrow the music of the 
Synagogue? Was this music the same 


Dum sanctorum opera in Christo miratur aperta. — 

Propterea visom nobis opus utile, totis 

Felicis domibus pictura illudere sancta: 

Si forte attonitas hee per spectacula mentes 

Agrestum caperet fucata coloribus umbra, 

Qu super exprimitur literis; ut littera monstret 

Quod manus explicuit: dumque omnes picta vicis- 

sim ͵ 

Ostendunt releguntque sibi,-vel tardius esce 

Sunt memores, dium grata oculis jejunia pascunt: 

Atque 118. 86. melior stupefactis inserat usus, 

Dum fatht pictura famem ; sanctasque legenti 

Historias castorum operum subrepit bonestas 

FExemplis inducta piis; potatur hianti 

Sobrietas, nimil subeunt oblivia vini: 

Dumque diem ducunt spatio majore tuentes, 

Pocula rareseunt, quia per mirantia tracto 

Tempore, jam pauce superant epulantibus hore: 
In Natal. Felic., Poema xxiv. 


*The Temple Service, in Lightfoot’s works, 
gives the psalms which were appropriate to each 
day. The author has given a slight outline of this 
hymnology of the Temple in the Quarterly Review, 
vol xxxvill., page 20. “ ᾿ 

+ Bingham’s Antiquities, vol. xiv.,p.1,5. ~~ 


the soul-engrossing art. Nothing could 

be more simple than the earliest recorded 
hymns; they were fragments from the 
Scripture: the doxology, ‘‘ Glory be to the 
Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy 
Ghost;” the angelic hymn, “ Glory be to 

God on high;” the cherubic hymn from 
Rev., iv., 12, ‘Holy, holy, holy;” thehymn | 
of victory, Rev., xv., 3, “ Great and mar- 
vellous are thy works.” It was not im- _ 
probably the cherubic hymn to which 
Pliny alludes as forming part of the Chris- 
tian worship. ‘The “ Magnificat” and the 
‘““Nune Dimittis” were likewise sung from 
the earliest ages; the Halleluia was the | 
constant: prelude or burden of the hymn.f 
Of the character of the music few and im- 
perfect traces are found. In Egypt the 
simplest form long prevailed. In the mo- 
nastic establishments one person arose 
and repeated the psalm, the others sat 
around in silence on their lowly seats, _ 
and responded, as it were, to the psalm — δ 
within their hearts.§ In Alexandrea, by 


* Gregory of Nyssa defines a hymn, ὕμνος ἐστὶν 
ἡ ἐπὶ τοῖς ὑπάρχουσιν ἡμῖν ἀγαθοῖς ἀνατιθεμένη 
τῷ Θεῷ εὐφημία.-- 5.66 Psalm ii. 
+ Private individuals wrote hymns to Christ. 
which were generally sung.—Euseb., H. E., v., 28; 
vii., 24. 
1 © Alleluia novis balat ovile choris. 
Paulin., Epist. ad Sev., 12, 
Curvorum hine chorus helciariorum, 
Responsantibus Alleluia ripis, 
Ad Christum levat amnicum celeusma. 
Sid. Apoll., lib. ii, ep. 10. 
ὁ Absque eo qui dicturus in medium Psalmos | | 
: 


| surrexerit. cuncti sedilibus bumillimis insidentes, 


ad vocem psallentis omni cordis intentione depend 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


the order of Athanasius, the psalms were 
repeated with the slightest possible inflec- 
tion of voice; it could hardly be called 
Singing.* Yet, though the severe mind of 
Athanasius might disdain such subsidia- 
ries, the power of music was felt to be a 
dangerous antagonist in the great religious 
contest. Already the soft and effeminate 
singing intro d by Paul of Samosata 
had estranged the hearts of many worship- 
pers, and his peculiar doctrines-had stolen 
into the soul, which had been melted by 
the artificial melodies introduced by him 
into the service. The Gnostic hymns of 
Bardesanes and Valentinus,} no doubt, had 
their musical accompaniment. Arius him- 
self had composed hymns which were 
sung to popular airs; and the streets of 
Constantinople, even to the time of Chry- 
sostom, echoed at night to those seductive 
strains which denied or imperfectly ex- 
pressed the Trinitarian doctrines. Chry- 
sostom arrayed a band of orthodox chor- 
isters, who hymned the coequal Father, 
Son, and Holy Ghost. The Donatists in 
Africa adapted their enthusiastic hymns 
to wild and passionate melodies, which 
tended to keep up and inflame, as it were, 
with the sound of the trumpet, the fanati- 
cism of their followers. , 

The first change in the manner of sing- 
ing was the substitution of singers,§ who 
became a separate order in the Church, 
for the mingled voices of all ranks, ages, 
and sexes, which was compared by the 
great reformer of Church music to the glad 
sound of many waters.|| 

The antiphonal singing, in which the 
different sides of the choir answered to 
each other in responsive verses, was first 
introduced at Antioch by Flavianus and 


_ Diodorus. Though, from the form of some 


of the psalms, it is not improbable that this 
system of alternate chanting may have 


ent.—Cassian., Instit., ii., 12. Compare Euseb., H. 
E., ii., 17. Apostol. Constit., xx , 57. 

* Tam modico flexu vocis faciebat sonare lec- 
torem Psalmi, ut pronuncianti vicinior esset quam 
canenti.—August., Confess, x., 33. 

+ Tertull., de Carn. Christi, 17. 

t Donatiste nos reprehendunt, quod sobrié psal- 
limus in ecclesia divina cantica propbetarum, cum 
ipsi ebrietates suas ad canticum psalmorum humano 
ingenio compositorum, quasi tubas exhortationis in- 
flamnmant.—Augustin., Confess. 

§ Compare Bingham. The leaders were called 
ὑποθολεῖς. : 

|| Responsoriis psalmorum, cantu mulierum, vir- 
ginum, parvularum consonans undarum fragor re- 
sultat.—Ambros., Hexam., I. tii, c. 5. 


358 


497 


| prevailed in the Temple service, yet the 


place and the period of its appearance in 
the Christian Church seem to indicate a 
different source. « The strong resemblance 
which it bears to the chorus of the Greek 
tragedy might induce a suspicion that, as 
it borrowed its simple primitive music 
from Judaism, it may, in turn, have de- 
spoiled paganism of some of its lofty re- 
ligious harmonies. : 

This antiphonal chanting was introdu- 
ced into the West* by Ambrose, and if it 
inspired, or even fully accompanied the 
Te Deum, usually ascribed to that prelate, 
we cannot calculate too highly its effect 
upon -the Christian mind. So beautiful 
was the musie in the Ambrosian service, 
that the sensitive conscience of the young 
Augustine took alarm, lest, when he wept 
at the solemn music, he should be yield- 
ing to the luxury of sweet sounds rather 
than imbibing the devotional spirit of the 
hymn.t Though alive to the perilous 
pleasure, yet he inclined to the wisdom of 
awakening weaker minds to piety by this 
enchantment of their hearing. ‘The Am- 
brosian chant, with its more simple and 
masculine tones, ‘is still preserved in the 
Church of Milan; in the rest of Italy it was 
superseded by the richer Roman chant, 
which was introduced by the pope, Grego- 
ry the Great.t 


* Augustin., Confess., ix., 7, 1. How, indeed 
could it be rejected, when it had received the au- 
thority of a vision of the blessed Ignatius, who was 
said to have heard the angels singing, in the antipho- 
nal manner, the praises of the Holy Trinity.—Socr., 
H. E.,'vi., 8. ᾿ , 

πως lachrymas meas quas fudi ad 
cantus ecclesiz , In primordiis recuperate fidei 
mez, et nunc ipsum cum moveor, non cantu sed re- 
bus que cantantur, cum liquid§ voce et conveni- 
entissimé modulatione cantantur ; magnam instituti 
hujus utilitatem rursus agnosco. Ita fluctuo inter 
periculum voluptatis et experimentum salubritatis 
magisque adducor, non auide irretractabilem sen- 
tentiam proferens cantandi consuetudinem appro- 
bare in ecclesia : ut per oblectamenta aurium, in- 
firmior animus in affectum pietatis assurgat.— Au- 
gustin , Confess., x., 33, 3. Compare ix., 7, 2. 

1 The cathedral chanting of England has proba 
bly almost alone preserved the ‘ancient antiphenal 
system, which has been discarded for a greater va 
riety of instruments, and a more complicated sys 
tem of music, in the Roman Catholic service. This, 
if I may presume to offer a judgment, has Jost as 
much in solemnity and majesty as it has gained in 
richness and variety. Ce chant.(le Plain Chant) 
tel qu’il_subsiste encore aujourd’hui est un reste 
bien défiguré, mais bien precieux de l’ancienne mu- 
sique, qui aprés avoir passé par la main des barbares 
n’a pas perdu encore toutes ses premicrés beautés, 
--Millm, Dictionnaire des Beaux Arts. 


" 


«ὦ 


«9 


᾿ 7 
498 HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY, __ 
f f * $ 

i : ᾿ 

Ὶ “% 
CHAPTER V . 

Cl «Ὁ a 
CONCLUSION. \ Ἢ j 


Tuus, then, Christianity had become the 
religion of the Roman world: it had not, 
‘indeed, confined its adventurous spirit of 
moral conquest within these limits ; yet it 
is in the Roman world that its. more ex- 
tensive and permanent influence, as well 
as its peculiar vicissitudes, can alone be 
followed out with distinetness and accu- 
racy. : se 
Paganism was slowly expiring ; the hos- 
tile edicts of emperors, down to the final 
legislation of Justinian, did but accelerate 
its inevitable destiny. Its temples, where 
not destroyed, were perishing by neglect 
and_peaceful decay, or, where their solid 
structures defied these less violent assail- 
ants, stood deserted and overgrown with 
weeds ; the unpaid priests ceased to offer 
not only sacrifice, but prayer, and were 
gradually dying out as a separate order of 
men. Its philosophy lingered in a few 
cities of Greece, till the economy or the 
religion of the Eastern emperor finally 
closed its schools. : 

The doom of the Roman empire was 
likewise sealed: the horizon on all sides 
was dark with overwhelming clouds ; and 
the internal energies of the empire, the 
military spirit, the wealth, the imperial 
power, had crumbled away. The exter- 
nal imity was dissolved ces 
were gradually severed from the main 
body; the Western empire was rapidly 
sinking, and the Eastern falling into hope- 
less decrepitude. Yet, though her exter- 
nal polity was dissolved, though her visible 
throne was prostrate upon the earth, Rome 
still ruled the mind of man,and her secret 
domination maintained its influence until 
it assumed a new outward form: Rome 
survived in her laws, in her municipal in- 
stitutions, and in that which lent a new 


sanctity and reverence to her laws, and 


gave strength by their alliance with its 
own peculiar polity to the municipal insti- 
tutions—in her adopted religion. The 
empire of Christ succeeded to the empire 
of the Cesars. 

When it ascended the throne, assumed 
a supreme and universal dominion over 
mankind, became the legislator, not mere- 
ly through public statutes, but in all the 
minute details of life, discharged, in fact, 
almost all the functions of civil as well 
as of religious government, Christianity 


could not but appear under a new form, 
and wear a far different appearance than 
when it was the humble and private faith 
of a few scattered individuals, or only spir- 
itually connected communities. As it was 
about to enter into its next period of con- 
flict with barbarism, and undergo the temp- 
tation of unlimited power, however it might 
depart from its primitive simplicity, and 
indeed recede from its genuine spirit, it is 


impossible not to observe how wonder- 


fully (those who contemplate human af- 
fairs with religious minds may assert how 
providentially) it adapted itself to its alter- 
ed position, and the new part which it was 
to fulfil in the history of man. We have 
already traced this gradual change in the 
formation of the powerful hierarchy, in 
the development of monasticism, the es- 
tablishment of the splendid and imposing 
ritual; we must turn our attention, before 
we close, to the new modification of the 
religion itself. 

Its theology now appears wrought out 
into a regular, multifarious, and, as it were, 
legally established system. 

It was the consummate excellence of 
Christianity that it blended in christian 
apparently indissoluble union re- theology of 
ligious and moral perfection. Its “15 Period. 
essential doctrine was, in its pure theory, 
inseparable from humane, virtuous, and 
charitable disposition. Piety to God, as 
he was impersonated in Christ, worked 
out, as it seemed, by spontaneous energy 
into Christian beneficence. 

But there has always been a strong pro- 
pensity to disturb this nice balance: the 
dogmatic part of religion, the province of 
faith, is constantly endeavouring to set it- 
self apart, and to maintain a separate ex- 
istence. Faith, in this limited sense, as- 
pires to be religion. This, in general, 
takes place soon after the first outburst, 
the strong impulse of new and. absorbing 
religious emotions. Ata later period mo- 
rality attempts to stand alone, without the 
sanction or support of religious faith. 
One half of Christianity is thus perpetual- 
ly striving to pass for the whole, and to 
absorb all the attention, to the neglect, to 
the disparagement, at length to a total 
separation from its heaven-appointed con- 
sort. The multiplication and subtle re- 
finement of theologic dogmas, the en- 


τ 


Ὄ HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


te 


grossing interest excited by some dom- 
inant tenet, especially if they are associa- 
ted with, or imbodied in, a minute and 


rigorous ceremonial, tend to satisfy and 


lull the mind into complacent acquiescence 


in its own religious completeness. But 


Separation directly as religion began to 


Δ ΜΕΊΩ consider itself something apart, 
Christian SOmething exclusively dogmatic 
™orals 


or exclusively ceremonial, an ac- 
ceptance of certain truths by the belief or 
the discharge of certain ritual observances, 
the transition from separation to hostility 
was rapid and unimpeded.* No sooner 
had Christianity divorced morality as its 
inseparable companion ‘through life, than 
it formed an unlawful connexion with any 
dominant passion; and the strange and 
unnatural union of Christian faith with 
ambition, avarice, cruelty, fraud, and even 
license, appeared in strong contrast with 
its primitive harmony of doctrine and in- 
ward disposition. ‘Thus ina great degree, 
while the Roman world became Christian 
in outward worship and in faith, it remain- 
ed heathen, or éven at some periods worse 
than in the better times of heathenism, as 
to beneficence, gentleness, purity, social 
virtue, humanity, and peace. This ex- 
treme view may appear to be justified by 
the general survey of Christian society. 
never com- Yet, in fact, religion did not, ex- 
a cept at the darkest periods, so 
completely insulate itself, or so entirely 
recede from its natural alliance with mo- 
rality, though it admitted, at each of its 
periods, much which was irreconcilable 
with its pure and original spirit. Hence 
the mingled character of its social and po- 
litical, as well as of its personal influences. 
The union of Christianity with monachism, 
with sacerdotal domination, with the mil- 
itary spirit, with the spiritual autocracy of 
the papacy, with the advancement at one 
time, at another with the repression, of 
the human mind, had each their darker 
and brighter side, and were in succession 
(however they departed from the primal 
and ideal perfection of Christianity) to a 
certain extent beneficial, because appa- 
rently almost necessary to the social and 
intellectual development of mankind at 
each particularjuncture. So, for instance, 
military Christianity, which grew out of 
the inevitable incorporation of the force 
and energy of the barbarian conquerors 
with the sentiments and feelings of that 
age, and which finally produced chivalry, 
was in fact the substitution of inhuman- 
ity for Christian gentleness, of the love 
of glory for the love of peace. Yet was 


* Compare p. 460. 


_ 


>. 


499 


this indispensable to the preservation of 
Christianity in its contest with its new 
eastern antagonist. Unwarlike Christian- 
ity would have been trampled under foot, 
and have been in danger of total extermi- 
nation by triumphant Mohammedanism. 
Yet even when its prevailing character 
thus stood in the most direct Christian 
contrast with the spirit of the feelings nev- 
Gospel, it was not merely that “ Unc 
the creed of Christianity in its primary 
articles was universally accepted, and a 
profound devotion filled the Christian 
mind ; there was likewise a constant un- 
dergrowth, as it were, of Christian feel- 
ings, and even of Christian virtues. No- 
thing.could contrast more strangely, for 
instance, than St. Louis slaughtering Sar- 


acens and heretics with his remorseless ~ 


sword, and the Saviour of mankind by the 
Lake of Galilee ; yet, when this dominant 
spirit of the age did not preoccupy the 
whole soul, the self-denial, the purity, 
even the gentleness of such a heart bore 
still unanswerable testimony to the genu- 
ine influence of Christianity. Our illus- 
tration has carried us far beyond the bound- 
aries of our history ; but already the great 
characteristic distinction of later Christian 
history had begun to be developed: the 
severance of Christian faith from Chris- 
tian love, the passionate attachment, the 
stern and remorseless maintenance of the 
Christian creed, without or with only a 
partial practice of Christian virtue, or even 
the predominance of a tone of mind in 
some respects absolutely inconsistent with 
genuine Christianity. While the human 
mind in general became more rigid in ex- 
acting, and more timid in departing from, 
the admitted doctrines of the Church, the 
moral sense became more dull and. obtuse 
to the purer and more evanescent beauty 
of Christian holiness. In truth, it was so 
much more easy, in a dark and unreason- 
ing age, to subscribe, or at least to render 
passive submission to, certain defined doc- 
trines, than to work out these doctrines in 
their proper influences upon the life, that 
we deplore, rather than wonder at, this 
substitution of one half of the Christian 
religion for the whole. Nor are we as- 
tonished to find those who were constant- 
ly violating the primary principles of 
Christianity, fiercely resenting, and, if 
they had the power, relentlessly avenging, 
any violation of the integrity of Christian 
faith. Heresy of opinion, we have seen, 
became almost the only crime against 
which excommunication pointed et n- 
ders: the darker and more baleft esy 
of unchristian passions, which assumed 


the language of Christianity, was either 


500 


too general to be detected, or at best en- 
countered with feeble and impotent re- 
monstrance. Thus Christianity became 
at the same time more peremptorily dog- 
matic and less influential; it assumed the 
supreme dominion over the mind, while it 
held but an imperfect and partial control 
over the passions and affections. The 
theology of the Gospel was the religion of 
the world; the spirit of the Gospel very 
far from the ruling influence of mankind. 

Yet even the theology maintained its 
dominion, by in some degree accommo- 
dating itself to the human mind. [0 be- 
came to a certain degree mythic in its ehar- 
acter and polytheistic in its form. 

Now had commenced what may be 
Mythic age Called, neither unreasonably, nor 
of Christi- unwarrantably, the mythic age 
PP of Christianity. As Christianity 
worked downward into the lower classes 
of society, as it received the rude and ig- 
norant barbarians within its pale, the gen- 
eral effect could not but be that the age 
would drag down the religion to its level, 
rather than the religion elevate the age to 
its own lofty standard. 

The connexion between. the world of 
man and a higher order of things had been 
re-established; the approximation of the 
Godhead to the human race, the actual 
presence of the Incarnate Deity ‘upon 
earth, was universally recognised ; trans- 
cendental truths, beyond the sphere of 
human reason, had become the primary 
and elemental principles of hunian belief. 
A strongly imaginative period was the 
necessary consequence of this extraordi- 
nary impulse. It was the reign of 
faith; of faith which saw or felt the 
divine, or, at least, supernatural agency 
in every occurrence of life and in every 
impulse of the heart ; which offered itself 
as the fearless and undoubting interpreter 
of every event; which comprehended in 
its domain the past, the present, and the 
future, and seized upon the whole range 
of human thought and knowledge, upon 
history, and even natural philosophy, as 
its Own patrimony. 

This was not, it could not be, that more 
sublime theology of a rational and intel- 
lectual Christianity ; that theology which 
expands itself as the system of the uni- 
verse expands upon the mind; and from 
its wider acquaintance with the wonderful 
provisions, the more manifest and _all- 

rovident forethought of the Deity, ac- 
nowledges with more awe-struck and ad- 
miring, yet not less fervent and grateful, 
homage the beneficence of the Creator; 
that Christian theology which reverential- 
ly traces the benignant providence of God 


Faith. 


hs ie 


a 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


over the affairs of men; the all-ruling " ἃ- 
ther; the Redeemer revealed at the ap- 
pointed time, and publishing the code of 
reconciliation, holiness, peace, and ever- 


lasting life; the Universal Spirit, with its. 


mysterious and confessed, but untraceable _ 


energy, pervading the kindred spiritual 
part of man. The Christian of these days 
lived in a ‘supernatural world, or in a 
world under the constant, and felt, and dis- 
cernible interference of supernatural pow- 
er. God was not only present, but as- 
serting his presence at every instant ; not 
merely on signal occasions and for im- 
portant purposes, but on the most insig- 
nificant acts and persons. The course of 


‘nature was beheld, not as one great uni- 


form and majestic miracle, but as a suc- 
cession of small, insulated, sometimes 
trivial, sometimes contradictory interpo- 
sitions, often utterly inconsistent with the 
moral and Christian attributes of God. 
The Divine power and goodness were not 
spreading abroad like a genial and equable 
sunlight, enlightening, cheering, vivifying, 
but breaking out in partial and visible 
flashes of influence ; each incident was a 
special miracle; the ordinary emotion of 
the heart was Divine inspiration. Each 
individual had not merely his portion in 
the common diffusion of religious and 
moral’ knowledge. or feeling, but looked 
for his peeuliar and especial shgre in the 
Divine blessing. His dreams came direct 
from heaven; a new system of Christian 
omens sueceeded the old; witchcraft mere- 
ly invoked Beelzebub or Satan instead of 
Hecate; hallowed places only changed 
their tutelary nymph or genius for a saint 
or martyr. 

It is not less unjust to stigmatize in the 
mass as fraud, or to condemn as Imagina- 
the weakness of superstition, than [Ve Slate 
it is to enforce as an essential part human 
of Christianity, that which was the mind. 
necessary development of this state of 
the human mind. The case was this: 
the mind of man had before it a recent 
and wonderful revelation, in which it 
could not but acknowledge the Divine in- 
terposition. God had been brought down, 
or had condescended to mingle himself 
with the affairs of men. But where should 
that faith, which could not but receive 
these high, and consolatory, and reason- 
able truths, set limits to the agency of 
this beneficent power? How should it 
discriminate between that which in its ap- 
parent discrepance with the laws of na- 
ture (and of those laws how little was 
known!) was miraculous, and that which, 
to more accurate observation, was only 
strange or wonderful, or perhaps the re- 


~ 


Ψ 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 501 


sult of ordinary but dimly-seen causes? 
how still more in the mysterious world 
of the human mind, of which the laws are 
still, we will not say in their primitive, 
but, in‘comparison with those of external 
nature, in profound obscurity? If the un- 
derstanding of man was too much dazzled 
to see clearly even material objects ; if, 
just awakening from a deep trance, it be- 
held everything floating before it in a mist 
of wonder, how much more was the mind 
disqualified to judge of its.own emotions, 
of the origin, suggestion, and powers 
of those_ thoughts and emotions which 
still perplex and baffle our deepest met- 
aphysics. ; 

The irresistible current of man’s thoughts 
and feelings ran all one way. It is diffi- 
cult to calculate the effect of that extra- 
ordinary power or propensity of the mind 
to see what it expects to see, to colour 
with the preconceived hue of its own opin- 
ions and sentiments whatever presents it- 
self before it. The contagion of emotions 
or of passions, which in vast assemblies 
may be resolved, perhaps, into a physical 
effect, acts, it should seem, in a more ex- 
tensive manner; opinions and feelings ap- 
pear to be propagated with a kind of epi- 
demic force and rapidity. There were 
some, no doubt, who saw farther, but who 
either dared not, or did not care, to stand 
across the torrent of general feeling. But 
the mass, even of the strongest minded, 
were influenced, no doubt, by the profound 
religious dread of assuming that for an or- 
dinary effect of nature which might be a 
Divine interposition. They were far more 
inclined to suspect reason of presumption 
than faith of credulity. Where faith is the 
height of virtue, and infidelity the depth of 
sin, tranquil investigation becomes crimi- 
nal indifference, doubt guilty skepticism. 
Of all charges, men shrink most sensitive- 
ly, especially in a religious age, from that 
of irreligion, however made by the most 
ignorant or the most presumptuous. The 
clergy, the great agents in the 
maintenance and communication 
of this imaginative religious bias, the as- 
serters of constant miracle in all its vari- 
ous forms, were themselves, no doubt, ir- 
resistibly carried away by the same ten- 
dency. It was treason against their order 
and their sacred duty to arrest or to 
deaden whatever might tend to religious 
impression. Pledged by obligation, by 
feeling, may add by interest, to ad- 
vance religion, most were blind to, all 
closed their eyes against, the remote con- 
sequences of folly and superstition. A 
clergyman who, in a credulous or enthusi- 


The clergy. 


astic age, dares to be rationally pious, is | 


a phenomenon of moral courage. From 
this time, either the charge of irreligion, 
or the not less dreadful and fatal suspicion 
of heresy or magic, was the penalty to be 
paid for the glorious privilege’ of superior- 
ity to the age in which the man lived, or 
of the attainment to a higher and more 
reasonable theology. 

The desire of producing religious im- 
pression was in a great degree Religious 
the fertile parent of all the wild impressions. 
inventions which already began to be graft- 
ed on the simple creed of Christianity. 
That which was employed avowedly with 
this end in one generation, became the 
popular belief of the next. The full growth 
of all this religious poetry (for, though not 
in form, it was poetical in its essence) be- 
longs to, and must be reserved for, a later 
period: Christian history would be incom- 


plete without that of Christian popular 


superstition. , 

But though religion, and religion in this 
peculiar form, had thus swallowed up all 
other pursuits and sentiments, it cannot 
indeed be said that this new mythic or 
imaginative period of the world suppressed 
the development of any strong intellectual 
energy, or arrested the progress of real 
knowledge and improvement. This, even 
if commenced, must have yielded to the 
devastating inroads of barbarism. But in 
truth, however high in some respects the 
civilization of the Roman empire under 
the Antonines ; however the useful, more 
especially the mechanical, arts must have 
attained, as their gigantic remains still 
prove, a high perfection (though degener- 
ate in point of taste, by the colossal solid- 
ity of their structure, the vast buildings, 
the roads, the aqueducts, the bridges, in 
every quarter of the world, bear testimony 
to the science as well as to the public 
spirit of the age), still there is a remark- 
able dearth, at this flourishing period, of 
great names in science and philosophy as: 
well as in literature.* 

Principles may have been admitted, and 
may have begun to take firm pect on 
root, through the authoritative. natural phi- 
writings of the Christian fathers, !9sephy. 
which, after a long period, would prove 
adverse to the free development of natural, 
moral, and intellectual philosophy ; and, 
having been enshrined for centuries as a 
part of religious doctrine, would not easily 
surrender their claims to Divine authority, 
or be deposed from their established su- 
premacy. The Church condemned Galileo 
on the authority of the fathers as.much as 
of the sacred writings, at least on their ir- 


* Galen, as a writer on physic, may be quoted as 
an exception. 


Ω 


02 


refragable interpretation of the Scriptures; 
and the denial of the antipodes by St. Au- 
gustine was alleged against the magnifi- 
cent, but, as it appeared to many, no less 
impious than frantic, theory of Columbus.* 
The wild cosmogonical theories of the 
Gnostics and Manicheans, with the no less 
unsatisfactory hypotheses of the Greeks, 
tended, no doubt, to throw discredit on all 
kinds of physical study,t and to establish 
the strictly literal exposition of the Mosaic 
history of the creation. The orthodox 
fathers, when they enlarge on the works 
of the six days, though they allow them- 
selves largely in allegorical inference, have 
in general in view these strange theories, 
and refuse to depart from the strict letter 
of the history ;f and the popular language, 
which was necessarily employed with re- 
gard to the earth and the movements of 
the heavenly bodies, became established 
as literal and immutable truth. The Bible, 
and the Bible interpreted by the fathers, 
became the code, not of religion only, but 
of every branch of knowledge. If religion 
demanded the assent to a heaven-revealed 
or heaven-sanctioned theory of the phys- 
ical creation, the whole history of man, 
from its commencement to its close, seem- 
ed to be established in still more distinct 
and explicit terms. Nothing was allowed 
for figurative or Oriental phraseology, no- 
thing for that condescension to the domi- 
nant sentiments and state of knowledge, 
which may have been necessary to render 
each part of the sacred writings intelligible 
to that age in which it was composed. 
And if the origin of man was thus clearly 


* It has been said that the best mathematical 
science which the age could command was em- 
ployed in the settlement of the question about’ East- 
er, decided at the Council of Nice. 

+ Brucker’s observations on the physical knowl- 
edge, or, rather, on the professed contempt of phys- 
ical knowledge, of the fathers, are characterized 
with his usual plain good sense. Their general 
language was that of Lactantius: “ Quanto faceret 
sapientius ac verius si exceptione facta diceret caus- 
sas rationesque duntaxat rerum ccelestium seu nat- 
uralium, quia sunt abdite, nesciri posse, quia nullus 
doceat, nec queri oportere, quia inveniri querenda non 
possunt. Qua exceptione interposita et physicos 
admonuisset ne quzrerent ea, que modum exceder- 
ent cogitationis human, et se ipsum calumniz in- 
vidia liberasset, et nobis certe dedisset, aliquid, quod 
sequeremur.”— Div. Instit., iii, 2. See other quo- 
tations to the same effect: Brucker, Hist. Phil., lli., 
p. 357. The work of Cosmas Indicopleustes, edited 
by Montfaucon, is a curious example of the prevail- 
ing notions of physical science. 

1 Compare the Hexaemeron of Ambrose, and 
Brucker’s sensible remarks on the pardonable errors 
of that great prelate. The evil was, not that the 
fathers fell into extraordinary errors on subjects of 
which they were ignorant, but that their errors were 


canonized by the blind veneration of later ages, | 


which might have been better informed. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


revealed, the close of his history was still 
supposed, however each generation passed 
away undisturbed, to be still imminent and 
immediate. The day of judgment was be- 
fore the eyes of the Christian, either in- 
stant or at a very brief interval; it was 
net unusual, on a general view, to discern 
the signs of the old age and decrepitude of 
the world; and every great calamity was 
either the sign or the commencement of 
the awful consummation. Gregory I. be- 
held in the horrors of the Lombard invasion 
the visible approach of the last day ;* and 
it is not impossible that the doctrine of a 


purgatorial state was strengthened by this 
prevalent notion, which interposed only a 
limited space between the death of the in- 
dividual and the final judgment. | 

But the popular belief was not merely a 
theology in its higher sense. 

Christianity began to approach toa poly- 
theistic form, or at least to per- Polytheis- 
mit, what it is difficult to call by tic form or 
any other name than polytheis- Christianity. 
tic, habits and feelings of devotion. It 
attributed, however vaguely, to subordi- 
nate beings some of the inalienable pow- 
ers and attributes of divinity. Under the 
whole of this form lay the sum of Chris- 
tian doctrine; but that which was con- 
stantly presented to the minds of men 
was the host of subordinate, indeed, but 
still active and influential, mediators be- 
tween the Deity and the world of man. 
Throughout (as has already been, and will 
presently be indicated again) existed the vi- 
tal and essential difference between Chris- 
tianity and paganism. It is possible that 
the controversies about the Trinity and 
the divine nature of Christ tended indi- 
rectly to the promotion of this worship, 
of the virgin, of angels, of saints and mar- 
tyrs. The great object of the victorious, 
to a certain extent, of both parties, was 
the closest approximation, in one sense, 
the identification, of the Saviour with 
the unseen and incomprehensible Deity. 
Though the human nature of Christ was 
as strenuously asserted in theory, it was 
not dwelt upon with the same earnestness 
and constancy as his divine. To magni- 
fy, to purify this from all earthly leaven 
was the object of all eloquence: theologic 
disputes on this point withdrew or divert- 
ed the attention from the life of Christ as 
simply related in the Gospels. Christ be- 

* Depopulate urbes, eversa castra, concremate 
ecclesiz, destructa sunt monasteria virorum et foe- 
minarum, desolata ab hominibus predia, atque ab 
omni cultore destituta; in solitudine vacat terra, 
occupaverunt bestiz loca, que prius multitudo hom- 
inum tenebat. Nam in hac terra, in qua nos vivi- 


mus, finem suum mundus jam non nuntiat sed os- 
| tendit.—Greg, Mag., Dial. 1ii., 38. 


HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


came the object of a remoter, a more aw- 
ful adoration. 
to seek out, or eagerly to seize, some 
other more material beings in closer alli- 
ance with human sympathies. ‘The con- 
stant propensity of man to humanize his 
Deity, checked, as it were, by the rece- 
ding majesty of the Saviour, readily clung 
with its devotion to humbler. objects.* 
The weak wing of the common and un- 
enlightened mind could not soar.to the un- 
approachable light in which Christ dwelt, 
with the Father; it dropped to the earth, 
and bowed itself down before some less 
mysterious and infinite object οἵ venera- 
tion. In theory it was always a differ- 
ent and inferior kind of worship; but the 
feelings, especially impassioned devotion, 
know no logic; they pause not; it would 
chill them to death if they were to pause 
for these fine and subtle distinctions. The 
gentle ascent by which admiration, rever- 
Worship of €NCe, gratitude, and love swelled 
saints and up to awe, to veneration, to wor- 
angels. ship, both as regards the feelings 
of the individual and the general senti- 
ment, was imperceptible. Men passed 
from rational respect for the remains of 
the dead,t the communion of holy thought 
and emotion, which might connect the de- 
parted saint with his brethren in the flesh, 
to the superstitious veneration of relics, 
and the deification of mortal men, by so 
easy a transition, that they never discov- 
ered the precise point at which they trans- 
gressed the unmarked and unwatched 
boundary. 

This new polytheizing Christianity, 
therefore, was still subordinate and sub- 


* The progress of the worship of saints and an- 
gels has been fairly and impartially traced by 
Schréeckh, Christliche Kirchengeschichte, viii., 
161, et seg. In the account of the martyrdom of 
Polycarp it is said, ‘‘ we love the martyrs as dis- 
ciples and followers of the Lord.’”? The fathers 
of the next period leave the saints and martyrs in 
e kind of intermediate state, the bosom of Abra- 
ham or Paradise, as explained by Tertullian contr. 
Marc., iv., 34. Apolyct., 47. Compare Ireneus 
ἀν, Her., v.,c.31. Justin, Dial.cum Tryph. Ori- 
gen, Hom. vii., in Levit. Ἶ ἜΚ 

+ The growth of the worship of relics is best 
shown by the prohibitory law of Theodosius (A.D. 
386) against the removal and sale of saints’ bodies. 
“Nemo martyres distrahat, nemo mercetur.”— 
Cod. Theodos.,.ix., 17. Augustine denies that 
worship was ever offered to apostles or saints. 
“Quis autem audivit aliquando fidelium stantem 
sacerdotem ad altare etiam super sanctum corpus 
martyris ad Dei honorem cultumque constructum, 
dicere in precibus, offero tibi sacrificium, Petre, 
vel Paule, vel Cypriane, cum apud eorum memo- 
rias offeratur Deo qui eos et» homines et martyres 
fecit, et sanctis suis angelis ccelesti honore socia- 
vit.’—De Civ. Dei, viil., 27. Compare xvii., 10, 
where he asserts miracles to be performed at their 
tombs. 


The mind began, therefore, 


¥ ᾿ 


503 


sidiary in the theologic creed to the true 
Christian worship, but it usurped its place 


in the heart, and rivalled it in the daily 


language and practices of devotion. ‘The 
worshipper felt and acknowledged his de- 
pendency, and looked for protection: or 
support to these new intermediate beings, 
the intercessors with the great Interces- 
sor. They were arrayed by the general be- 
lief in some of the attributes of the Deity 
—ubiquity ;* the perpetual cognizance of 
the affairs of earth; they could hear the 
prayer ;t they could read the heart; they 
could control nature; they had the power, 
derivative indeed from a higher source, but 
still exercised according to their volition, 
over all the events of the world. Thus 
each city, and almost each individual, be- 
gan to have his tutelar saint ; the presence 
of some beatified being hovered over and 
hallowed particular spots; and thus the 
strong influence of local and particular 
worships .combined again with that great 
universal faith, of which the supreme Fa- 
ther was the sole object, and the universe 
the temple.{ Still, however, this new pol- 


* Massuet, in his preface to Ireneus, p. Cxxxvi., 
has adduced some texts from the fathers of the 
fourth and fifth centuries on the ubiquity of the 
saints and the Virgin. 

+ Perhaps the earliest instances of these are in 
the eulogies of the Eastern martyrs, by Basil, Greg. 
Naz., and Greg. Nyssen. See especially the former 
on the Forty Martyrs. Ὁ ϑλιδόμενος; ἐπὶ τοὺς 
τεσσαράκοντα καταφεύγει, ὁ εὐφραινόμενος, ἐπ’ 
αὐτοὺς ἀποτρέχει, ὁ μὲν ἵνα λύσιν εὕρῃ τῶν δυσ- 
χερῶν, ὁ δὲ ἵνα φυλαχθῇ αὐτῶ τὰ χρηστότερα" 
ἐνταῦθα γυνὴ εὐσεθὴς ὑπέρ τέκνων εὐχομένη κα- 
ταλαμθϑάνεται, ἁὡποδημοῦντι ἀνδρὶ τὸν ἐπᾶνοδον 
αἰτουμενὴ, αῤῥωστοῦντι τὴν owtnplav.—Oper., 
vol. il., p.155. These and similar passages in Greg. 
Nazianzen (Orat. in Basil), and Gregory of Nyssa 
(in Theodor, Martyr.) may be rhetorical orna- 
ments, but their ignorant and enthusiastic hearers 
would not make much allowance for the fervour of 
eloquence. , 

¢ An illustration of the new form assumed by 
Christian worship may be collected from the works 
of Paulinus, who, in eighteen poems, celebrates the — 
nativity of St. Felix, the tutelary saint of Nola. St. 
Felix is at least invested in the powers ascribed to 
the intermediate deities οἵ. antiquity. Pilgrims 
crowded from the whole of the south of Italy to the 
festival of St. Felix. Rome herself, though she 
possessed the altars of St. Peter and St. Paul, pour- 
ed forth her myriads; the Capenian Gate was cho- 
ked, the Appian Way was covered with the devout 
worshippers.* Multitudes came from beyond the 

* “Stipatam multis unam javat urbibus urbem 

Cernere, totque uno compulsa examina voto. 
Lucani coeunt populi, coit Appula pubes. 

Et Calabri, et cuncti, quos adluit wstus uterque, 
Qui leva, et dextra Latium cireumeonat unda. 


Et qua bis ternas Campania Ita per urbes, &c. 
Ipsaque ceelestum sacris procerum monumentis 
Roma Petro Pauloque potens, rarescere gaudet 

Hujus honore diei, porteque ex ore Capen 

Millia profundens ad amicew mania Nolw 

Dimittet duodena decem per millia denso 

Agmine, confertis longe latet Appia turbis,"—Carm. ii, 


504 


ytheism differed in its influence, as well as 
in its nature, from that of paganism. It 
bore a constant reference to another state 
of existence. Though the office of the 
tutelary being was to avert and mitigate 
_ temporal suffering, yet it was still more 
so to awaken and keep alive the senti- 
ments of the religious being. — They were 


sea. St. Felix is implored by his servants to re- 
move the impediments to their pilgrimages from the 
hostility of men or adverse weather ; to smooth the 
seas, and send propitious winds.* There is con- 
stant reference, indeed, to Christt as the source of 
this power, yet the power is fully and explicitly as- 
signed to the saint.. He is the. prevailing interces- 
sor between the worshipper and Christ. But the 
vital distinctions between this paganizing form of 
Christianity and paganism itself is no less manifest 
in these poems. It is not merely as ἃ tutelary deity 
in this life that the saint is invoked; the future 
state of existence and the final judgment are con- 
stantly present to the thoughts of the worshipper. 
St. Felix is entreated after death to bear the souls 
of his worshippers into the bosom of the Redeemer, 
and to intercede for them at the last day.t 
These poems furnish altogether a curious picture 
of the times, and show how early Christian Italy 
began to become what it is. The pilgrims brought 
their votive offerings, curtains and hangings, em- 
broidered with figures of animals, silver plates with 
inscriptions, candles of painted wax, pendent lamps, 
precious ointments, and dishes of venison and other 
meats for the banquet. The following character- 
istic circumstance must not be omitted. The mag- 
nificent plans of Paulinus for building the Church 
of St. Felix were interfered with by two wooden cot- 
tages, which stood in a field before the front of the 
building. At midnight a fire broke out in these 
tenements. The affrighted bishop woke up in trem- 
bling apprehension lest the splendid ‘‘ palace” of the 
saint should be enveloped in the flames. He en- 
tered the church, armed with a piece of the wood of 
the true cross, and advanced towards the fire. The 
flames, which had resisted all the water thrown 
upon them, retreated before the sacred wood; and 
-in the morning everything was found uninjured 
except these two devoted buildings. The bishop, 
without scruple, ascribes the fire to St. Felix: 
“ Sed et hoc Felicis gratia nobis 
Munere consuluit, quod preveniendo laborem 
Utilibus flammis, operum compendia nobis 
Preestitit.”—Carm. ΧΙ 
The peasant, who had dared to prefer his hovel, 
though the beloved dwelling of his youth, to the 
house of God or of his saint, seeing one of the 
buildings thus miraculously in flames, set fire to 
the other. ‘ 
“Kt celeri peragit sua damna furore 
Dilectasque domos, et inanes planget amores.” 


Some of the other miracles at the shrine of St. 
Felix border close on the comic. 


ΓΙ 
* ν “Da currere mollibus undis 
Et famulis famulos.a puppi suggere ventos,”—Carm. i. 


Τ “Sis bonus o felixque tuis, Dominumgue potentem ὦ 
Exores— οἷ 
Liceat placati munere Christi 
Post pelagi fluctus,” ὅζο. y 
t “ Positasque tnorum 
Ante tuos vultus, animas vectare paterno 
Ne renuas gremio Domini fulgentis ad ora, *  * 
Posce ovium grege nos statui, ut sententia summi 
Judicis, hoc quoque nos iterum tibi munere donet.” 
" Carm, iii. 


"1 . 
HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. — ἥ 


.ωὸοὸ 


ἂν 


not merely the agents of the Divine prov- 
idential government on earth, but indisso- 
lubly connected with the hopes and fears 
of the future state of existence. 

The most natural, most beautiful, and 
most, universal, though perhaps worship of 
the latest developed, of these the Virgin. 
new forms of Christianity, that which 
tended to the poetry of the religion, and 
acted as the conservator of art, particu- 
larly of painting, till at length it became 
the parent of that refined sense of the 
beautiful, that which was the inspiration 
of modern Italy, was the worship of the 
Virgin. As soon as Christian devotion 
expanded itself beyond its legitimate ob- 
jects ; as soon as prayers or hymns were 
addressed to any of those beings who had 
acquired sanctity from their connexion 
or co-operation with the introduction of 
Christianity into the world; as soon as 
the apostles and martyrs had become hal- 
lowed in the general sentiment, as more 
especially the objects of the Divine favour 
and of human gratitude, the virgin mother 
of the Saviour appeared to possess pecu- 
liar claims to the veneration of the Chris- 
tian world. The worship of the Virgin, 
like most of the other tenets which grew 
out of Christianity, originated in the lively 
fancy and fervent temperament of the 
East, but was embraced with equal ardour, 
and retained with passionate constancy, 
in the West.* 

The higher importance assigned to the 
female sex by Christianity than by any 
other form at least of Oriental religion, 
powerfully tended to the general adoption 
of the worship of the Virgin, while that 
worship reacted on the general estimation 
of the female sex. Women willingly dei- 

ΡΨ, =! 


* Trenzus, in whose works are found the earliest 
of those ardent expressions with regard to the Vir- 
gin, which afterward kindled into adoration, may, 
in this respoct, be considered as Oriental. I allude — 
to his parallel between Eve and the Virgin, in- 
which he seems to assign a mediatorial character 
to the latter.—Iren., iii., 33, v. 19. on 

The earlier fathers use expressions with regard 
to the Virgin altogether inconsistent with the rev- 
erence of later ages. Tertullian compares her un- 
favourably with Martha and Mary, and insinuates 
that she partook of the incredulity of the rest of 
her own family. ‘ Mater equé non demonstratur 
adhzsisse illi, cum Marthe et Marie alie in com- 
mercio ejus frequentantur. Hoe denique in loco 
(St. Luc., viii., 20) apparet incredulitas eorum cum 
is doceret viam vite,” &c.—De Carne Christi., c. 
7. There is a collection of quotations on this sub- 
ject in Field on the Church, p. 264, et seq. 

The Collyridians, who offered cakes to the Vir- 
gin, were rejected as heretics.—Epiphan., Heres., 
Ixxvill., xxix. Ge 

The perpetual virginity of Mary was an object of 
controversy: as might be expected, it was main- 


tained with unshaken confidence by Epiphanius, — 
Ambrose, and Jerome. ‘ Ι 
+ ‘ 


enn 


΄ aa. 
. ἢ 


fied (we cannot use another adequate 
expression) .this perfect representative of 
their own sex, while the sex was eleva- 
ted in general sentiment by the influence 
ascribed to their all-powerful patroness. 
The ideal of this sacred being was the 
blending of maternal tenderness with per- 
fect purity, the two attributes of the fe- 
male character which man, by his nature, 
seems to hold in the highest admiration 
and love; and this image constantly pre- 
sented to the Christian mind, calling forth 
the gentler emotions, appealing to, and 
giving, as it were, the Divine sanction to, 
domestic affections, could not be without 
its influence. It operated equally on the 
manners, the feelings, and}; im some re- 
spect, on the inventive powers of Christi- 
anity. The gentleness of the Redeemer’s 
character, the impersonation of the Di- 
vine mercy in his whole beneficent life, 
had been in some degree darkened by the 
fierceness of polemic animosity. The re- 
ligion had assumed a sternness and se- 
verity arising from the mutual and re- 


τ eriminatory condemnations. The oppo- 


_ site parties denounced eternal punish- 
ments against each other with such indis- 
criminate energy that hell had become 
almost the leading and predominant im- 
age in the Christian dispensation. This 
advancing gloom was perpetually soften- 
ed; this severity allayed by the impulse 
of gentleness and purity, suggested by 
this new form of worship. It kept in 
38 


᾿ 
> HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY. 


505 


motion that genial under-current of more 
humane feeling; it diverted and estranged 
the thought from this harassing strife to 
calmer and less exciting objects. The 
dismal and the terrible, which so con- 
stantly haunted the imagination, found no 
place during the contemplation of the 
Mother and the Child, which, when once it 
became enshrined in the heart, began to 
take a visible and external form.* The 
image arose out of, and derived its sanc- 
tity from, the general feeling, which in its 
turn, especially when, at a later period, 
real art breathed life into it,strengthened 
the general feeling to an incalculable de- 


‘gree. 


The wider and more general dissemina- 
tion of the worship of the Virgin belongs 
to a later period in Christian history. 

Thus under her new form was Christi- 
anity prepared to enter into the darkening 
period of European history; to fulfil her 
high office as the great conservative prin- 
ciple of religion, knowledge, humani 
and of the highest degree of civilizatio 
of which the age was capable, during cen- 
turies of violence, of ignorance, and of 


barbarism. ; 


* At a later period, indeed, even the Virgin be- 
came the goddess of war: τ᾽ . 
*Ael γὰρ οἵδε τὴν φὺσιν νικᾶν μόνη, 
Tox τὸ πρῶτον, καὶ μάχῃ τὸ δεύτερον. 
Such are the verses of George of Pisidia, relating 
a victory over the Avars. 


be woe Oapctbaas his ἵ 
wo Be ee ata 
at feel} Ἢ δ ὁ}: 
Γ ΠΗ}. oe [Ἴ 


᾿ t “ἢ 
Ἢ ΔῊΝ 


τ 


2 


Asoar or Abgarus, of Edessa, his asserted corre- 
spondence, 276. _ 

Ablutions, emblematic, how far consonant to bap- 
tism, 174. a 

Abraham, the Patriarch, 40, 248, 309. Race of, 
107, 111, 112, 121, 158, 169. The Divine promise 
to, 151. Allusion to Abraham and Sarah, 404. 

Abraxas, the mysterious word, 211. 

Abstinence, 210. 

Abyssinia, Bruce, Salt, and Pearce’s account of 
Christianity in, 37,n. ©. 

Academy of Athens, philosophy of the, 32, 33. 

Achaia, Christianity received in, 164, 181. 

Acts of the African martyrs, 243, n., 255, n. 

——,, the: see New Testament, and Apostles. 

Aderbijan, 43. 

Adiabeni, Helena, queen of the, 41. Her tomb near 
Jerusalem, ib. ‘ 

Edesius, the philosopher, 348. 

Aétius, heresy of, 343, and note, 344, n. 

4Elia, on the site of Jerusalem, Roman regulations 
at, 173, 308. 

élius, prefect at Carthage, 294. 

/£on, or Emanation, doctrine of an, 206. Christ, 
208, 211. 

—-and Protogenes, 200, 205. 

4E£ons, the, of the Gnostics, 200, 209, 212, 215. The 
primary, 210. 

ZEsculapius, Temple of, at A®ge in Cilicia, 308, 

Ethiopia, conversion of, 328. 

Africa, wild mirth of the native tribes of, 24. The 
granary of Rome, 295. Advance of religion 
through Egypt to parts of, 200, 241, 253-255. Its 
desolate condition in the time of Augustine, 420. 

African Jews, the, 153. 

Christians, 241, et seg., 252, 290. 

——— martyrs, 243, et seg., 252, 253-255. 

controversy of the Donatists and their oppo- 
nents, 291, et seq. 

Agabus, famine predicted by, 157. Predicts that 
Paul would be cast into prison, 165. 

Agape, 468, and note. Suppressed, 470. 

Agatho-demon, of the Egyptian mythology, 215. 

Agenario, called Serapion, 35, n. 

Agrippa, Herod, 157. 

———-, the son of Herod Agrippa, educated at 
Rome, 35, 160. Releases Ananias, 166. He 
sends Paul prisoner to Rome, 167. Edict of, 181. 

Ahriman or Arimanes, of the Persian doctrines, 
210, 275. 

Alaric captures the city of Rome, 387. 

Albinus, procurator of Judea, 129, 167, 186. 

------ the consul, his satire on Constantine, 300. 
Irritation of the emperor thereat, 302. 

Alexander, empire of, 21. Policy of,22. Conquest 
of Persia by, 41. 

———-, bishop of Constantinople, 321. 


———-, a Jew of Ephesus, 183. 
————--, the coppersmith, 188. 
————--, patriarch of Alexandrea, 313. He ex- 


pels Arius from the city, 314. 

Alexandrea, Jews of, their religious and philosoph- 
ical notions, 29, 32, n., 40, 41, 48, 96, n., 150, 159, 
203, 227.. Gave birth to two sects of the Gnos- 
tics, 210. The Jews of, frequented the theatres, 
220. Church of, 240, 312, 313, 332, 337, et seq., 
451. Dreadful dissension on account of religion 


INDEX. 


at, 330, 332, 338. Murder of George, the Arian 
bishop of, 359, 3060. Persecutions by Severus at, 
241. [See Athanasius.) Trinitarian controver- 
sy, 312. Temple of Serapis at, 377. Worshi 
of, 378. Statue of, ib. The Temple eel 
379. Insurrection of the pagans under the phi- 
losopher Olympus, 378. 

Aliturus the Jew, 220. ὁ Ἢ 

Allegories, superstitious, 205, 207, 212, 213. Moral 
and religious, 250, et passim. ; 

Allegory, Scripture, by whom considered a moral, 
29, 74. Greek mythology also reduced to, 48, 
346. Religions when clothed in, 61. 

Allegorical Being attributed to Wisdom, Mind, Ag- 
riculture, &c., &c., 200, Persons and incidents 
of the Old Testament said to be allegorical, 489. 

Altar of the ancient Romans erected in camps, 27. 
Of incense of the Temple, 76. Of the Unknown 
God, 179, and note. Christian, 49!, and note. 

Amantius, reasons of his execution, 367. 

Ambrose, St., rebukes Theodosius, 324, 382, 383, 
384. He flies from Milan on occasion of the 
apostacy of Eugenius, 385. Character and fate 
of, 406, et seq. He advocates celibacy, 407. Re- 
demption of captives by, ib. ' His belief in the 
miracles performed at Milan, 410. His denial of 
a church for the use of the heretical Empress 
Justina, 408, 409. His embassy to the usurper 
Maximus, 410. His quarrel with Theodosius, 
411. His dignity displayed, and Theodosius con- 
descends to the prelate, ib. He rebukes Theo- 
dosius for the massacre at Thessalonica, 412, et 
seq. His death, 413. His works, 429, n. ia 
duced chanting into the West, 497. Ὁ m- 
brosial chant, 1b. Υ " 

America, nations of the double continent of, 25, n. 

America, North, savage aborigines of, 24. 

Amphitheatres, death of tians in the, 237. 
Constantine condemns his enemies to the beasts, 
288, n., 299.. The Roman Amphitheatre, 4 et 


seq. ΄ι ᾿ 
Amulets and talismans, 181, 182. 


- 
+ 


J, 
+l» 


Ananias and Sapphira, mysterious and awful death _ 


of, 152. ; “«᾿ ΡΨ 

, a leading Christian of Damascus, 155. 

———-, high-priest at Jerusalem, 161. On acquit- 
tal at Rome, he resumes his office, ib. St. Paul 
boldly confronts, 166. 

Andreas, execution of the eunuch, 263. 

Andrew, St., the apostle, 77, 86, 98. 9 

Angel of the Synagogue, or chazan, defined, 195. 

Angels and Archangels, 44. The Angel of the Cov- 
enant, 49. Missions of Gabriel to Zachariah, 51, 
52. To Elizabeth, 52. Tothe Virgin Mary, 52, 
53. Τὸ St. Peter in prison, 157. Of the Pool of 
Bethesda, 95, n. : : ἢ 

Angel, the material world created by an, 207, 209. 

Angels and devils, later Jewish doctrine of, 206. 

——-—,, the seven, of Gnostic heresy,209. Contest 
of good and bad, 210. 

Anna, prophetical character of, 57. 

Annas, high-priest, 117, 133, 152,n. His son An- 
nus or Ananus, high-priest, 107. His sanguinary 
administration of the Jewish law, 168. 

Annunciation, the, of our Lord, 52. 

Anomeans, the, 343, 344. : 

Antagonist powers of creation and destruction, 


“ὮΨ 


28, 


aes 


“+ 


508 
210. Of light and darkness, 279, et passim. See 
Principles. 


Anthemius, the emperor, 476. 

Anthropomorphism of the Greeks, 26, 178. Of the 
Egyptian monks, 428. 

Antinous, the quinquennial games in- honour of, 223. 

Antipater, son of. Herod, his intrigues and death, 
S9,50y ς 

Antioch, Church of, and name of Christians, 158, 
162, 176, 208, 221, 252, 318, 359, 396, et seg., 397, 
451, n. Anciently a chief seat of heathenism, 
358. Conflagration of the Temple of Apollo, 359. 
Council of, 332. Monasteries near, 396. . — 

———— of Pisidia, 162. 

Antiochus the Great, 41, n. 

Antonia, the, or fortress near the Temple, 136, et 
passim. 

Antonines, the, 217, 218. 

Antoninus, Marcus, 33, 181. 
secution by, ib. - 

-.-- ——- Pius, 218. His reign, 224. His rescript, 
ib., ἢ. His edicts favouring the Christians, 224. 

Antoninus, column of, 235. 

Antonius, Julius, edict of the proconsul, 181. 

Antony, St., a true Christian, 424. Sells his pat- 
rimony for purposes of charity, ib. His aScett- 
cism, 425. Demonology, ib. Self-torture, 426. 
His influence, ib. . 

Anulinus, prefect of Africa, 292, 293. 

Apocalypse, the, 226. ‘ 
Apocryphal books of the Old Testament, 29, 41, n., 
48, n., 53, 227. ‘ Gospel of the Infancy,” 68, n. 
Apollo, oracle of, at Miletus, 260, 261, 265, ‘lem- 

ples of, 284,n. Worship of, 305, 359, 388. Hynin 

_ to, 368. Divination, ib. Oracle of, ib., ἢ. 

Apollonius of. Tyana, 62, 205, 213, 248, 250. 

Apollos, Christian sectarian, 182, 198. 

Apologists, Christian, 223, 226, and note, 233, 482. 
* Apology” of Christianity, 223, 224, 227, 233, 
243, 482. 

Appendix I., Recent Lives of Christ, 59. 

——— IL, Onigin of the Gospels, 63. 

—— III., Influence of the more imaginative In- 
cidents of the early evangelic History on the 
Propagation and Maintenance of the Religion, 66. 

Appii Forum, 184. 

Apostles, twelve, commissioned by Christ, 98. 
Sent to preach throughout Galilee, 102. Their 
uncertainty, 104,n. Their perplexity, 107. Their 
contention who should be greatest, 109, 132. 
Collision of, with the Sadducees, 120. They 
are empowered to work miracles, 125. Their 

’ Divine Master inculcates humility to them, 132. 
Incredulity of, respecting his Resurrection, 148. 
Election of a twelfth, 149. The Holy Ghost im- 

» parts to them the gift of divers languages for the 
advancement of Christianity, 150. The Acts and 
Miracles of the Apostles, 151, 153, n., 159, 161, 
176, 178, et seq., 182, 187, 204, n. Peter and 
others accused, 152. Defended by Gamaliel, ib. 
Their temporary protection, 153, 157. , At the 
intercession of Barnabas, they receive Paul into 
the Christian Church, 156. They preach the Gos- 

pel throughout Judea, 157. Are persecuted by 
 Agrippa,ib. Labours of Paul and Barnabas, 159, 

170. Who are invested with the apostolic mis- 
sion, 161, 164, 175, n. Martyrdom of some of 
the, 157, 168. The apostolic history, 171, ἢ.» 
172, 177, 178, 195, 444, n. Argument on the pe- 
riod of Peter and Paul joining the already estab- 
lished Church in Rome, 171, ἢ. Martyrdom of 
Peter and Paul, 187-189. _ Legends of their mis- 
sions to divers countries, 193. The primitive 
churches collected round an apostolic ‘teacher, 
196, et seq. . The “ Apostolic Constitutions,” 208, 
n. Marriage of, 452,n. Pictures of, 494, . Con- 


stantine’s recognition of, in a vision, ib, Paul]. 


* 


Edict of, 231. Per-. 


INDEX. 


and Peter depicted on many old monuments, 
ib 


ib. 

Aguila, a friend of St. Paul, 164, and note, 171, 182. 

Arabia, Magi of, 59. St Paul’s residence in, 156, 
and note. Jews of, converted, 156. 

Aramaic, dialects of the, 88, 98,n. Vernacular in 
Palestine, 150. é 

Arbogastes, the Gaul, commander of the Roman 
troops, 385. 

Archelaus, his accession on the death of Herod the 
Great, 50, 59, 69. His deposition, 69, 70, 135. 
------ ο- bishop of Cascar, his conference with 

Mani, 282. His “ Acts,” 279, n. 

Architecture of Grecian temples, 306, 3807. Princi- 
ple of the arch and vault, 306. Of Christian 
churches, 307. Later Roman, 308., Church, 
486. Windows, ib. Subdivisions of the building, 
ib. Gothic, 487. « 

Ardeschir Babhegan, king of Persia, 274. : ae 

Areopagus at Athens, 178. ᾿ Ἀν ΧΟ Δ oe Ps 

Aretas, king of Arabia, 72, n., 82, 103, n., 156. i 

Arianism of the Visigoths, 310, ἢ. Disptes on ace 
count of, 330-336, 344, 369. ἕν 

Arians, tenets of this sect, 313. 
faction, 336, 337, 344. τ 

Arius, doctrine of, 313, Driven from Alexandrea, 
314. Writes the “ Thalia,” ibn. Hisdisciples, 
ibn. Is exiled, 317. Recalled by a letter from 
Constantine, 318, 321. His sudden death, 321. 
The Arian faction, 336. ‘ 

Aristides, his apology for Christianity, 223, 235, n. 

Aristobulus, 227, pn. δ διὰ 

Armenia, 374. Jews οὗ, 41,n. War of Maximin 
with, 268. The first Christian kingdom, 275. 

Armenian Church, the, 199, 275. es: 

Arsaces, dynasty of, 273. De ‘ 

Arsenius, Bishop, false rumour of his death, 320, 
426. 

Artaces, funeral of King, 276. ἡ 

Artaxerxes, 275, ἢ. ; 

Articles of the Church of England, 47, n. 

Ascension, the, 149. 

Ascetics, 52,54, 70. Among the Christians, 168, n. 

Asceticism, source of, 201-204, 425. © Purifying 
principle of, 210. Of the Christians of Rome, 
367. 

Asia, rapid fall of the monarchies of, 21. Jewish 
settlements in, 41, and note. Religions of, 42, 
163. 

Asiatic hours of the day, 83, n. 

——— Jews, the, 153, 176. Calamities of, 268. 

Asia Minor, Jews resident in all the provinces of, 
161, 162. Christian churches of, 163, 222,n. St. 
Paul preaches in the cities of, 181, et seq., 186, 
187. Office of Asiarch, 183, n. Progress of 
Christianity in, 199, 224. Orientalism of West- 
ern, 203, 228. Persecutions in, 233, 267, et pas- 
sim. 

Asmonean dynasty, the, 135. See the Herods. 

Astarte, worship of, 42, 247, 359. : 

Astral worship of the East, 25, 42. 

Astrologers banished by Augustus, 35... 

Astrology, its character, 35. Books of, 215. Pre- 
dictions of, 231. » 

Asylum, right of, 400, 

Athanasian Christians, the, 338, et passim. ν 

Athanasius, St., 317, n.,319. Charges against him, 
319. Appears before the Synod of Tyre, 320. 
He justifies himself, ib. Meets the offended Con- 
stantine, ib. New accusations, ib. Banished to 
Treves, 321. Acquittal of, 330. A prominent 
character of Christianity, 331. His restoration 
to Alexandrea, 332. He flies to Rome, ib., 334. 
Is recalled, 334. 
ders to remove him, 337. Tumults at Alexan- 
drea in consequence, 338. Retreat of this prelate, 
339. His writings described, 341. His retum 


Triumph of ‘the 


New charges against, 336. Or- ν 


INDEX. 


from exile, and authority over the Christian 
Church of Alexandrea, 360. His fifth exile, 369. 
His death, ib. Allusions to, 497, et passim. 

Athens, Jewish proselytes at, 164. State of Poly- 
theism at, 178. St. Paul in the Areopagus, ib. 
Philosophy of, 179. The Emperor Hadrian’s visit 
ee 222. Julian at, 349. The Parthenon, 29, 

jin} 

Attalus, Roman emperor, 387. 

———-, a Christian martyr, 237. 

Augustan Afra, the, 21. 

Augusti and Cesars, forming four contemporary 
authorities in the Roman empire, 271. 

Augustine, St., his works effected a change in hu- 
man opinion, and influenced Christianity, 413. 
His use of Latin,ib. ‘The Augustinian theology, 
ae His. style of writing, 416. His civil life, 
417. His studies, ib. Impressed with Mani- 
-chean notions, ib. 


His celebrity, ib. His bap- 
tism, ib. Controversial writings of, 418. The 
ΓΟ of God,” ib., 419, 482. Life of Augustine, 
419. The siege of Hippo, 420. His death, ib. 
~ Remarks of, 470, 476, εἰ passim. His work “" De 
Civitate Dei,” 30, n.,33,n., 176, n. De Consensu 
Evangelist ,66,n. Other writings of, 277, n., 278, 

“n., 281, n., 293, n., 296, 385, n., 410, ἢ., 421, n. 
De Moribus Manichzorum, 282, n. 

Augustus, Afra of, 21. Sacrifice by Octavius, 30, n. 
His deification, ib.,n. The decree of, 56. Re- 
script of, in favour of the Jews, 181. | , 

Aurelian, the Emperor, edict of, 230, n. 
tion by 956; δὲ ϑεδο og.» 

Aurelius, Marcus, 218. Christianity and the phi- 
losopher Aurelius, 225. Persecution by this em- 
peror, ib., 233. Three causes of his hostility to 
Christianity, 225, et seg., 229. His character, 
230. ἐμ: reign, 231. 

———-—, Vic 363, no 7. 

᾽ es ? n 


Persecu- 


BAAt, the sun worshipped as, 42. 

Baalbec, temples of, 306, 308, 377. 

Baalpeor, rites of, 246. 

Babylas, bishop of Antioch, his martyrdom and rel- 
ΤΗΣ 202,991, Np JOO: 

Babylon, Jews at, 41, 42, ἢ. Controversy respect- 
ing [on St! Peter, i., v. 13], 42, n. 

Babylonia, superstitions of, 22, 34, 44. Captivity 
and settlement of Jews in, 41, 273. Caravans 
from Jerusalem to, 58, n., 78. 

Bacchus, Temple of, at Alexandrea, 378. 

Bactria, 43, 274. . 

Baharam, King, 282. 

Balk, city of, 274. » ; 

Bampton Lectures: Remarks on Polytheism by the 
Rev. H. H. Milman, 175, n., 176, n. By Me 
Coneybeare, 259, ἢ. 

Baptism, rite of, 71, 160, [74, 198, 466. 

------ -- by Menander, disciple of Simon Magus, 
206, and note. 

Barabbas, release of, 129, 139. 

Barbarians, the enemies of the Roman empire term- 


ed,299. heir irruption into the Roman empire, | Ri 
| Blind, the, restored by Jesus, 102, 107, 112, 118. 


_ 342, 370 

Bar cochab, his successes against Hadrian, 72, n. 

Bardesaves, mystic hymus of, 208. The Poet of 
the Gnostics, 213, 390. 

Bar Jesus struck with blindness by Paul and Bar- 
nabas, 16]. ei ; 

Barnabas of Cyrus, his conversion, 156. His con- 
joint mission with Paul, 159, 161. 162. — In com- 
pany of St. Mark, he quits Paul, 163. 

Barrow, Dr. Isaac, 188, 1. 

Bartholomew, ὅτις the apostle, 77, 98, ; 

Basil, St., interview of Valens with, 369, et seq 
Orientalism pervades his writings, 389. He was 
born at Cesarea, in Cappadocia, 391. 

Basilides, the Gnostic sectarian, 210. 


γῇ 7 


509 
Basilius, Bishop, 396. 
Bath-Kol, or voice from Heaven, 124, ἢ, 
Beausobre, M., on the Simonians, 205. On Mani- 


_ cheism, 277, n., 280, n., 282, n. 

Beauty, allegorical impersonation of, 205. 

Beelzebub, 101. 

Belgium ravaged by the Catti, 232. 

Belief, diversities of, 49, et passim. 

Bentley, Dr., 163, n. : 

Berenice, wife of Polemo, king of Cilicia, 162, n., 
167. 

Berea, the apostles at, 178. 

Bertholdt, Professor, Christologia Judeorum of, 
40, n. His extracts from certain Samaritan let- 
ters, 83, n. : 

Bethabara and the ford of the River Jordan, 70. 

Bethany, Jesus at, 112, n., 115, 117, 122, 125, n., 
132, n, 149. 

Beth-esda, healing of the sick man at the Pool of, 
95. Judicial investigation into. the conduct of 
Jesus, ib. His defence, ib. His second defence, 
96. - 

Bethlehem, birth of Christ at, 50, 421, n. The 
Magi adore the Messiah at, 50,58, n. The jour- 
ney to, 55... The birthplace of David, 56. Mur- 
der of the Innocents at, 59, η.. Church at, 309, 
Cell of Jerome at, 435. 

————— Gate, the, 173. 

Bethphage, hamlet of, 132, n. 

Bethsaida, birthplace of Peter and Andrew, 86, 98, - 
115. The Desert near, 103. 

Beugnot, M., his “ Destruction du Paganisme,” 323. 

Bible, the: miracles recorded in the Old ‘Testa- 
ment, 28. Earlier Books of, predict the comin 
of the Messiah, 40, 56. The Prophets, 40, 46. — 
Targum, comments on Scripture, 41,n. Mythic 
interpreters of, 52, n. Astronomical expressions 
of, 58,n. The Pentateuch, 126. The sublime 
doctrines of the, 208. Rejected by the Gnostics, 
ib. With whom the Old Testament predomina- 
ted over the Gospel, 291,361. St. Jerome’s Latin 
version of, 421, 437. Language of the Old Tes- 
tament, 445,478, ἢ. Its persons and incidents an 
allegory of the doctrines of the New “Testaments 
489. ἱ 

Bingham, Eccles. Antiq. quoted, 307, n., 447, n. 

Bishop, authonty of the, 196. 

Bishops, presbyter, of the primitive Church, 194, 
and note, 223, ἢ. Ordination or consecration of, 
197. Their attention. to secular concerns, 198. 


Title of pontiff, 199 Growth of the sacerdotal — 


power, 291, 296, 315, 387, 399, 442, 443, 459, 
Mode of election of, 446. Metropolitan, ib. For- 
mation of the diocese, ib. Chorepiscopi, ib. 
Archbishops, 147. Patriarchs,ib. Management 


of the church property intrusted to, 451. ‘I'he © 

ceconomus, ib, Marriage of, 452. or 
Bithynia, sprea -Ohristianity in, and the neigh- 

bouring provinces, 218. . 
Blandina, torture and inartyrdom of, 237. ᾿ 


Blasphemy, accusations of: our Saviour, 139. St 
Stephen, 153. St. James, 157, and note 


Boanerges, James and John named, 98. | “% 
Bohlen, das Alte Indien, quoted, 25, n., 26, ., 199, 
n., 203, n. » 
Bona Dea, orgies of the, 20. 
——, Cardinal, 495.» 
Bonzes of India, 201. 
Bosphorus, the, 303. 
Brahma, 45, n., 46, n., 279. 
Brahmins, their view of a Deity, 26, n., 32, 45, n., 
200, 6 mS 
Britain, vestiges of heathenism in, 35... St Paul’s 
visit to, fabulous, 186, n. The Roman power at- 
tacked in, 232. gi WY at : 
Brosses, De, theory of Egyptian religion by, 26, ἢ, 


} 


A 


"4 


510 
Brucker on the faiths of Zoroaster and Moham- 
med, 44, n. 
᾿ Buddh, allusions to, 53, 278. ὶ , 
Buddhism of the remote East, 53, n., 168, n., 200, 
277, ; 
Buddhist monks, 201, n. 
Burgundians, Christianized, 374. ; 
Burton, Dr., 57, τι., 153, η. History of the Church 
by, 223, n. 
Byzantium, city of, the modern Constantinople, 302, 
303, et seq. ἃ 


. oo“ 


Capata of the Jews, chief origin of the Gnostics, 
42. A traditionary comment on Scripture, ib., 87. 
The Adam Cedmon, 278. hey, 

Cabalistic Sephiroth, the, 200. 

Cabalism, 182, 209, 210. 

Cecilian, bishop of Carthage, 292, et-seq. 

Cesar, Caius Julius, 35, 62, 180, ἡ: 

Czsarea in Cappadocia, St. Basil the bishop of, 
370, et seq. 

———— Philippi, Jesus near, supposed to be John 
the Baptist or Elias, 107. 

———-—,, proconsuls or Roman governors resided 
in, 69, 88, n., 161. Paul’s imprisonment at, 167. 

Cesarius, a magistrate of Antioch, 398. 

Cesars, the, 189. The imperial history divided into 
four periods, ib. The twelve, 227. Prediction 
relative to, 228. 

———, the two, assisting the emperors in their ad- 
ministration, 271. 

Caiaphas, high-priest at Jerusalem, 117, 152. His 
acerbity in the interrogatory of Jesus, 133, et seq. 
The defence, 133. 

Calendar, religious, of ancient Rome, 27, 471. 

Caligula, his statue commanded to be placed in the 
Temple at Jerusalem, 42,157. Persecution by, 
186. 

Calvary, Mount, its real description, 141,n. Church 
on, 309. 

Calvin, doctrine of, 414. 

Cana, marriage at, 77. The miracle of turning wa- 
ter into-wine considered as anti-Essenian, ib. 
Canaanite woman, the, prays Jesus to heal her 

daughter, 106. 

Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, 156. 

Canopus turned into a city of monks, 380. 

Cappadocia, language of, 177. 

Capernaum, description of, 78, The youth healed 
by Jesus at, 85, 86. Became the residence of 
our Saviour, 1b., 98, 100, 109,115. Jesus teaches 
in the synagogue at, 86, 104. 

Cappadocia, Christians of, 370, 391. 

Captivity, the Jewish, 41, 42. The Prince of the 
Captivity, 53, n., 273. 

Caracalla, the Emperor, .238, 240, 246. 

Caravans visiting Jerusalem and some Eastern 
cities. 58, n., 78, 118. νὼ 

Cardwell, Dr., his Essay, 186, n. 

Carpocrates and Epiphanes, 215. 

Carpocratians, the, 215. 

Carthage, city of, 247. Church of, 252. Cyprian 
suffers martyrdom at, 253-255. The plague at, 
254. Dissension and excesses on the claims of 
rival prelates of, 291, et seg. Council of, 295, n., 
298. : 

Casius, Mount, 358. 

Cassiodorus, 57, n. 

Cassius, Avidius, victory of, 232. His rebellion, 
255... Ὁ 

Catacombs of Rome, 490, n., 494. 

Catholic faith, edict of Theodosius for the universal 
accentance of the, 388. 

Catholics, Christian party at Carthage, 292. Or 
orthodox party of Constantinople, 321, 369. At 
Alexandrea, 338, 341. 

: see Roman Catholics. ' 


INDEX. 


Cato of Utica, bequeathed the spirit of liberty to the 
Romans under the empire, 191. 

Cause, primal, in the creation, 43, 45, 200. 

Celestial powers, according to Mani, 280, and note. 

hana bodies, their offices, according to Mani, 

Celibacy, early observance of, 77, 201, 423, 432. 
Laws favourable to, 327. Its influence on civili- 
zation, 370,407. Of the clergy,452. Moral con- 
sequences, 453. 

Celsus, 59, n. 

Cenchrea, vow made at, 164, n. A resort of the 
persecuted Christians, 17], n. ᾿ 

Centurion’s servant healed by Jesus, 99. 

Ceres and Proserpine, allusion to, 25. 

Cerinthus, heretic, 193. His tenets, 207. 

Chalcedon, Council of the Oak at, 402, 447. 

Chaldza, superstitions of, 34, 35, 42,231. Doctrine 
of Divine energies or intelligences, 200, 

Chaldaic tongue, the, 150. 

——~—— paraphrast, the, 76, n. 

Chariot-races in the Circus at Rome, 477. 

Charity and almsgiving, 127. 

———- or Christian love, 197, 257, 331, 461, ἢ. 
Chiarini, his theory on the chariot of Ezekiel, 43, 
n.,44,n. His translation of the Talmud, 72, ἢ. 

Children exposed or sold, 325. 

China, religious worship in, 26, n., 45, n., 54, n. 

Chivalry, an institution springing from Christianity, 
37. The military Christianity of the Middle 
Ages, 288, 370. . 

Chorazin, miracles worked near the town of, 115. 

Chosroes I., king of Parthia, 276. His assassina- 
tion, ib. 

Christ, Jesus, termed the Father a Spirit, 28, 45. 
The human nature of, 38. Life of our Saviour 
necessary to a history of Christianity, ib. To 
write it difficult, ib. General expectation of the 
Messiah, 39,72. Jesus, the Light of the world, 
44, 54. Birtu or -Curist, 50, 54,57. The An- 
nunciation, 52, 53. The Incarnation, 53. The 
Holy Child, 57, 68, ἢ. The Circumcision, 57. 


The flight into Egypt, and return thence, 59, 
Recent Lives of, see Appendix I., 59. Parables 


of,64. The Resurrection of, 67,n. His assump- 
tion of public character, 68. Accédmpanies his 
parents to the festival at Jerusalem, ib. Visits 
John on the River Jordan, 73. Is baptized by 
John, 74. Descent of the Dove on Jesus, ib. 
The Holy Spirit, ib. His recognition as the Son 
of God, ib. The Temptation of Jesus, ib. Opin- 
ions of Biblical critics on the Temptation, ib. 
The Messiah, 76, 80, 84. The Lamb of God, 76. 


The Son of God, ib., 139. First disciples of, 77. . _ 


His zeal as a teacher, 77, 80, 85, 87, 89. Our 
Saviour’s miracles, 77, 80, 85, 89, 92, 95, 96, 99, 
101, 102, 103, 107, 112, 116, 123. He celebrates 
the Passover at Jerusalem, 78. Expels the tra- 
ders from the Temple, 79, 125. Expectations 
raised thereby, 79. 
rection, as a rebuilding of the Temple, 80, 107, 
142. He teaches the doctrine of Regeneration to 
Nicodemus, 80,81. He departs from Jerusalem, 
82. Baptism by his disciples compared with the 
baptism of John, ib. Jesus ‘visits Samaria, ib. 
Avows himself the Messiah, 83. Jesus and the 
Samaritan woman at the well of Sichem, ib. Is 
coldly received) at Nazareth, 85. Is not consid- 
ered a prophet in the town of Joseph the carpen- 
ter, ib. He discourses on Isaiah, ib. His pub- 
lic declaration of his mission, 86, et seq., 88, 96, 
108. His teaching differs from that of the rab- 
bins, 87. Author of a new Revelation, ib. The 
Sermon on the Mount, 87, n.,90. Is compared 
with authors of other revolutions, 89, 121. Styled. 
“Son of Man,” 89, 102. _ Manner of his dis- 
courses, 89, 90. These were not in unison with 


He foretels his own resur- » 


“ee 


᾿ Christianity, appearance of, 22. 


INDEX. 


the age, 90. His conduct with regard to his 
countrymen, 92. Forgave sins, 93. Is a general 
theme of admiration, and beloved by the people, 
ib., 123. Again keeps the Passover in Jerusalem, 
94. Change of the national sentiment as to Je- 
sus, ib., 129. Commencement of public accusa- 
tions against Jesus, 95, et seq. is retirement, 
97. Returns to Capernaum, and appoints the 
twelve apostles, 98, 99, 102. His power exerted 
in recalling the dead to this world, 99, 102. Com- 
pares himself and John the Baptist, 100. Is en- 
tertained by a Pharisee, and is anointed from an 
alabaster box by Mary Magdalen, ib. His con- 
duct towards his relatives, 101. He rebukes the 
storm, 102. He walks upon the waters, 104. 
Question of Jesus being the Messiah, ib., n., 110, 
116, 119, 126, 158. Public life of Jesus from the 
first to the second Passover, 82. Second year 
of the public life of Jesus, 94. The third year, 
105. The last Passover, 118. Concealment of 
Jesus, 106, 107, 114. Peter recognises him as 
“Christ, the Son of the Living God,” 108. The 
Transfiguration of, ib. He teaches in the Tem- 
ple, 110, 111. Is denounced by the Sanhedrin, 
110,113. Pharisees perplexed as to the measures 
against Jesus, 110. His defence before the San- 
hedrin, 112, 116, 133, and note. The true Shep- 
herd, 114. Visits Jerusalem at the Feast of the 
Dedication, 115. He asserts his being one with 
the Father, 116. Caiaphas and the authorities of 
Jerusalem resolve on putting him to death, 117. 
Calm demeanour of the Saviour, 122, 131, 132. 
He enters Jerusalem on the colt of an ass, fol- 
lowed by a rejoicing multitude, 123, 125, ἢ. He 
declares his approaching death, 124,127. Causes 
that prompted the Jews to require it, 129. His 
betrayal by Judas, 130, 132. His final celebra- 
tion of the Passover, 131. He institutes the Sac- 
rifice of the Lord’s Supper, ib. His prayer to 
the Father in the garden of Gethsemane, 132. 
lis agony, ib. Is led prisoner to the house of 
Annas, 133, et seg. And is interrogated by Caia- 
phas,ib. His arraignment before the Sanhedrin, 
ib., et seg. Question of their jurisdiction in cap- 

_ ital charges, 134. His reproof to Peter, ib. No 
precedent for the trial of Jesus, 136. Motives of 
the rulers in carrying Jesus to the tribunal of Pi- 
late, ib. The Roman prefect, and Herod also, 
declared they found no guilt in Jesus, 138, 139. 
The Saviour declares, in turn, that Pilate is guilt- 
less of his blood, 140. Insults of the soldiery, 
134. The crown of thorns, ané mocking of Je- 
sus, 139. The Sanhedrin press the charge of 
κε blasphemy,” ib. The condemnation of our Sa- 
viour, 140. The Crucifixion, 141, et seq. The 
Passion and Agony, 142. Burial of Christ, 143. 
His title of King of thé Jews, 141. His Resur- 
rection, 147, 148. His Ascension, 149. Advent, 
and second coming of, 151, 172. The only Mes- 
siah, 169. The descendants of the brethren of 
Jesus brought before the tribunals, 192. Their 
poverty a cause of their release, ib. Mystical 
doctrine of the Gnostics, and of Jews, relative to 
the Messiah, 206. Doctrine of the human nature 
of, 209. Nature of the Christos, ib., 212. Gnos- 
tic notions of, 211, 213-215. A temple of Venus 
Aphrodite over the Holy Sepulchre, 308. Hele- 
na, mother of Constantine, builds the Church of 
the Holy Sepulchre, and other edifices, 309. 
The true Cross discovered, ib. Person of the 
Saviour, 490. Majesty of the hidden divinity, 
491. Augustine’s description of his beauty, ib. 
Earliest portraits of, 492. The Father rarely 
represented, 493. 


Its universality, 
23. Coextensive with the Roman empire, ib. 
Revolution effected by, 36. Design of this His- 


ψΨ 


κι ἃ 


511 


tory of, 37. Its influence on civilization, ib. Dif- 
ferent in form at different periods of civilization, 
ib. See to chivalry, ib. Not self-developed, 
ἴδ. 4 he Saviour Jesus, 38. Principles of, ib. 
The Gospels, ib., 39, 41, n., 53, 58,n., 85. His- 
torical evidence of, 38. Development of, 47. 
Spirit of the times at the birth of Christ, 50, 53. 
The Christian scheme essentially moral, and dis- 
tinguished from the physical notions of India or 
China, 54, 73,161. Propagation and maintenance 
of, 66-68, 156, 169. ‘The great Day of the Lord, 
72. Origin of monks and hermits, 77. Princi- 
ples of Christian morality, 90. Its universality, 
91, 92, 128, 158. Was particularly opposed to 
the doctrine of the Sadducees, 120. Its real de- 
sign not understood by the Jews, ib. Who 
among the Hebrew nation likely to embrace, 121. 
Christ's compendious definition of, 127. Ordi- 
nance of the Lord’s Supper, 131. The History 
of Christianity commenced from the Crucifixion, 
143, 144. The.Resurrection of Christ, and pro- 
mulgation of his religion, 145, et seg. Peter in- 
vested with the pastoral charge, 149, The reli- 
gion of Jesus successfully reinstituted by the gift 
of tongues to the apostles, 150, Harangues by 
Peter and the followers of Christ, ib. Converts 
at Jerusalem 'to the creed of Jesus, 151, Com- 
mon fund of the early followers of the apostles, 
ib. Doctrine of the Resurrection, 46, 47, 126, 145, 
151, 152. Toleration of the apostles and early 
Church at Jerusalem, 153. Persecution of Chris- 
tians in the Holy City, 154, 157, 168. Progress 
of, in tle first century of the Christian era, 158, 
169, 189. Church of Antioch assumes the appel- 
lation of Christians, 158. External conflict of 
Judaism with, 159, 163. Internal conflict, 159. 
Not likely long to maintain or suffer the rigid 
nationality of the Hebrew people, 162. Chris- 
tians separate from the Jews, 164, 169, 172, 173. 
Their total independence of Judaism, 165. Ef- 
fect of the fall of Jerusalem and destruction of 
the Temple on, 169. Practice of our Lord and 
the apostles, 170. How far Judaism was retain- 
ed by the early Church, ib., et seg., 187, 188, 198. 
Promulgation of the Christian doctrine in Rome, 
171, et seg. At Corinth, 180, et passim. In Asia 
Minor, 186. 
et passim, 361, et seg, And with paganism, 174, 
256, 257, 272. St. Paul a later representative of, 
179, 187. His martyrdom, 187-189. Great rev- 
olutiors slow and gradual, 189. In the second 
century. ib. Characters of Trajan, Hadrian, and 
the Antonines favourable to, 217. The conflict 
of Oriental worship with, 199, 206. Their com- 
bination, 203. Religious sects confused with the 
ancient religions, 199. Asceticism introduced 
into, 201. The Gnostics, 204-217. Christianity 
during the prosperous period of the Roman em- 
pire, 217, 218-220, 257, The Christians kept 
aloof from theatrical amusements, 220. Crisis in 
the position of the Christians at Rome, 219, 221, 
231, 257. Public cry of “* The Christians to the 
lions,” 223, 230. Insecurity of the imperial throne 
favourable to, 238,258. Peacefui conduct of the 
Christians, 240. Change in the relation of, to 
society, under Alexander Severus, 248. Under 
Maximin, Gordian, Philip, and Decius, 251, et seq. 
Persecuted by Decius, ib., εἰ seg. By Valerian, 
253-255. By Aurelian, 256. By Dioclesian, 257. 
Miserable death of the persecutors of, 255, 265, 
269, 285. Temporary peace of the Church, 257. 
The Dioclesian persecution, 257- Dioclesian 
and Galerius deliberate concerning Christianity, 
261. A civil council summoned, ib. Edicts of 
persecution, ib., 263. [ts triumph by the con- 
version of Constantine, 272, et seg., 283, 296. 
Different state of the East for the propagation of, 


Its conflict with Judaism, 174, 181, ἡ 


512 » 


re 


284. And of the West, ib. Civil war of the Do- 
natists and Trinitarians, 291, et seq. _ Doctrine of, 
301, 302. Rise of Constantinople favourable to, 
303, et seq. Legal establishment of, 324. Ef- 
fects on the religion, ib. And on the civil power, 
ib. And on society, 325. Its progress towards 
the conquest of the whole world, 329. Worldly 
reprisals on religion, ib. Elements of Christian- 
ity, 33). In the Dark Ages, 342. In the reign 
of Julian, 347. Toleration of, by Julian the apos- 
tate, 355. How far he limited his favours to, 356. 
It predominated in Constantinople and at An- 
tioch, 358. Probable results_of Julian’s conflict 
with, 364. Monastic asceticism of, 367. State 
of, in the East, 369, et seg. It mitigated the evils 
of invasions by barbarians, 370. Monasteries and 
hermitages, ib. The Goths, Gepide, Vandals, 
and Burgundians receive, 373, 374. Its triumph 
and concentration under Theodosius, 374, et seq., 
477. General effects of monachism on, 429, 430, 
432, Survey of the change effected in, 438, εἰ 
seq. Christians no longer a separate people, 438. 
Christian writers, ib. Assailed the savage glad- 
jatorial spectacles of Rome, 476. Christian lit- 


erature, 478, 482. The ecclesiastical Greek and | 


Latin are new dialects, 478. Church poetry, 
Latin, 479. Greek, ib.,n. Acts of the martyrs, 
480. The Fine Arts, as connected with, 485. 
Christianity the religion of the Roman world, 
498. Christian theology, ib. Mythic age of 
Christianity, 500. 


‘Christmas Day, 57, n. 
Chronology of the Scriptures alluded to, 56, n.. 
o—~-___—_ of the Life of Christ, 85, n., 114, n., 122. 


————— of early Christian history, how far un- | 


certain, 153. 


————— of the Acts, 157, 167, n. 
» ———-— of the Epistles, 171, n. 
Chrysanthius, 348, 354. 
Chrysostom, St., writings of, 358, 390, 489. Bishop 


᾿ς Constantinople, 403. 


Υ 


of Constantinople, 395, 399. Life of, 305. Ρο- 
litical difficulties of, 399. Is governed by Sera- 
pion, his deacon, 401. 
Patriarch of Alexandrea, 402. Condemned by 
the Council of Chalcedon, ib., 403. He quits 
His return, ib. Second 
“condemnation of, 404. His retreat, 405. His 
death, ib. His remains transported to Constan- 
tinople, ib. Causes of the persecution of, 402, 
404, 405. 


Church, the heresies in, 42. Articles of the, 47, n. 


early, 151 


The apostles establish the primitive Christian or 
The common fund not a community 
of goods, ib. Toleration of, at Jerusalem, 153, et 
seq Deacons instituted, 153. Success of St. 
Stephen, ib.. The first martyr, ib. He proved 
Christian faith to be triumphant over death, 184. 
Christians of Damascus, 155. The apostles at Je- 
rusalem admit Paul of the Christian community, 
157,167 Herod Agrippa, grandson of Herod the 
Great, persecutes the Church of Judea, 157. On 
the supernatural release of St. Peter the perse- 
cntion ceases for a time, ib. Church of Syria, 
158. . Church of Cyprus, 156, 158, 162. Church 
of Antioch, !58, 162,170. Ordination of elders, 
162. souncil of Jerusalem [A.D. 49], 162, 163. 
The primitive Christians of, 164. The churches 
of Asia Minor, 165, 171, 233. The Christian 
Church.of Jerusalem, 167,308, et seq Christians 
warned to fly from Jerusalem omthe approach of 
Titus, 169. Controversy of the primitive, on 
election and the preservation of Judaic doctrines, 
170. St. Paul establishes the Church of Corinth, 
“180, 182. Of Ephesus, 181, 194. Church of 
Rome, 164, 171, and note, et seq, 183, 184, 229, 
259,n. Of Carthage and Africa, 241, et seq., 252- 
255, 290, 292, et seq.. 302. The Christians of the 


4 
." 


Is summoned before the | 


Churches, earliest Christian edifices, 248, n. 


_ INDEX. . 


Imperial City quite distinct from the Jews, 185, 
190. Persecutions of, at Rome, 184, et seq., 190, 
225, et seg. In Gaul, 236, et seq. Constitution 
of Christian churches, 189, 194, 259, n., 291. The 
presbyter bishops and deacons, 194. The syna- 
gogue afforded the model of the Christian church- 
es, ib. Essential difference between them, 195. 
The Church formed round an individual apostle 


or teacher, 196. Oral instruction, ib. Senate of 
_ elders, 196, 197. The presbyters, expounders of — 


the Christian law and doctrines, 197. Ordinary 


development of a church, ib. Republican gov- — 


ernment of, 198, 199. ‘The Christian doctrines, 
198. Disseminated throughout all Asia, 199. 
[Church of Alexandrea: see Alexandrea.] The 
Armenian, 199, 275, 276, 277. Church of Smyr- 
na, 233. Of Syria, 158, 163,314. Gnostic notion 
of Man and the Churche 212. Of Jesus the Mes- 
siah, 209-215. Persecution by Trajan, 219. By 
Marcus Aurelius, 225, 230, et seqg., 233, et seq., 236, 
et seqg., 238. Under Severus and Geta, 243-246. 
Under Dioclesian, 257-264. Christians of Gaul 
and adjacent territories, 236. Western churches, 
242,n. -Earliest Christian edifices, 248,n. State 
of, on the accession of Constantine, 264, 265. 
Cessation of the persecution, 266. Numbers or 
census of Christians, 283. Constantine’s Milan 
edict grants toleration to, 289. Authorized by 
law to receive bequests of the pious, 297, 450. 
Also donations of lands, 299. Mutual accusa 
tions by the Athanasians and Arians, 340. Influ- 
ence of this controversy on papal power, 342. 
Arianism triumphant, 343, Edict of Honorius in 
favour of, 386. Edict of Theodosius for accept 
ance of the Catholic faith, 388. First persecu- 
tion by the Christisn Church; case of Priscillian 


accused of heresy, 375, 412,413. Union of church 


and state, 442, 454. Dissensions in, the cause 
of increase of sacerdotal power, 444. Primacy 
of Rome, 447. New sacred offices, 448. Gen- 
eral Councils, ib. Pomp of the prelates increas- 
ed, 449. Application of the wealth of; 451. Can- 
ons of the, 448, n, 453, and note, 454, n., 459, n., 
464, n. Ecclesiastical.courts, 455, 457. Peni- 
tential discipline, 457. Excommunication, 458, 
459. Ecclesiastical censures, 460. Executed by 
the state, ib. Civil punishment for-ecclesiastical 
offences, ib. Religious ceremonial, 463. Pulpit 
eloquence, 484. The service, 496. 

Dem- 
olition of, 263. .Church of Nicomedia destroyed 
by Dioclesiaa, 262. Restoration of Christian, 
269, 270. Destroyed in Persia or Parthia, 274. 
Restored throughout the empire by Constantine, 
289. At Rome, founded by him, 290. Of St. 
Peter, 187, 290. Of St. Sophia, 304, n., 344. 
Basilicas, or Halls of Justice, more readily adapt- 
ed for churches than were the pagan temples, 
306,307. At Jerusalem, 309. Of gold, at Antioch, 
332. Many at Rome were ancient temples, 388, n. 
The Pantheon, ib.,n. Divisions of the Church, 
463. The porch, ib. ‘The penitents, 461. ‘The 
pulpit, ib. Ofticesand ceremonial, 463,465. Fes- 
tivals, 468. The Cross, 488. 


Chuza, steward of Herod, 147. , ‘ 
Cicero, M. T, philosophy his refuge in adversity, 


31, n. Moral writings of, 33. “De Legibus,” 
23. ‘Hortensius,” 417.  Pleasantries of, 33. 
His sense of religion, 34, and note. Cicero, Cz- 
sar, and the emperors sought and performed the 
pontifical office at Rome, 175. 


Gilicia, the Gospel preached in, 164. 
Circumcellions, the, 295, εἰ seg. They defeat Ur- 


sacius, the Roman general, 295. Their desire of 
martyrdom, ib. 


Circumcision, rite of, 57, 159, 160, 162, 174. 
Claudius, the emperor, 35, 157, 164, 171, 183, 190. 


᾿ 


ὑ ᾿ 


Pall 


᾿ Commodus, the emperor, 238. 


‘ INDEX. 


Classics, the Latin, 478, et seq. 

Clean and unclean meats, 159, 174. 

Cleophas and Mary, parents of James, one of the 
twelve apostles, 98. ι ; 

Clement of Alexandrea, 202, n., 215, n., 259, n., 452: 

Clemens, his epistle to the Corinthians. 198,n. To 
the Romans, 445, n. 

—— —-, Flavius, put to death by the tyrant Domi- 
tian, 193. : 

Clergy and laity, 37, 445. The former an aristoc- 
racy, then a monarchy, and despotic, 37. Cleri- 
cal order recognised by the Roman law, 297. 
Their exemption from civil offices, ib., 299, 356. 
Their influence, 371, 462. ‘Their interference in 


» secular affairs, 399. Morality of the Roman, 434. 


Ceremonial of laying on of hands, 442. Not dis- 
tinguished by dress, 449, Wealth of, 450. Uses 
to which applied, ib. + Dignity and advantages of 
the clerical station, 461, 501. 


_ Ceenobites, ascetics and monks, 201--204, 427. Dan- 


gers of Ceenobitism, 427. Bigotry of, 428. 


Coins, Roman: of Constantine, 296, ἢ. 


Colossians, the, 186. 

Comedy, 473. 

Commandments : 
sus, 87. 


feats in the amphitheatre, 239. Assumed the at- 
tributes of Hercules, 238, 239, n. 

Constans, reign of, 296, 330, 332, 335. 

Constant, M., “ Sur la Religion,” character of that 
work, 24, n., 27, n, 30, n. 

Constantia, death of, 318. 

Constantine the Great, 189, 263, n., 264, 267. His 
reign, 271. He preserves the unity of the Roman 
empire, 272. His religion, 287. His conversion, 
272, 299, 301. He commences his struggle for 
-the sole dominion, 285. The Cross appearing in 
the sky assures him of conquest, 287, et seq. He 
defeats and dethrones Maxentius, 288. Cruel 
acts of, ib., 299, 300, 476. His edict from Milan 
in favour of the Christians, 289. His earlier laws, 

ib. Summons councils of the churchmen on the 
dispute at Carthage, 293, 294. Sole emperor, 
296, 299. Laws and medals of, 296, 325-328. 
His edicts for privileges, &c , to Christians, 299. 
Presides at the Council of Nice, ib., 302, 316. 
Execution of Fausta and Crispus, 300. Remorse 
of the emperor on finding that his son was inno- 
cent, 301, 315. Founds Constantinople, 303. 
His splendour at the dedication of the new capi- 
tal, 304, 305. His letter of peace to the Eastern 
controvertists, 314. Change in the emperor’s 
opinions, 317. His quarrel with Athanasius, 320, 
321. His baptism on his deathbed, 321, 322 
Extent to which he showed favour to the Chris- 
tians, 322. How far he suppressed paganism, ib , 

“εξ seq. Funeral of the emperor, 328. Accession 

of the sons of this Christian emperor, 329. _ 

Constantinople founded. 303, et seq. A Christian 

rather than a pagan city,303. Its public edifices, 
304, Church of St. Sophia, ib.,n., 344. Statues 
of the old religion set up, 305. Remains of pagan 
mythology at, ib. Images of Constantine on the 
porphyry column, as combined with Christ and 
with the Sun, ib. The Palladium carried from 
Rome to, ib. The amphitheatre, 306. Passion 
for chariot-races, ib. The Hippodrome and its 
factions known by their colours, 1b. The church- 
es of, 325. Successors of Constantine, 329, et 
sey. The city remained Christian under Julian 
the apostate, 358. Gregory. bishop of, 393. 
Church of St. Anastasia attacked, 394. St. 
Chrysostom, bishop of, 395-403. Earthquake at, 
403. Alarming tumults at, 404, εἰ passim. 
Constantius, the emperor, 263. His peaceful death, 
285. 
3 T 


ve 


the Decaiogue, 95,127. Of Je- | 


His exhibitions and 


513 
Constantius, son of Constantine, his reign, 330. 
Reconciled to Athanasius, 
He abets the Arians, 336, et seg. His reception 
at Rome, 337. His conduct to the disputant 
sects, 345. And to Julian, 349. His supersti 
tion, ib. His death, 350. 


| Consubstantialism, doctrine of, 316, 332, 341, 


Controversies, celebrated, 42, n., 46, 63, 170, 291, 
310, 312, 315, 333, 336, 342. 

Coponius, administration of, 82. 

Corinth, Christian Church of, 164, 171, 180, et seq., 
183, 198. 

Cornelius, Roman centurion, baptism of, 159, 160, 
n. Date of his conversion, 160. 

Cornelius, bishop of Rome, letter of, 259, n. 

Council, civil and military, by Dioclesian, 261. 

Councils of the Christian Church in various eras, 
448, et seq. Of Jerusalem, 162, 163. Of Rome, 
293. Of Arles, 294, 336,453. Of Nice, 299, 302, 
315, 454, n. Of Antioch, 332, Of ‘Tyre, ib. Of 
Sardica, 334. Of Philippolis, ib. Of Milan ib., 
336. Of Seleucia, 339, 344. Of Rimini, 339, 
344. Of the Oak at Chalcedon, 402. Of Elvira, 
443, n. Of Chalcedon, 447. Of Carthage, 450, 
n., 453, 470, 471. Of Gangra, 453, n. Of Tole- 
do, 453, 459, n.. Of Trulla, 453, 470. Of Or- 
leans, 470. " 9 . 


; > =. 


Crassus, 35. 4 i τινος Ψ 
Creation, theories regarding the, 25, 207, 209, 210, 
ἕ 214. pi Ὁ, τότες of the, 43,200. Ὁ ᾿ 
reator, the Almighty, 123. Gnostic notion of a 
malignant nature, 311. f 
Creed, the Christian, 331. 
The Apostolic, 415. ᾿ % 
——-, the Nicene, 316. The Arian, 343. 
Crescens, cynic philosopher, 233: 


ry nic | - 
Crete, Christianity established in, 186, 187,194 ὃ 


Creuagt's Symbolik, translated by M. de Guigniauty 

4, 0. 

Crishna, the Indian, 54, n. ; 

Crispus, a ruler of the synagogue, converted, 164. 

—-—-, son of Constantine, 297, Naval victory 
gained by, 299. [5 put to death, 300. ; : 

Cross of Christy the, 141, 495. Legend of its dis- 
covery at Jerusalem, 309, 489. 

——-, the, seen in the heavens by 
disquisition as to, 287, n. : 

Crucifix, the, 495. 

Crucifixion, the, circumstances of, 
seq. Guilt of the, 173. 


Constantine ; 


narrated, 141, et 


var 


Cumanus, a Roman prefect over Jud Dive 
Cyaxares |., 43,n. ὁ . a jt 
Cybele, 305. Priests of, 942, 386. +, 


Cynic philosophy, the, 180,n. Ἧ 
Cyprian, bishop of Carthage, zeal of, 242, 252, n., 
445, n. His martyrdom, 253-255. : 
Cats, Tsland of, Barnabas a native, 156, 16]. 
Christian Church of, 158, 163, 176. a 
Cyrenaic Jews, the, 150. ; κι 
Cyrentus, governor of Syria, 56, n. _ 

Cynil of Jerusalem, 362. 
Cyropedia, the high moral character of, 38. 


Demon or Demiurge, doctrine of a, 200, 208. 

Demoniacal or diabolical possession, 51, 97. _Je- 
sus relieves those afflicted, 101, 102, 106 Opin- 
ions thereupon, 101, n. “ 

Demonology, 425. 

Demons, 45, 101, n., 102, 260, The Agatho-dex 
mon, 215. 
ib. ‘Temple of, 377. 

Damasus, pope, 383, 451. ᾿ 

Daniel, the prophet, 43, 46, 199, Visions of, 45. 

Daphne of Antioch, voluptuous rites of, 163, n. 
Grove of, 358, 359. > : 

Darkness, preternatural, during the crucifixion 142, 


@ - 
4 


334. Wars of, 335.” 


Necessity of ἃ 342. 


Damascus, Saul’s journey to, 155, Christians of, 


» 


959. His malady, 260, 264. 


514 


Darkness, the realm of, 279, n. 

David, the son of, 40, and note, 47, 52, 55, 76, n., 
120. Royal lineage of, 52, 55, n., 57. Proscribed 
by Domitian, 192. The Messiah predicted as the 
son of, 127. Who yet confessed him to be his 
Lord, ib. Prophecies of the Royal Psalmist, ib. 

Deacons, institution of, 153, 194. 

Dead Sea, the, 70, 121. 

Deaf and dumb cured, 107. 

Decapolis, district beyond the Jordan, 89, 107. 

Decius, reign of the Emperor, 246. Persecution of 
the Christians by, 251, εἰ seq. Slain by the Goths, 
255. 

Decurions of Roman municipalities, 297. 

Dedication, Feast of the, 114, and note, 115, and 
note. 

Deity, attributes of the, 28, 32, 67, 291, 424. Unity 
of, 28, 36, 185,304, Opinions of the ancients on, 
34, 35, 200, 205, 249. Is removed from connexion 
with the material world, 45. Pure and immate- 
rial, 390. Heretical assertions relative to the, 

205, 207, 208, 311. 

Delphic tripod at Constantinople, 305. 

Demas, disciple of St. Paul, 187. 

Demetrius, exciter of tumult at Ephesus, 183. 

Demiurge or Creator, 200, 208, 211, et seq., 214, 216, 
223, n. 

Demophilus, an Arian bishop of Constantinople, 394. 

Derbe, town of, Paul and Barnabas preach at, 162. 

Dervishes, 201. 

Desert, the Temptation supposed to be that of 
Quarantania, 75. Jesus feeds the multitude in 

the, 104. Ascetics and Fssenes of the, 203. 

Deuteronomy, passages of, expounded, 126. 

Diagoras of Melos, 180. - 

Diana of the Ephesians, 183, 206, n. 

Diczarchus, Macedonian naval commander, 23, n. 

Dio Chrysostom, oration of, 180, n. 

Dioclesian, the emperor, 251. Persecution under, 
257, et seq. His character, 258. His religion, 

His abdication, 260, 
n., 264, 285. _ His constituting two Augusti and 
two Cesars discussed, 271. 

Diogenes and the cynic philosophy,.180, n. 

Dion Cassius, historical details from, 187, 188, 224, 
n. Fragments of, recovered by M. Mai, 239, n. 

Dionysiac mysteries, the, 23. 

Dionysius, his view of religion, 34. 

‘Dioscuri, the, 305. 

Disciples, the, of Jesus, 77, 78, 82,86. Thetwelve, 
appointed by Jesus as apostles, 98. The seventy, 
115. The two, at Emmaus, 148. 

Divination, rites of, 289,290 Suppressed by Con- 
stantine, 290. In Italy, 388. ἣ 

Divorce among the Jews, 56, n. 
cerning, 327, 457, n. 

Docetz, the, 209, 311. 

Domitian, the emperor, 52, ἢ.» 191. Persecution 
under, 188, n. He annuls the edict against the 
lee 192. His suspicion again excited, ib., 

By ) 

Beil. niece of Domitian, banished to Pandata- 
ria, 193. 

Donatus, a Numidian bishop, 292, et seq. 

——-—-, a second, anti-bishop of Carthage, 294. 

Donatism, controversy of, with the Trinitarians, 
291. A fatal schism, 296, 310. 

Donatists, the, 291, et seq. 

Dorotheus put to death, 263. 

Dove, the, descending on Jesus, 74. 

Druids, the, 186, n. Their inhuman rites pro- 
scribed, 284. 

Drusilla, espoused by Aziz, king of Emesa, 162, n. 
Felix and, 205. 

Dryden’s line on the savage man, 24, n. 
Du Perron, question of the Zendavesta, &c., 43, n., 
44, ἢ, 


Roman law con- 


; 


INDEX. ἢ 


Earta and Sun,25. Fabulous marriage of the, ib. 

Earthquakes, 231, 403. 

East, on religions of the, 22, 25, 26, 28, 34, 42, 43, 
44, 46, 48, 53, 81, 121, 159, 190, 200, ef seq., 91}; 
246, 247, 273-276. Persecution of the Christians 
in the, 231, 240. Marts of the, near to mosques, 
&c., 79. Sepulchres in the, 147. Gnosties of 
the, 206, 208. Traditions of the, 248. Propaga- 
tion of the Christian faith in the, 181-194, 199, 
Reais 284, et passim. The East still pagan, 
296. . 

Eastern churches, 299, 369. 

Easter, Festival of, 315. Time of observing, 447. 

Ebal, Mount, the Law read on, 83. 

Eden, Garden of, 209. 

Edessa, the King of, fable relating to, 208, 276. 
Temple at, 376. 

Education at.Rome, 356. 

Egeria, 203. - 

Egypt, worship of Osiris, Isis, &c., 25, 34, 190, 
Theories regarding the political religion of, 26, n. 
Deity, the worship of the higher class in ancient, 
28. Egypto-Jewish theology, 48, 200, 203. Flight 
of the Holy Family into, 59. Monks of, 203. 
State of, in the reigns of Trajan and, Hadrian, 
22), 222, 223, and note. Rebellion of shepherds 
in, 232, Deserts surrounding, 329. The hermit 
Antony, ib. Monks and hermits of, 370, 424, 427. 
The temples of Egyptian worship and idols de- 
stroyed, 377-380, 

Eicbhorn, Biblical remarks by, 154, n. 

Elagabalus, the emperor, 246. Worshipped, ib. 
Religious innovations meditated by, 247.. 

Elders of the Church, 196... Of the Synagogue, 195. 

Election, doctrine of, 415. 

Eleusinian Mysteries, the, 180, 349. 

Eleusis, Temple of, 381. : 

Elias, tradition and expectation of his reappearance, 
71, n., 76, 108, 142. 

Elijah, the still small voice addressed to, 36. His 
personal reappearance expected, 52, 71, 76, 142. 
-Reverence for, 71. 

Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, 52, 55. 

Elsley’s Annotations on the Gospel, 56, n 

Elvira, Council of, 443, n , 452, n. 

Elymas, the sorcerer, 161, 176, and note, 

Elysium, aristocratic, 36. 

Emanation, doctrine of, 200, 205, 206, 208, 209, 278. 

Emmaus, the disciples at, 148. 

Emblems, Christian, 490. 

Emesa, the conical black stone of, 246. 

Emile of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 38, n 

Ennius, 35. e 

Ennoia, 212. 

Ephraim, tribe of, in Samaria, 83, 84. 

Ephesus, Temple of, 175, n. 

__-—__, Church of, 164, 171, n., 182, 186, 191, 194. 
The city described, 181. 
ple of Diana at, ib., ef seq. Collision between 
Orientalism and Christianity at, 206. 

Ephrem, St., the Syrian, 390. 

Epictetus, 33. 

Epicurus, doctrine of, accordant to Greek charac- 
ter, 39. Commended by Lucretius, 35, 179, ἢ. 
The Athenian followers-of, 180. The Roman 
devotees of, 250. 

Epiphanius, 279, n., 481. 

Epirus, 187. 

Equinox, vernal or autumnal, 25, 

Erdiviraph, vision of, 274. Nie: ‘ 

Erictho evoking the dead, 35. : 

Erskine, Mr., on the Zendavesta, 44, n. 

Esau, race of, 169. ἡ 

Esdras, Second Book of, 48, n., 49, n., 227. 

Essenes, the ascetic sect of, 49, 52, 70, 71, 77, 123 
151, 195, n., 201, 203, 210. 


| Etruscans, the, 27. Haruspices of, 363 


The celebrated Tem-~ 


aa 


INDEX. 


Eucharist, the, 131, et seg., 198, 281, 466. 

Eudoxia, the empress, her character, 402, 403, 404, 
et seg. Her statue, 404. 

Eudoxos of Antioch, 344. Bishop of Constantino- 
ple, ib., 369. 

Euhemerus, his system irreligious, 35. 

Eugenius, emperor, 385. His apostacy, ib. 

Eumenius, Panegyric of Constantine by, 284, ἢ, 

Eunomius, 344, ἢ. 

Eunuch, the, converted to Christianity, 155. 

Eunuchs, government of the, 439. 

Eusebius, bishop of Nicomedia, 314, 318. And 
Bishop of Constantinople, 318, 333, 446. 

———-, bishop of Cesarea, and historian of the 
Church, 269, 287, and note, 299, 305, n., 314, 318. 
His authority referred to, 52, n., 162, n., 168, n., 
169, 213, n., 224, n., 252, n., 263, ἢ.» 286, n., 482, 
n. Latin version of, by Rufinus, 284, n. His 
‘“« Life of Constantine,” 322. 

Eustathius, bishop of Antioch, accused of Sabellian- 
ism, 318. His mission to the Iberians, 329, 

Eutropius, proconsul of Asia, accusation against, 
368. > 

———-, the eunuch, 400. His life saved by St. 
Chrysostom, 401. . Afterward beheaded at Chal- 
cedon, ib. 

Evangelists, the, 38, n., 39, 41, 53, 56, n., 58, n., 71, 
74, 115, n., 149, n. Style of the, 146. See Ap- 


pendices to chapter ii., book i., p. 59-68. See 


New Testament. 


Evil, principle of, 45, 75, 200. Spirits of, 209, 
210. 


Excommunication, sentences of, 256, 458, 459. 
Exodus, passages from the Book of, 126, 131. 
Exorcism, 101, and note: By the name of Jesus, 
165, 182. The name of God, 182, n. 
Exorcists, Jewish, 182. 
Ezekiel, chariot of, 43, n. 
———-, Tragcedus, 227, ἢ. 
Ezra, 41. 


On a future state, 46. 


Fastanus, bishop of Rome, put to death, 252. 
Fabiola, her funeral at Rome, 467. 


Fable succeeded to Nature-worship, 25. Theogony 


of the Greek poets, 26. Obscenity of mythologi- 
cal, 27, ἢ. 
Of heathenism, 34. 
Fabricius, F. Albert, 287, n. 
Fadus Cuspius, procurator of Judza, 160. 
Faith, 500. 
——-, expositions of the doctrines of, 482, 483. 
Faquirs, 201. 
Faustus quoted by Augustine, 281, n., 470. 
Fatalism, doctrine of, 179. 
Fathers, traditions of the, 446. 


Fausta, the empress, put to death by order of Con- 


stantine, 300, 301. Domus Fauste, 290, ἢ. 

Felix, his character, 160. His administration of 
the Roman province of Judea, ib., 165, 167, n. 
St. Paul before, 167. Affair of Drusilla, 205. 

——-, bishop of Apthunga, 293. 

Festivals of ancient Rome, 27, 388.. Of the Jews, 
105, 107, 108, 109, 114,n., 115, n. Of the Church, 
468. 

Festus, Porcius, Roman governor in Judea, 129. 
St. Paul accused before, 167. 

-Fetichism, description of, 24, 26. 

Fig-tree, barren, cursed, 124, 125. A type of the 

_ Jewish nation, 124. 

Figs, species of, 124, n. 

Fine arts, the, 485 

Fire, worship and sanctity of, 201, 275. 

‘Fishermen, disciples of Jesus, 86, 98. 

Fishes, miraculous draught of, 86. 

Flavianus, bishop of Antioch, 397, 398. 

Florus, Roman procurator of Judza, 129, 160, 186. 

Fohi, traditions of, 54, n. 


Why imbodied in ancient history, 33. 


* 


515 


Fortune of Rome, Temple of the, 286. Fortune, 
the, of Byzantium, 305. 

Franks, the, orthodoxy of, 310, n. 
375. 

Free-will, doctrine of, 414, 415. 

Frumentius, bishop of Acum, his successful mission 
to the Aéthiopians, 329. 

Fundanus Minutius, 223. 

Future state, a, 29, 34, 46, 91. False notions re- 
specting the nature of, 126, εἰ seg. 

Funerals, Christian, 467. 


Invasion by, 


GaBRIeL, name of, 44, n. Messenger of God, 52. 

Gad, the prophet, 42. 

Galatia, Church of, 165, 171, 188. 

Galerius Maximus, proconsul, 254, 272,n. He con- 
demns Cyprian, 255. : 

Galerius, Emperor : his reverses in the East, 261. 
Persecutions by, 261-263. Becomes first emper- 
or, 264. His malady and death, 265, 266. Edict 
of, 265, et seq. 

Galileans, the, 82, 88, n. Massacre of certain, at 
the Passover, 105, 119. Their blood shed by Pi- 
late amia the sacrifices in the Temple, 130. 
They murmur against Jesus, 110. They refuse 
tribute to Rome, 126. The apostles were Gali- 
leans, and made numberless converts, 149, 150. 

Galilee, 53, 55, 78, 86. Its population, 88. The 
tetrarchate of, 59, 88. Jesus made a progress 
through, 88. Is unmolested, 89. The apostles 
return to, 148. 

Gallienus restores peace to the Church, and rescinds 
the edict of Valerian, 255. 

Gallio, proconsul of Achaia, 164, 181, εἰ seq. 

Gallus, brother of Julian, 347, 349. 

Gamaliel, of the Pharisaic sect, defends the apos- 
tles before the Sanhedrin, 152. - 

Games, public, 220, 473. Quinquennial, established 
at Mantinea, 223. The Secular, 251. δ ὦ 


Ganges, the, 71, 200. (δ ΣῪΝ 


Gaudentius, bishop of Rimini, his death, 344. os 
Gaul, ancient superstitions of, 35. Persecution in 
Southern, 236, εἰ seg. Idolatry extirpated in, 381, 

Gautama, Somana Codom, and Buddh, 53. 

Generation, theories of, as to the mundane system, 
25. : 

Gennesareth, Lake or Sea of, 78, 86, 98, 104, 149. 

Genos and Genea, 200. RY 

Gentiles, the, 72, 107, 160, 170, 185. Difference 
between Jew and Gentile partially abrogated by 
St. Peter, 159. Various of the nations embrace 
Christianity, 162. Their admission into the fold 
of Christ by the apostles, 165. Paul, the apostle 
of the, 187. 

George of Cappadocia, bishop of Alexandrea, 338, 
et seq. 

Génie. the, 374, 

Gerizim, Mount, in Samaria, 83, 84. The Law 
read on, 83. Worship of the God of Abraham 

~ on, 128, 

German writers on Christianity, 145, n. 

Germany, confederacy of its nations against the 
Roman empire, 232, 225, 299, 375. 

Gervaise, St., and Protadeus, the martyrs, 410. 

Gesenius, critic and commentator on Isaiah, 40, n., 
42,n. Samaritan poems, 84, n. 

Geta, accession of, 243. 

Gete, the; superstitious practices of, 276. 

Gethsemane, Garden of, 132. 

Gibbon, the historian, quoted, 34, n., 35, n., 43, 72, 
n., 142, n., 186, n., 275, n., 296, 362, n., 385, n., 
393, n. , 

Gladiatorial shows, 475, et seg. 

Glaucias, a disciple of St. Peter, 210. 

Gnostic doctrines, 42, 44, n., 77, n., 200, 277, 311. 
Christianity of the East, 159, 208. Rejection of 
Scripture by the Gnostics, 208. Gnosticism, its 


© 


o 


516 


influence on Christianity, 202, 204, 206. Primal 
deity of, 208, 209,249. Saturninus a distinguish- 
ed head of the later, 209. Various sects of, 210. 
Allegory of Valentinus, 211-213. Bardesanes, 
the mystical poet of the, 213. Gnosticism had 
many converts, but was not a popular belief, 216. 
It was conciliatory towards paganism, ib. Ima- 
ges, 492, 

God, ideas of the Divinity and Creator, 25, 26, 28, 
32, 36, 38, 96, n., 126, 174, 178, et seg., 200, 208, 
212, 215, 250,279. The one God of the Mosaic 
religion, 21. Is Power under the old religion, ib., 
81. Love under the new, 21. A spirit, ib. Is 
invisible, 29. The Divine attributes, 29, 36, 45, 
n., 205, 210, 415.. The Father’s recognition of 
Jesus at baptism, 74. The Universal Father, 92, 
128, 170, 179. Jerusalem, or Zion, his chosen 
dwelling, 168,170. ‘The name of, having power 
over spirits, 182. The nature of the Deity, 291, 
304. The sect of Patripassians declared that 
God the Father suffered on the cross, 312. 

Gods, pagan, 22, 27, 33, 34, 163, n., 183, 190,-206, 
218, 220, 222, 228, 236, 247, 248, 267, 305, 346, 350. 
The idols, shrines, and temples of, destroyed, 
375, et seqg., 382, 385, 388, et passim. 

Golgotha, the Place of a Scull, 141, n. 

Good, principle of, 46. . 

—- and evil, 200. 

Goodness of Divine power, 36, 38, 81, 92, 96, 10]. 

Gorgonius suffers death at Nicomedia, 263. 

Gospel, the, preached to the poor by Jesus, 85. By 
Paul and Barnabas, 161. By St. John, 206. 
Harmonies of the, 115, n., et passim. ‘The origi 
nals or copies in Hebrew or Aramaic, 173. Pure 
religion of, 288, 29]. See Evangelists, and New 
Testament. 

Gospels, the, imbody ideal perfection, 38. Harmo- 
ny of doctrine and facts in, 39, 414. The first 
three, 39. St. John’s argumentative, ib. Texts 
relating to the Messiah, 41, 53, 58, and note. On 
St. Luke’s Gospel, 56,n. History of the Saviour 
in, 60-63. Origin of the, 63-66. ‘Their influence 
on the propagation of Christianity, 66-68. Time 
of their general reception, 197, 414. Spurious 
gospels, 481. 

Gothic language, the, 373. 

Goths, their invasions of the empire, 255, 373, 387. 
Early Christianity of the, 373. Arianism of the, 
374. 

Gradivus or Mars, 22, 27. 

Grace, doctrine of, 415. 

Granianus, Serenus, proconsul, 223. 

Gratian, the emperor, 381, 382. [15 murdered, 383. 

Grecian mythology and worship, 22, 26, 28, 205. 
The priesthood less connected with the state 
than at Rome, 175. Temples, dimensions of cel- 
ebrated, 307, n. ν 

Greece, names of divinities in, 92. Anthropomor- 
phism of, 26. Its religion that of the arts and 
games, &c., ib. Notions of one Deity secretly 
entertained by the philosophers of, 28, 172, 179. 
The Judzo-Grecian system, 48, 121. The Jews 
esteemed most other people to be Greeks, 106, n., 
124, Jews resident in, and Christian Church es- 
tablished in, 164, 176,224. Ascetics unknown to 
ancient, 202. Pythagoras, Plato, and the philos- 
ophers of, ib. Fictions of, domiciliated in Syria, 
358. Temples of, 381. 

Greek language, by whom spoken at Jerusalem, 
150, 157. The Attic dialect, 178. Its degenera- 
cy, 478. Classic authors, 356, 357. Proselytes 
at Jerusalem following Jesus, 124. 

Greek Church, the Christian, 59, n., οἱ passim. 

Gregory the Illuminator, the apostle of Armenia, 
276. Is persecuted, ib., 217. Converts iridates 
and his people, 277. Persecution by the Chris- 
tians in Dara, ib. 


> 


a 


INDEX. 


ae 


Gregory, bishop of Alexandrea, 332. ἐδ" 
—-—- of Nazianzum, 389, 391. His poems, 392, 
453, n., 479, n. : κί ds 

——-—- of Nyssa,389, 391, 423, n., 453, 495. ἢ. 


Greswell, Mr., 56, n., 57, n., 114, n., 153, n., 166,n. ν΄ 


Grotius, works and Biblical opinions of this eminent 
philologist, 51, n., 92, n., 11], n., 153, Ὁ, 

Guizot, M., note on Gibbon, 262. 

Gushtasp of Persian mythology, 43, n. 

Gymnastic games, 473. ᾿ 

Haprtan, his edict against human sacrifices, 30, ἢ, 
Jewish insurrection against, 42, 72, n., 161, ἢ.» 
22]. 
cerns of the whole population, 217. His state 
policy, 218. His reign, 222, et seg. His charac- 
ter, 222.  His‘travels and philosophical inquiries, 
10.. ἢ. At Athens, 222, et seg. His conduct to- 
wards Christianity, 223. Incapable of understand- 
ing it, ib. His letter to Servianus, ib., ἢ. 

Hadrianople, battle of, 299. 

Hannah, her thanksgiving, 55. 

Harinonius, hymns of, enchanted the Syrian Chris- 
tians, 213. 

Heathenism, sibyls of, 227,228. Influence of Chris- 
tianity on, 249. Change in,ib, 259. Julian’s at- 
tempt to restore the old religion, 249, 346, et seq. 

Heathens, superstitions of the, 22, 33, 35, 175. 
Abolished by ‘Theodosius, 375, et seg. Babylo- 
nian worship, &c., 22, 42. Chaldwan, 34. Chi- 
nese, 26, n., 45, n., 54, n. _ Egyptian religion, 22, 
26, 28, 34, 48, 190, 210. Grécian mythology, and 
religious rites and mysteries, 22, 26, 28, 35, 175, 
178-180, 305, 358. Indian and Oriental, 26, 34, 
42, 45, n., 48, 53, 71, 200, 201. Ancient Roman, 
22, 27, 33, 25,-175, 248, 267, 288 High tone of 
morality of the later Roman, 181. Persian and 
Magian, 26, 28, 34, 42, 43, 199, 200, 201, 209. 
Phrygian, 34, 200.. Syrian, 42, 358. Moham- 
medanism, 44, n. 

Hebrew language, the, 150. The Psalms, 479. 

Hebron, city in the south of Judza, 52,70. The 
terebinth-tree of Mambre, 309. 

Hecate, Temple of, mysteries of, 348. 

Heeren on Egyptian religion, 26, n. 

Hegesippus, criticism on his narrative as ‘to St. 
James, 168, n. His authority not to be confided 
in, 192. 

Hegewisch, his work translated by M. Solvet, 189, 
Nyy Sade te 

Heinechin, editor of Eusebius, 168, 287, n., 316, n. 

Helen, the Spartan, 205. 

Helena, queen of the Adiabeni. 41. 

——W—-, mother of Constantine the Great, 301. Her 
residence at Jerusalem, 309. : 

——-—-, Simon Magus’s beautiful companion, 205. 

Helius, minister of Nero, 187. 

Hellabichus, 398. 

Heresies, various, in the Church, 42, 62, 205, 207, 
213, 215, 242, 252, 256, 260, n., 277, 291, 292, 310. 
313-315, 333-341, 343, 388, et seq., 389, 448, n, 
460. _ First blood shed on the accusation of here- 
sy, 375, 412. 

Hermeneutics, or interpretation of Sacred Writers, 
482. 

Hermits, 203, 339. Compelled by Valens to join 
his armies, 370, n. : 

Hermogenes, heresiarch, 260, n., 487. 

Herod the Great, reign of, over Judza, 39, 52, 56, 
57, 58, 63, 126, 140, 220. Fate of his sons, 39. 
His disease, 50. His death, ib. 265. is kin- 
dred, 56, 162, n. His subtle character, 59, 116. 

——— Antipas, 59, 72. ἢ. Tetrarch of Galilee and 
Perza, 82, 88. Imprisons John the Baptist for 
denouncing his marriage with Herodias as inces- 
tuous, 82. He dreads an insurrection, ib., n. 
He puts the Baptist to death, 103. He sends 


‘he emperor attends to the general con- Ὁ 


En 


¥ 
τω 


Jesus with insult to Pilate for judgment, 138. 
. — His death (A.D. 44), 153, n. ' 
Herod Agrippa professes the strictest Judaism, 157. 
_ He puts St. James to death, and imprisons Peter, 
-ib. His sudden death in the fourth year of the 
Emperor Claudius, ib. 

—-— the Irenarch, 233. 

Herodians, the, 49, 56, 125, 126, n. 

Herodias, wife of Herod Philip, incestuous with 
Herod Antipas, 82, 103, The daughter of, 103. 

Hieroglyphics, the name of Thoth, 46, n. 

Hilarianus, 246. 

Hilary of Poictiers, 339, 341, n., 343. 

~-——- of Phrygia, 368. 

Hippocrates, opinion of, 101, ἢ. 

Hippodrome of Constantinople, 305, 306. 

Historians, ancient, 33. ns 

History, 481. 

——w—- ani fable, old connexion of, 33. 

Holydays, 471, n. 

Holy Ghost, the, typified by a dove, 74. The Com- 
forter, 131. Descent of the, on the day of Pen- 
tecost, 150. The gift of, poured out on Gentiles, 
160, 182. 

—- Land, the, 102, 106, 158. 
421, et passim. 

Homer, fable immortalized by, 26. Not allegorical, 
ib.,n. His heroes in Elysium, 36, ἢ. 

Homoousion, the, 317, 332, 341, 344. 

Homophorus, mythos of Atlas or, 278, and note. 
And Splenditenens, ib., and note, 280, n., 281. 

Honey, wild, 71. 

Honorius, the emperor of the West or of Rome, 
386. Laws of, ib., 387, 476. 

Horace, 35. 

Horus, 512... 

Hosius, bishop of Cordova, 315, 334. His fall, 337, 
343. 

‘Hug, German critic, error of, 140, ἢ. 

Human nature of Jesus, doctrine of the, 209. 

Humanism, doctrine of, 206. 

Humanity, laws relating to, 325. 

Hume, David, 24, n. 

Hymns, 469, 496. The Latin, 479. Of the primi- 
tive churches, 496. Gnostic, 497. 

Hymettius accused of malversation, 367. 

Hyrcanus, high-priest at Jerusalem, 52, n. 


The pilgrimage to, 


JamBiicuHus on the Life of Pythagoras and on the 
Mysteries, 250. His wisdom, 355. Suspected 
of incantations, &c., 368. 

Iberians, conversion of the, 329, 374. 

Iconium, the people of, expel Paul and Barnabas, 
162. 

Ideler, Handbuch der Chronologie, 58, n. 

Iddo, Prophet, 42. ; 

Idolatry, denunciations of Moses against, 357. 
Abolished, and the idols destroyed, 377-380, 384. 

Ignatius, bishop of Antioch, his epistles, 197, n., 
221, 444. Trial of, before Trajan, 222. 

Images, the earliest belonging to the Church were 
Gnostic, 492. 

Immolation, human, 276. Of animals abolished, 
375. 

Immorality of ancient superstitions, 30, 163, 190. 
Of the Carpocratians, 215. 

Immortality of the soul, 32, 33, 54, 145, 231, 414. 
Sentiments of the ancients on the, 34. Universal 
in the sentiment of mankind, 36. Effects of this 
doctrine, 145, 

India, worship of one God by Brahmins in, 26, n., 
28. Allegory and poetry combined in the religion 
of, 26, 278. The Ganges and Hindu ablution, 
71, 200, 203. The emanation doctrine of, 200. 
Castes of, 203. Religious system of Zoroaster, 
274. [See Zoroaster.] The nearer India, 328. 

Innocents, massacre of the, 59, n, 63. 


‘ . INDEX. 


Intelligence, the Divine, 210. © 

[Invocation of damons, 101, ἢ. : 

lrenxus, writings of, χὰ 417,n. On Simon Ma- 
gus, 205,n. On Basilides, 210, n. 

Isaiah, the Prophet, 40, 48, 52, 71, n., 85. 

Isaiz, Ascensio, an apocryphal book published from 
the Althiepic, 53, n. ? 

Isis, Temples of, 218, 228. 

-—- and Serapis, immoral rites of, 23, n., 34, 176, n. 
Osiris and, 25, - 

Israel, Messiah the hope and expectation of, 103, n. 
123, 158. tod 

Israelites, the, 71, 72, 107, 150, 170, 227,n. The 
twelve tribes, 98. 

Italy, rural gods of ancient, 27. Legends and fes- 
tivals of, ib. Pestilence in, 232. Vestiges of 
heathenism long prevailing in parts of, 388. 


JABLONSKI, the Opuscula of, 57, n., 248, n. 

Jaffna or Jamnia, near Jerusalem, 169. 

Jairus’s daughter, raising of, by Jesus, 102. 

James, St., disciple of Jesus, and apostle, 86, 9x, 
157. Called the Just, 168. His martyrdom, 157, 
168, : any , 

———, Christ’s disciple of this name, uncertainly 
recognised, 162, n. 

—-—,, son of Cleophas or Alpheus, an apostle, 98. 
His fate uncertain, but often styled brother of 
Jesus, ib., 162, n. 

Jansenius and the Jansenists, 414. 

Jehovah, attributes of, 28, 42, 209. 

Jeremiah, the Prophet, 76, 108. 

Jericho, the blind man by the wayside near, 118. 

Jerome, St., 54, n.. 98, n., 153, n , 367, 370, 382, 389, 
478,n. Life of, 420,433. Introduces monachism 
in the West, 420. . Version of Scripture into 
Latin, ib., 421. He visits Palestine, 421. ‘Trials 
in his retreat, 433. His return to Rome, 434. 
His influence over females of Rome, ib. Paula, 
a disciple of, 435. His controversies, ib. His 
retreat to Palestine, ib. With Jovinian and Vi- 
gilantius, 436. =| 

Jerusalem, City of (see Jews, Temple, and Christ), 
Jesus celebrates the Passover at, 78. The Holy 
City was the stronghold of Jewish enthusiasm, 
89. Multitudes repairing to, at the Passover, 
118. Jesus enters it in triumph, 123. Its destruc- 
tion of importance to the progress of the Chris- 
tian dispensation, 128. Sadness of Jesus on the 
approaching destruction of the Holy City, 127, 
128. His distinct and minute prophecy thereof, 
130. Tyranny of the Roman procurators, 129. 
Persecution of the primitive Christian Church at, 
154, et seg., 165. Council of the apostles at, 162, 
163. The Roman guard, 165, Destruction of 
the city by Titus, son of Vespasian, 169. Influ- 
ence of this great calamity on the Jewish nation, 
169, 191, 192. Advantageous to the progress of 
Christianity, 169. Destruction of the Jewish pol- 
ity, 172. The new or [Roman] city interdicted 
to the Jews, 173. But Christians, permitted in 
Elia, ib. . Persecution in, 186. Became ἃ Chris- 
tian city under Constantine, 308, Form of Chris- 
tianity at, ib. Julian attempts to rebuild the 
Temple,361. Supernatural fires destroy the new 
buildings, 362. ᾿ 

Jesuit missionaries to China, 54,.n. 

Jesus: see Christ. ? 


” ‘ 


.“. 


Jews, the, and Jerusalem: Religion of Moses διά. 


Judaism, 28, 34, 55, n., 58, 72, and note, 81, 120, 


121, 158, 159. Symbolic presence of the Deity, _ 


how long preserved under Judaism, 39. The in- 
visible Deity, ib., 42. 
158. The Alexandrean doctrine, 29, 32, 40, 41, 
48, Not participators in heathen mysteries, 32. 
Religious parties and enthusiasm of, 39, 125-127. 
They look to the death of Herod as the time for 


Expansion of Judaism, 29,” 


518. x; 


national independence, 39. Their expectation of 

a deliverer, 40, 46-50, 75, 104. Foreign connex- 
‘ions of the, 41. Their captivity in Babylonia, ib , 
58. Return of, from Babylonia, 41. Tide of 
emigration to Egypt, ib. To Armenia and Asia, 
ib.,n. Their Monotheism widely disseminated, 
41. Schism of Pharisees and Sadducees, 46. 
Calamities of, 47. The Judeo-Grecian system, 
48, 61. The Law, 40, 48, 68, 119, 170. [See 
Law.] The Hellenist Jews, 48. State of polit- 
ical confusion at Jerusalem, 50, 52. The royal 
race of David, 52, 127. Their civil institutions, 
&c., 54,n., 56, n. Decree of Augustus for en- 
rolment or taxation of, 56. Oath of allegiance to 
Cesar or the reigning emperor, ib. 70. The 
magi in Jerusalem, 50, 58, 59. Jewish fiction 
relative to the birth of Jesus,59,n. The festival 
at Jerusalem, 68. Political revolutions from the 
Nativity to A.D. 30, 69. The Sanhedrin, ib., 79, 
80, 116, &c. [See Sanhedrin.] The Roman 
procurators of Judea, 129, 135. Jews of Arabia, 
156. The various races of, 150, et passim. The 
publicans and farmers of taxes, 70, 119. Insur- 
rections of the Jews, 42, 69, 72, 12], 129, 152, 160, 
161, n., 165, 168, et seg., 221. Against Trajan 
and Hadrian, 192. Celebration of the Passover, 
78. Reverence for the Temple, 80, 123,170. Ex- 
pectations of the Jews in the Messiah disappoint- 
ed, 79, 80. The Jewish leaders hostile to Jesus, 
104. The Sanhedrin and the Pharisaic party re- 
solve on active measures against him, 110, et seq., 
116, 130. The Roman commander of the band 
of soldiers, 110, 116, 134, 139, 140, 151. The 
centurion’s testimony of Christ, 143. All sects 
of Jerusalem bitter enemies of Christ, 119, 125, 

167. The restrictions of the Mosaic law not of- 
fensive to the nation, 119. The Jewish Theoc- 
racy, 120, 122, 163, et passim. Intolerance, tyr- 
anny, and strict observances of the old religion, 
127, et passim. Jesus condemns the bigotry of 
Jerusalem, 127. The rulers, 121, 123, 125, 129, 
130. Christ, the King of the Jews, 123. Ruin 
of the nation a result of their obstinate fanaticism, 
129,173. Causes of their rejection of Christ, 129. 
Their persecution and crucifixion of Christ, 133- 
141. Ofthe apostles, 147,168. Many of the peo- 
ple converted to Christianity by the apostles, 151, 
156. Their separation from the Gentile converts, 
170. Caligula persecutes the Jews, 157. Herod 
Agrippa governs Judea, ib. Judaism in the first 
century of the Christian era, 158, 162, 169. The 
Roman guard protects St. Paul, 161. Persecu- 
tions of the Jewish nation, 164,n. Proselytes to 
Judaism at Athens, 164. Arts and manufactures 
of, ib.,n. The Jewish war commenced by Rome, 
168. Fall of Jerusalem, 169. The elect people 
of God, ib. Characteristic distinctions of the 
Hebrew nation, 170. The Judeo-Christian com- 
munity sank into obscurity by the preaching of 
St. Paul, 173. That of Rome led by St. Peter, 
187, 188, n. The foreign Jews not averse to 
Christianity, 174. Proseucha of, near the banks 
of rivers, 177. Jewish population in Rome, 185, 
190, 191. In the Eastern dominions of Rome, 
221. Change in the condition and estimation of 
the Jewish people afier the war against Rome, 
102. They everywhere formed a civil as well as 
a religious community, 195. Their elders and 

P rs, ib. Julian a patron of this nation and of 

_ Jerusalem, 361, et seq. Various allusions to the 

Mosaic history, 215. The Jews not averse to 
theatrical amusements, 220, et passim. 

Joanna, wife of Chuza, 147. 

John the Baptist, 45. Conception and birth of, 51, 
52, 55. His preaching at Bethabara, the ford 
of the Jordan, 70. Baptism of, 71,125. Maulti- 
tude attending, 71. His denunciations against 


‘< 


INDEX. 


» 


sins, 72. Duration of his mission, 73. An as- 
cetic or Essene, 70,77. His language and style 
of preaching, 72,73. His avowed inferiority to 
Jesus, 73, 82. He baptizes Jesus, 74. Deputa- 
tion from Jerusalem to, 73,76. He declares him- 
self the harbinger of Jesus, 76, 82, 120. Re. 
moves his station to waters near Salim, 82. Closa 
of his career, ib. Imprisoned by Herod Antipas, 
82, 99. John’s testimony of Jesus the Messiah, 
76, 82, 96. His message to Jesus, 99. He is 
beheaded in prison, 103. His disciples, 181, 182. 

John, St.. his Gospel argumentative in comparison 
of the first three, 39, 78, n., 81, n., 83, n., 94, ἢ.» 
135, n., 206. The constant companion of Jesus, 
78, n., 86, 98, n., 142. Teaches the Christian 
doctrine to the Ephesians, 191, 206. His death, 
193, et seq. 

—- the ΠΝ 426. 

Jonah, the prophet, 344. 

Jonathan, high-priest, assassinated, 161. 

Jones, Sir William, on the Zendavesta, 43, n. The 
Menu of, 201, n. 

Jordan, the River: Its valley or AiAwy, 70, n. Its 
ford, 70. Baptism of Jesus in, by John the Bap- 
tist; 74. Jesus visits the banks of, 115. 

Jortin, Dr., on the sermons of Jesus, 89,90. His 
remarks on ecclesiastical history, 234, n. 

Joseph, of the royal race of David, 53. Betrothed 
to Mary, ib. His joumey to Bethlehem, 55, 
a flight into Egypt, 59. His return to Galilee, 
ib. 

—— of Arimathea, 143. 

Josephus, “ History of-the Jews,” &c., the more 
important references and citations, 29, 41, and 
note, 49, 56, and note, 62, 73, n., 82, and note, 
122, 126, n., 156, 161, n., 168, n. 

Jovian, the emperor, 365. 

Jovinian, controversy of St. Jerome with, 436. 

Judaizing and Hellenizing Christians, 61. 

Judaism, 28, 34, 55, n., 58, 72, and note, 160, 163, 
170, 171, et seg., 172, 174, 200, 248, 291, 361. 

Judza, its political state adverse to the new reli- 
gion, 38. Reign of Herod the Great,ib. Roman 
jealousy excited by the Jewish expectation of a 
deliverer, 40. Levitical cities of, 52, The Mes- 
siah expected as a great king over, 59, 69, 75. 
Reduced to a Roman province, 69. The Roman 
tribute, ib, n. Its topography, 75, 76. The- 
apostles in, 149. Famine in the time of Clau- 
dius, 157, 161. Roman prefects govern, 69, 70, 
110, 129, 130, 154, n. Succinct account of va- 
rious of the procurators or prefects of, 160. Au- 
thority of the Younger Agrippa in, 167. 

Judas, brother of James, also an apostle, 98. 

—- the Gaulonite or Galilean, 70, 91, 106, 121, 
126, 152, 186, n. Insurrections by his sons, 160. 

—- Iscariot, 99, 104, 122, 123. Disquisition on 
his betrayal of his Master, 130, et seg. His re- 
morse and suicide, 130. 

Jude, St., brother of our Lord, 192. Trial and re- 
lease of the grandsons of, ib. 

Judgment, day of final, 164, n, 185. 

Julian, the emperor, 249, 259, 345. He rules over 
the whole empire, 345. His character, ib., 346. 
What called the new religion of, 346. His edu- 
cation, 347, Constantius jealous of this young 
prince, 348. His acquaintance with the philoso- 
phers, ib. At Athens, 349. At Eleusis, ib., 350. 
Is declared Cesar, 350. Assumes the title of 
emperor, ib. His apostacy, ib. Embraces the 
eclectic paganism of the new Platonic philoso- 
phy, 351. Restores the pagan worship, ib. He 
misapprehended the influence of Christianity, 352. 
His new priesthood, ib, Charitable institutions, 
353. His ritual, ib. Respect for temples, ib. 
Institutes new sacrifices of animals, ib. His tol- 
eration, 355. Sarcastic tone of, ib. He taunts 


INDEX. 


the Christian profession of poverty, ib. Confis- 


cations by, 355, Withdraws the Christian privi- 
leges, exemptions, and grants made to them, 356. 
Education under, 353, 356. Edict of, 356. His 


endeavour to undermine Christianity, 357. Per- ᾿ 
secution, ib. The emperor contends on ill-cho- 


sen ground, 358. He visits Antioch, ib. He 
courts the Jews, 361. His attempt to rebuild the 
temple at Jerusalem, baffled by mysterious flames, 
ib., et seq. His writings, 362, 363, The emperor 
marches against Persia, 363. Is slain, ib. His 
celebrated apes taahe to Jesus of Galilee, ib. The 
emperor’s character, ib. 

Jupiter Capitolinus, 22, 191. 

—— Olympius, 222. . 

——— Optimus Maximus, 260. 

—— Stator, 27. 

—w— Philius; 267, 359. 

——-, Temples of, 218, 222. 

——— Tonans, his statue on the Julian Alps, 385. 

Justin Martyr, his ‘ Apology for Christianity,” 233. 
His avowal of Christianity and death, ib. 

Justina, the empress, inimical to Ambrose, bishop 
of Milan, 408, et seq. 

Justinian, laws of, 457. 

Juvenal on astrology, 35. 
Rome, 186, n. 


On the Christians of 


Karairés, the, a Jewish sect, 119. 

Kedron, Brook of, 132. 

Kingdom of Heaven, declarations of the, 48, n., 72, 
91, 119. 

—-—— of the Messiah, 120, 124, 127, 131, 158. 

Khosrov I., reign of, 276. Is murdered by Anah, ib. 

Klaproth, M., writings of, 54, n. 

Knowledge, progress of, its influence on religion, 
29. When beneficial, ib. Prejudicial, 30. 


Lasarvum, the, inquiry as to, 287, et seg., 288, 299. 

Laberius, mimes of, 474. 

Lactantius appointed preceptor of Crispus, 297. 

Letus, the prefect, 241. 

Laity, the, 37, 198, 445. 

Language, effects of Christianity on, 372. Of the 
Old Testament, 445. 

Languages, various, in use at Jerusalem, 150, 165. 
The Oriental, and even the Latin, in disuse, 342. 
The Gothic, 373. Greek, 478. Latin, ib. 

Laodicea, Church of, 228. 

Lapsi, certain fallen Christians denominated the, 
252. 

Lardner, Dr., 56, n., 101, n., 168, n., 236, n., 278, n., 
279, n., 281, ἢ. ' 

Lateran palace and basilica, 290. The first patri- 
mony of the popes, ib. Fis 

Latin became the language of Christian divines, 413. 

Law, the Jewish or Mosaic, 40, 48, 56, n., 71, 77, 
79, 83, 85, 87, 153, 163; n., 165, 174, 195. Relax- 
ation of, 135. ‘Sons of the Law,” 68. The 
lawyers, scribes, and rabbis, 87, 119, 170. Causes 
of their hostility to Jesus, 87. Two witnesses 
required by the Law, 133. Jews remain strong- 
ly attached to the Mosaic, 162,170. Disquisition 
on, 170. The lawyers subsequently denominated 
the wise men, 195. at 

Laws: of the Twelve Tables, 290. Of Justinian, 
457. Of Constantine, 289,471. Of Valentinian, 
365, 456, n., 476. Of Theodosius, 388, 472. Of 
Constantius, 456. Of Honorius, 457, n., 476. 
Edicts of Milan, &c., 289, et passim. Of Hono- 
rius, 386, 387. Roman jurisprudence, 372. Laws 
against heretics, 388. The Theodosian Code, 
438. 

Lazarus, 122. Raising of, from the grave, 117, 
123. 

Leake, Col. William Martin, illustration of the 
edict of Dioclesian by, 258, n. 


519 


Lebbeus, or Thaddeus, or Judas the brother of 


James, an apostle, 98. ae 
Le Beau, M., remarks by, 300, n. 
Le Clerc, philologist, referred to, 55, ἢ, 


Legends, Christian, 481. Grecian and Italian myth- 


ological, 28, 34, 62. Of the missions of the apos 
tles, 193. Of Abgarus of Edessa, 276. Of Arte- 
mius, 287, n. 

Legion, the Thundering, miracle of, 230, n., 235. 

Lemuria, in honour of Remus, 28, n. 

Leper, Christ healing the, 92. The ten lepers, 120, 

Leprosy, outcasts through, 92, and note, 101, n. 

Levitical families, the, 51. Cities, 52. The high- 
priests, ib. 

Libanius, 352, 355, 364, n., 375, 377, 379, n., 395, 
476. 

Libellatici, who called the, 252. 

Liberius, bishop of Rome, 336. An exile in Thrace, 
337. Returns to his see, 343. 

Libertines, the, or Roman freedmen and their de- 
scendants at Jerusalem, 150. ‘ 

Liberty, principle of, advanced by the establishment 
of Christianity, 324. 

Licinius, the emperor, 266, 269, 289. His wars 
with Constantine, 298. Persecution by, ib. His 
death, 299, 300. His son’s death, 300. 

Life, doctrine of a future, 29, 34, 81. Knowledge 
of a future state, 46,91. Blessings and miseries 
of, 90. : 

Light, Great Principle of, 46,58. Kingdom of, 275. 

—- and darkness, 200, 278. ane 

——- of Light, 280. The fountain of, 281. 

Lightfoot quoted, 47, n., 57, n., 132, n., 143, n, 
188, n. ; 

Literature immediately preceding the introduction 
of Christianity, 33. 
&c., affected the literature of Greece, 369. In- 
fluence of Christianity on, 37]. And on language, 
372. Christian literature, 477, 482. 

Loaves and fishes, miracle of the, 103. 
of the miracle, 107. 

Lobeck, the Aglaophamus of, an erudite work, 24, 
n., 25, n., 26, n. 

Locusts, a food, 70. 

Logos, the, 46, 48, 207, 212, 311. 

Lollianus executed for copying a book of magic, 
367. 

Love, a designation of God, 28. 

——- of God and love of man, 127. 

Lucan, 35, n., 42, n. 

Lucian, 62, 163, n. A satirist of Polytheism, 250. 
The Philopatris not written by, 313, n. 

Lucianus, St., bishop of Antioch, martyrdom of, 
267, and note, 283. 

Lucifer of Cagliari, 336, 339, 340, 343. 

Lucius, bishop of Alexandrea, 369. 

Lucretius, an admirer of Epicurus, 35, 179, n. 

Luke, St., author of the Acts of the Apostles, 187, 
205. 

——-, St, Gospel of, 56, and notes, 58,105, n., 161, 
n. His Gospel, how altered by Marcion, 215. 
Lunacy, demoniacs supposed to be affected by, 51, 

97, 101, n., 102, n. 

Lupercalia, Festival of the, suppressed, 388. 

Lycaonia, province of, barbarous, 162. 

Lydia, conversion of, at Thyatira, 177. 

Lydus de Ostentis and the ancient Roman ritual, 
22, n. ‘ 

Lyons and Vienne, Christians persecuted at, 236, 
Church of, 242, n. ἐδ, 

Lysias, Roman commander at Jerusalem, 165, Ὁ 


Repetition 


Lystra, City of, St. Paul nearly murdered by the: 


people of, 162. Paul and Timothy at, 163, 176, 
177. 


MaccaBees, Book of, 47, 52, 55, ἢ. 
Maccabeus, Judas, 115, n. 


The persecutions for magic, — 


Ws 


ΨΥ ἊΝ 
> . “ Ν + Ya * a 

- ᾿ Ὑ ᾿ ; > 

520 ΟἿ INDEX. ; 
3 uk % 4 ov ὶ Α 
“Macedonia, the Gospel preached by Paul in, 164, ] Mars, or the Roman Gradivus, 22, 27. 
165, os eae od . Marsh, Bishop, ‘“ Michaelis of,” 63. Some opinions 

Macedonius, bishop of Constantinople, 343. of, 115, n. 


_ Macedonians, the, 389. . 
Macknight, Dr., his remarks, 112, n. ae a 
Macherus, fortress of, 99, 103, n. Ay 
Macrianus, 2588. P 
Meso-Gothic alphabet, the, 373. ae δῆς 
Magdala and Dalmanutha, Jesus visits, 107. : 
Magi, the, 26, 34, 42, 43, 45, n., 58, 273. Their 
tenets, how far coincident with Scripture, 43. 
They repair to Bethlehem, 50, 58, n. Summary 
of the re-establishment of the Magian worship 


and hierarchy, 273-276. Mani disputes with the | 


Magians, and is flayed alive, 282. ἐν 

ὶ' Magic, Oriental, 248, 253, 290, 323. Magicians, 
159, 161, 176, n., 181, 182, 204, et seq., 222, 248, 
253, 348. Prosecutions for magic, 365, 366. 

Magna Grecia, colonies and republics in Sicily, It- 
aly, &c., 202. 

” Magnentius defeated at Mursa, 335, and note. The 

 usurper, 336. 

Mai, Angelo, 33, n., 239, n. 

Maia, the Goddess, 54, n. 

Majorinus elected bishop of Carthage, 

Malachi, Book of, 52, 71. - . 

Malchus, his ear cut off by Peter, and restored and 
healed by the Saviour, 133, n. 

Malefactors, the two, crucified with Jesus, 14]. 
The penitent, 142. 

Mamertinus quoted, 358, n. ; 

Mammea, the mother of Alexander Severus, 248. 

Man a religious being, 23. His primeval state, ib., 
n. Distinct races of, 25,n. Human sacrifices, 
29, 30, n. Doctrine of the two races of, 47. Re- 
generated man, 81. The human nature, 38, 145. 
Christianity the moral history of man, 171. Fall 
of, 209. False notions of the origin of, 210. 
Gnostic manifestations of Anthropos and Eccle- 
sia, 212. Ideas respecting the first, 278, 279. 
Man requires authorized interpreters of the mys- 
terious revelations from heaven, 442. i 

Mani, religion of, 275, 277-288. He is flayed, 282. 

Manicheism, details of, 277, et seq., 375. 

Manes, heresiarch, 42, 199. 

———, the, and Lemures, 28, and note. 

Manichzan doctrines, 44, n., 375, 415, 417. 

Manna, the, 103, and note. 

Manners and general habits influenced by Christi- 
anity, 372. Of the Roman court, 439. Of the 
aristocracy, 440. Dress of females, 441.  Char- 
acter of Roman women, 435. Manners of ancient 
Rome, 441. 

Manso on the Augusti and Czsars, 258, n. 

Marcellinus, his narrative respecting the Temple of 
Jerusalem, 362, 363, n. Ἂ 

Marcellus, fame of the Christian soldier, 282. 

=.) Popes in the reign of Maxentius, 286. 

————~ of Apamea, martyrdom of, 377. 

Marcion, Gospel of, by Hahn, 77, n., 215, ἢ. The 
system of, 213. His severe doctrine, 214. His 
contrast of the Old and New Testaments, ib. 

Marcomanni, war of the, against Rome, 230. 

Marcus, bishop of Jerusalem, 173. 

Marcus Aurelius, the emperor, 218, 225, 230, et seq., 
233. 

Mardonius, preceptor of Julian the apostate, 347. 

Mark, St., the Gospel of, 39, 63,149, n. He is ac- 

~ companied by Barnabas, 163. 

Pac’ bishop of Arethusa, 347, 361. Violent death | 
of, ib. 

Mariamne, Asmonean 
Great, 39, 52. 82. 
Marriage, rite of, 54, n., 126. and note, 278, 423, 452, 

454. Laws relative to, 326, 327, 456, Brought 
under ecclesiastical discipline, 456, 
——-—— Feast, parable of the, 125. 


293, et seq. 


princess, wife of Herod the 


Martin, St, of Tours, 381, 413. Ecclesiastical his- 

| _ tory and life of, by Sulpicius Severus, 478, ἢ. 

Martha, sister of Lazarus, 114, n., 117, 122, 

Martyrs, enumeration of, 236. Worship of the, 468, 
Festivals in honour of 468, 469. Acts of the, 
480. Martyrdom not usually represented in paint- 
ings, 494. The Christian: St. Stephen, 153. St, 
James, 157, 168. St. Peter and St. Paul, 187, et 
seq. In the reign of Marcus Aurelius, 232, 233. 
Justin Martyr, 232. St. Polycarp, ib., et seq. 
Blandina, 237. Perpetua and Felicitas, 243, et seq. 
Fabianus, 252. Babylas,ib. St, Cyprian, 253-255. 
St. Lucianus, 267, ἢ. , Marcellus of Apamea, 377. 
Numidicus, 459, St. Sebastian, 494. 

Mary, the Virgin: the Annunciation to, 52. The 
angel’s address to, 53. The Incarnation, ib. Her 
visit to Elizabeth, 55. The Ma ificat, ib. The 
journey to Bethlehem, ib. Mortbebsequent resi- 
dence with Jesus, and parental attention to him, 
78, 101. [5 recommended by the Saviour to the 
care of St. John, 142. Allusions to, 304. Per- 
sonal description of, 493. Oldest known painting 
of, ib, Hieratic type of, explained, ib. 

——-, mother of James and Joses, 147. 

στ - and her sister Martha, 114, ἢ. Jesus fre- 
quently visited their house, 115. 

——- Magdalene anoints the feet of Jesus, 100, 122. 
Appearance of Jesus on his resurrection to, 147. 

Maternus recommended the spoliation of heathen 
temples, 357. 

Matter, doctrine of the malignant influence of, 200, 
205, 208, 214. - 

———-, M., opinions of this French writer, 210, n., 
211, ἢ. 

Matthew, St., Gospel of, 39, 58, n., 63, 
215. 

———-—, St., or Levi, a publican, collector of trib- 
ute, 93, 98. ° The original Hebrew Gospel of, 173. 

Maturus, death of, 237. 

Maundrell’s journey, 78,n. 

Maxentius, vices of, 264. The emperor maintains 
Polytheism, ib., 285, 286. His contest with Con- 
stantine, 285, 286. Ἶ 

Maximian, the emperor; 263, 264, 985. 

Maximin, Daias, reign of, 251, et seq., 264, 266, 267, 
277. His persecution and tyranny, 267, et seq., 
269. His death, 269. Rescript of, 283. 

———-—, the representative of Valentinian at Rome, 
366. 

Maximinians, the sect of Donatists called, 296. 

Maximus, the usurper, 410, 413. 

————- , the philosopher, 348. The most eminent 
in the reign of Julian, 354. His wife sets him 
an example of taking poison, and dies, 368. He 
chooses to live, ib. But is executed at Ephesus, 
369. 

———--, the cynic, a rival of Bishop Gregory at 
Constantinople, 394. 

aie GaSe (enol ἢ. 

Mead, Dr., 101, n. » 

Mecca, pilgrimage to, 79,118. The Caaba, 92, 

Mede, Joseph, opinion of, 10], ἢ. ᾽ν 

Medes, the, 43. Ay aac 

Mediator, doctrine of a, 45, 49, 52, 92,31). 

Mediterranean, navigation of, by St. Paul, 184. . 

Meekness and humility approved of God, 91. 

Meletius, bishop of Lycopolis, 313, ἢ. 

——., bishop of Antioch, 395. 

Melita, St. Paul admired as a god in the island of 
184, ΄ 

Memra, the, or Divine Word, 46, 49, n. 

Menander, the poet, 33, 179, 473. 

————-, disciple and successor of Simon Magus, 
206. His disciples, 209, 210. 


75, 90, n., 


—_—_ μδοννμνΝνν υναδων 


ἐὺ ᾿ ro 


- ἃ, ὖῦ 


INDEX. 


Mensurius, bishop of Carthage, 292. 

Merobaudes, poem of, 387. 

_ Mesopotamia, Jews in, 41, 42. St. Peter's preach- 
ing in, 42. State of, 221, 225. ᾿ 

Messiah, the, general expectation of, 39. Nature 
of the belief in the, 40, 46, 47, 83, 84. The ex- 
pectation national in Palestine, 47, 56, 72, 75, 81. 
Reign of the, according to the Alexandrean Jews, 
48, 206. A reformer and king, 49. The Prince 
of Peace, ib. Popular belief of a, ib. Birth of 
Christ, 50, 54, 57. Jesus designated by John as, 
76, 81, 96,99. The twofold: the son of Joseph, 
suffering, and the son of David, triumphant, 76, 
n., 150, 172. Question, at that time, of Jesus 
being the Messiah, 104, η., 108, 110,116, 120, 150, 
152, 158. Signs of the coming of, 119, 172. Je- 
sus declares himself to be the, 134. 
the Messiah begun, 150. Notions of, as promul- 
gated by Marcion, 214. 

Michael, the Archangel, 44, n., 45. 

Michaelis, observations of, 72, n., 143, n., 154, ἢ.» 
207, n. 

Milan, decree of Constantine, 289,and note. Coun- 
cil of, 334, 336. Hilary, bishop of, 339, 341, n., 
343. Christians put to death at, 366,n. St. Am- 
brose, bishop of, 406-412. See Ambrose. 

Miletus, St. Paul-at, 183, 186, 187. 

Mill, Mr., History of India by, 26, n. 

Millennium, the, 47, n., 172, 208, 227. Fertility of 
the earth in the, 172, n. 

Milton, his poems quoted, 48. His Hymn on the 
Nativity, 57, n. 

Milvian Bridge, battle of the, 288. 

Mimes and pantomimes, 474. 

Mind impersonated, Asiatic notions of, 200. Doc- 
trine of purity of,ib. Gnostic idea of a presiding 
Mind, or self-developed Nous, 210, 212. Moral 
aberrations of, 331. Imaginative state of the hu- 
man, 500. 

Minerva, 247. | 

Minucius Felix, 249, 482. 

Miracles recorded in the Old Testament, consider- 
ations on the, 28, 103, n., 182. Of our Saviour, 
77, 78, 80, 85, 89, 92, 95, 96, 99, 101, 102, 103, 107, 
112, 117. Supposed modern miracles, 230, n., 
235, 287, et seq , 362, 410. 
ischna, the, a Jewish code, 195. 

‘* Misopogon” by the Emperor Julian, 363. 

‘Mithra, worship of, 220. 

Mithraic rites, the, 30, n., 35, 177, 218, 386. 

Mohammed, religion of, 44, n., 199. Tomb of, at 
Mecca, 79. Paradise of, 126. Koran of, 248. 
Monachism, 422. 

Moloch, worship of, 42. 

Monachism introduced by St. Jerome in the West, 
420, 422. 115 origin, 422. Causes which tended 
to promote, 423. Its effectson Christianity, 429. 
On political affairs, ib. Its advantages,430. On 
the maintenance of Christianity, ib. On the 
clergy, 431. In promoting celibacy, 432. 

Monad, the, of the Carpocratians, 215. 

Monasteries, 370, 396. 

Monastic institutions, early, 77, 201. System, 420. 
Dangers, 427, Bigotry, 428. Fanaticism, ib. 
Ignorance, ib. « ; 

Monica, mother of St. Augustine, 417. 

Monks, origin of, 04. Compelled to mili- 
tary service by the Emperor Valens, 370, n. Most 
active in destroying temples, idols, and vestiges 
of paganism, 376. Of Alexandrea, 380. Of Ca- 
nopus, ib. Of Antioch, 398. _ 

Montanists, the, 242. 

Montanus, heresy of, 242, et seg. _ 

Moon worshipped as Astarte, &e., 42. oy 

Moral element of the ancient Roman religion, 
27. 

——-- government by the Deity, 28. 


3 U 


The days.of 


oe ho 


521 

Ps ; ° 7 

Moral meaning attributed to the Mosaic record by 
the Alexandrean school, 29, ι . 


——- science of Rome, 33. 
——- history of man, 171. 


——- perfection, 200. 

——-~ more slow than religious revolution, 330, 

Morality, the rise of Christianity effected a revolu- 
tion in the ancient state of, 23. Its ideal perfec- 
tion found in Christianity, 38, Principles of 
Christian morality, 90, 99. [15 universality, 9}. 
Its original principles, 92. Of heathenism, in the 
doctrine of Seneca and Marcus Antoninus, 181, 
Relaxation of Christian morals, 257. 

Moriah, Mount, Jewish temple on, 47, 83, 128, 
Heathen temple built on, 173. 

Moses, miracles of, 103, n. Tradition of his reap 
pearing in the time of the Messiah, 108. His 
Council of Seventy, 115. Books of, 126, 

Mosaic religion, doctrine of Unity, 28. The one 
great God, ib., 120, 158, 159. Certain analogies 
of, with the doctrines of Zoroaster, 43, n., 44, n. 
The Law, 40, 48, 56, n., 71, 87, 91, 119, 153, 155, 
170. Commandments, 95. The Law abrogated 
by the Christian dispensation, and the result of 
the Gospel doctrine, 159, 162, 174. Its claim to 
a perpetual authority refuted by St. Paul, 171. 
Allasions to the Mosaic History, 214, 215, 

Mosheim, opinions of, or quotations from, 44, n., 


48, n., 90, n., 151, n., 188, n., 194, n., 210, m., 215,” 


n., 223, n., 288, n., 322, ἢ. 

Moyle’s works, 230, n. 

Mummius, the Consul, destroys Corinth, 164, n., 
180, n. 

Municipal institutions promoted by Christianity, 
372 


Mursa, battle of, 335. ; 

Music, Church, 496. 

Mylitta, heathen divinity, 42. 

Mysteries the last support of paganism, 31. The 
Eleusinian, 32, 180. Philo asks, if such are use- 
ful, why not public? 32, ἢ. Jamblichus wrote on 
the, 250. Osirian or Bacchic, 378. 

Mysticism of the Essenian observances, 77. Asl- 
atic, 18], 203. Of the later times of Rome, 250. 

Mythology brought on the scene, 474. 


Nain, town of, the widow’s son raised, 99. 

Natural religion, 24, 25. 

Nature, the goddess Diana an impersonation of, 
206, n. 

Nature-worship, on, 25. Vivifying power of, ib. 
Ancient symbolic forms of, 31. ‘Taught the im- 
mortality of the soul, 32. Doctrine of the Di- 
vine essence, 36. Astral worship, a branch of, 
42. A pontiff of this superstition visits Rome, 
246. “ 

Nathanael, convinced by Jesus, becomes his disci- 
ple, 77. His blameless character, 98. 

Nazarenes, the, contemned Jesus of Nazareth, 85. 
He evades their offered violence, 86. The Naza- 
ritish practice of abstinence, 168, n. Christians, 
by some, called, 173. 

Nazareth, town of, 53,55, 70, 85,86. Jesus teaches 
in the synagogue at, 85. 

Nazarites, the, and the ascetics, 52. 

Neander, the Life of Christ by, 32, I,, D0; liz 56, n. 
57, n., 62, 74, n., 101, n., 149, n. 

Nebuchadnezzar, conquests of, 43, n., 76. 

Necessity, doctrine of, 179. 

Nehemiah, 41. ᾿ 

Nergal-sharezer, the Archimagus, 43, n. 


| Nero, the emperor, 167, ἢ. The burning of Rome, 


184, 229, n. Persecution by, 196, et seq., 188, n., 
190, 220. Styled Antichrist in the Sibylline 
verses, 229, n. 
Nerva, the emperor, 193. 


A - 


| '- 
——= and temporal character of the Messiah, 1795. 


522 


Nestorian tenets, 54, n., 199, 275, 389. 

Neuman, Professor, his translation of Vartan, 44, n. 

Nice, Council of, 299, 302, 310, 315. : 

Nicene Creed, the, comparison of Mani’s theory 
with, 278, 280. The Creed,316. The Homoou- 

sion, 3 iy 332, 341, 344, 394. _ Opinions, 333, 343. 

Nicodemus, his discourse with Jesus, 80, 81, 94. 

Nicolaitans, their opposition to St. John the Evan- 
gelist, 207. ν 

Nicomedia, the residence of Dioclesian, 258, 27]. 
His edict of persecution executed at, 262. Torn 
down by a Christian, ib. ‘The palace on fire, ib. 
Consequences severe on the Christians, 263. Ju- 
lian at, 348. 

Nicopolis, 187. 

Niger, Pescennius, 240. 

Nile, River, 378. The Nilometer kept in the tem- 
ple of Serapis at Alexandrea, 378, 380. 

Nino converts the Georgians or Iberians, 329. 

Noetus and the Patripassians, 312. | 

Nous or Mind, the self-manifested, 212. 

Novatian heresy, the, 252, n. 

Nubia, converts made by Frumentius in, 329. 

Numa Pompilius, 34. ‘ 

Numerian, the emperor, murder of, 260. 

Numidicus, martyrdom of, 452. 


Opin, Valhalla of, 36, ἢ. 

Olives, the Mount of, 123, 132. 

Olivet, Jesus on Mount, 127. Whence he views 

_ Jerusalem and the Temple, 128. The Ascension 
from, 149. Church on the spot, 309. 

Olympus of Alexandrea, 378, εἰ seq. 

————, gods of, 304. 

Onager. termed the wild ass, 335. 

Onesiphorus of Ephesus, 187. 

Ophites, the, or worshippers of the serpent, 215, et 
seq. 

Shistus, works of, and important documents ap- 
pended, 292, n., 294, n. 

Oracles, 30, n., 34, 227, 228, 260, 261, 265, 286, 
368, n. 

Orations of the Fathers, 485. 

Oxatory, Christian, and orations, 482, 483. 

Orgiasm described, 242. 

Oriental literature, 24, n., 43, n., 44, n., 46, n.,'273, 
n. Allegory, 74, 200. Asceticism, 77, 201-204, 
281. Religions, 22, 24, 25, 26, 28, 34, 42, 43, 46, 
48, 54, 81, 121, 158, 200, 273-275, 277-283, 390. 

Orientalism, conflict of Christianity with, 199, 277, 
305. Of Western Asia, 203. Tenet of the Great 
Supreme, 212, 279.. Symbolism, 278. 

Origen, writings and opinions of, 59, n., 74, n., 173, 
205, n., 249, 390. Against Celsus, 482. He was 
subjected to torture, 252. 

Ormuzd, Oromazd, or Aramazt, worship of, 274, 
275, 276, 280. 

Orthodoxy, 331, 341, 343, n., 360, 369, 375, 395, et 

_ passim. 

Osiris and Isis, mythologic dualism of, 25. Temple 
of, at Alexandrea, 378. 

Osius, bisop of Cordova, 294. 

Ostrogoths, the, 374. 

Ovid, his “ Fasti,” imbody the religious legends of 
ancient Rome, 27, n., 28, n., 71, n. 


PaGaniso, the older religions than Christianity, 22. 
The Roman Pantheon, ib. Dionysiac, Isiac, and 
Serapic mysteries pernicious to morality, 23. 
Dissociating principles of old religions, ib. Creu- 
zer’s comprehensive work on, 24,n. Preparation 
for a new religion in the heathen world, 29, 158. 
The mysteries of, 31. Collision with the Gospel 
doctrines, 162, 163, 164, 174. Universality of, 
175. - Athens the true seat of, 180. Later condi- 
tion of, 247, 249. It became serious, 250, 260. 
Reorganization of, by Maximin, 267. Fall of, 


INDEX. 


288. Temples suppressed, 308, 323. The pagar 
religion not totally forbidden by Constantine, 323. 
Re-established by Julian, 249, 259, 345, et seq., 
350, 351. 
tate’s death in battle, 363. Lamentation of pa- 
gans at his fall, 364. Connexion of the arts of 
magic with, 367. Abolition of, 374. History of 
_Western or Roman, 386. Its extinction, 387, et 
seq. pi by 

Pagi, chronology of, 218, n. Observations of, ib., 
n., 221, n. 

Painting connected with Christianity and the 
Church, 487, 488, et seg., 491. 

Paintings of the Virgin Mary, 504. 

———— of Mani, 278. 

— of Paulinus of Nola, 495. 


a 
Palestine : religion of the Jews, 25. ‘The locality 


of the Jews, 41, 75, 121, 170. Coin of, 78. Ju- 
dao-Christianity of, 158, 173. Situation of, fa- 
vourable to a new religion, 199, 200. State of, 
under Trajan, Hadrian, and later emperors, 221, 
et seq. Churches built in, 309. 

Paley, Dr., his “ Evidences of Christianity,” &c., 
referred to, 56, n., 10], ἢ. 

Palilia, and rural rites of Italy, 27, n. 

Palladius, prefect of Egypt, 369. 

Palmyra, 256. Temples of, 376. 

Pantheism of India defined, 43, 200. 

Pantheon of Rome, 22. 

Paphos, city of the island of Cyprus, 161, 163, n. 

Parables of our Saviour, 64, 125. 

Paraclete, the, 205, 278. 

Parnasim or pastors, 195. 

Parthenon, the, 29, 381, n. 

Parthia, St. Peter’s sojourn in, 273. Power of the 
kings of, 221, 273. 

Parthian war, the, 232, n., 255. κω 

Pasiphilus, torturing of, 368. * 

Passion, the, 142. rn 

Passover, the, 69, 78, 94, 105. The last, 109, 118. 
Particulars of the feast of the, 131,132. Cus- 
tom of releasing one prisoner at, 139. Sacrifice 
of the great Passover, 165, n. 

Patriarchs, beatitude of the, 127. 

Patrician and plebeian struggles, 31. 

Patricius of Lydia, 368. wy 

Patrimony of St. Peter, or possessions of the Ro- 
man pontiffs, 290. « nia 

Paul, a Pharisee and disciple of Gamaliel, 152. — 
Born at Tarsus, 155. Persecutes the Church o 
Christ, ib. His journey to Damascus, ib., 156. 
His conversion, 153, n., 155, 157. His first visit 
to Jerusalem, 153, n. His privilege of Roman 
citizenship, 155. Sojourns in Arabia, ib. His 
high character and eloquence render him the 
most important auxiliary of the humble Galilean 
apostles, 159, 161. In company of Barnabas, he 
preaches the Gospel in Cyprus, 161. At Perga, 
162. At Antioch of Pisidia, ib. At Iconium, ib. 
At Lystra, ib. At Derbe, ib. Second journey of 
the apostle brought him into immediate opposi- 
tion to paganism, 163, 177, et seg. Admonished 
by a vision, he visits Macedonia, 164. Parting 
from Barnabas, he associates Silas in his mis- 
sionary labours, 163. Gains livelihood as a tent- 
maker, 164. Third journey of, ib., 181. His 
miracles, 165, et passim. His deportment in the 
Temple at Jerusalem, ib. Charge against him 
of violating the sanctity of the Temple, ib. Is 
scourged by Lysias, 166. He claims to be a Ro- 
man citizen, ib. Before the Sanhedrin, ib. Be- 
fore Felix, 167. He preaches the Resurrection, 
166. His declaration to Festus that he appealed 
to Cesar, 167. He perseveres in this appeal 
when before the younger Agrippa, ib. And is 
sent prisoner to Rome, ib. In what doctrines 
opposed to St. Peter, 170. Who the adversaries 


- 


» 


“᾿ ᾿ 
| 
* 


Its last hope disappointed by the apos- — ‘ 


rv 


4 


INDEX. ἷ 523 


ot Paul, 171, 173. To the Corinthians, on meats 
used in sacrifices, &c., 174. The apostle, in 
prison at Philippi, converts the jailer, 178. Is 
driven out of ‘Thessalonica and Berea, ib. At 
Athens he declares the Unknown God of the 
Greeks to be the God of Abraham, ib., 179. He 
preaches the Resurrection to the Athenians, 180. 
At Corinth, ib., 196, n. At Ephesus, 181-183, 
196, n. The parting of the Christians of Asia 
Minor with the apostle, 183. His long and peril- 
ous voyage to Rome, 184. Reception of Paul 
by the Christian Church of Rome, ib. Notices 
of the apostle’s personal history, ib., 186, 202, n. 
Author of the Epistle to the Hebrews, 186, n. 
His authority not generally recognised by the 
Church, 198. Martyrdom of, 187-189. Maxim 
of, 345, n. 

Paul, an insurgent chief so named, 168. 

——, aclaimant of the see of Constantinople, 333. 
Conflicts in the capital, ib. Paul expelled, ib. Is 
deposed, 335. His death, ib. — 

—— and Macurius defeat the Circumcellions at 
Bagnia, 296. 

—— of Samosata, bishop of Antioch, 256. His 
magnificence, ib. His quarrel with the synod, 
&c., ib., 497. 

Paula, the fervent disciple of St. Jerome, 435, 

Paulinus, bishop of Antioch, 343. 

—--——- of Nola, poems of, 470, n. 

Paulus, Professor, 59. 

Pausanias, his respect for religion, 34. ~ 

Peace on earth, 57, 71, n. 

Pearson, Bishop, on the Creed, 76, n. His “ Opera 
Posthuma,” 188, n., 444, n. 

Pelagian heresy, the, 389, 414. 

Pelagius, doctrines of, 415, n., 416, n. 

Pella, town of the Trans-Jordanic province, 169. 
The Judzo-Christian community seeking refuge 
at, ib. 

Penates or household gods of Rome, 175, 304. 

Pentecost, Feast of, 105, 107, 149, 165. 

————., day of, gift of tongues, 150. 

Perea, territory of, 82, 88. 

Perdition, 415. 

Perga in Pamphylia, 162. 

Perpetua and Felicitas, martyrdom of, 243-246. 
Ost the of the early Christian Church, 186, 


187. The Neronian, 190. By Trajan, 219, 221. 

_ By Marcus Aurelius, 225, 233, et seg. At Vienne, 
236, et seg. By late emperors, 240, 243-246. By 
Decius, 251. By Valerian, 252, et seq. By Au- 
relian, 256. The tenth, by Dioclesian, 257, et 
seq. By Galerius, 262-265. By Maximin, 267, 
292. In Persia and Armenia, 275. In Africa, 
253-255, 292. 

Persia, traditions of, 22,n., 43. The Magi, 26, 34, 
42. Immaterial fire worshipped in, 28. The 
Medo-Persian dynasty, 43, n. A Messiah ex- 
pected by the Persians, 47, n.. The Dualism of, 
200. The later Persian kingdom raised on the 
ruins of the Parthian, 199. Ancient religion of, 
26, 28, 42, 44, 58, 209, 273, 274, 278. Reign of 
Ardeschir Babhegan, 274. His edict, 275. De- 
struction of Christianity in, ib. His acquisition 
of Armenia, 276. The Persian war, 335, 374. 
Defeat of Julian, 363. 

Pestilence in the reigns of Marcus Aurelius and L. 
Verus, 232, et seg. At Carthage, 254. In the 
Eastern empire, 268. ‘ 

Peter, St., local date of the First Epistle of, 42, n. 
The Second Epistle of, ib., n. Simon follows 
Jesus, 77, 86. Is named by him Peter, 98. He 

professes faith in Christ, 104, 108. He proposes 
three tents to Christ, Moses, and Elias, 108. He 
smites the ear of Malchus, who is healed by Je- 
sus, 132, 133. He thrice denies his captive Mas- 
ter, 134. Peter and John at the Holy Sepulchre, 


¥ 


‘ 
« - 


147. His pastoral charge over the Church of 
Christ, 149. His speech proclaiming the days of 
the Messiah, 150. Second speech of the chief 
of the apostles, 151. He is seized and carried 
before the Sanhedrin, ib, 152. He boldly pro- 
claims the ari Jesus as tne Saviour, 152. 
Is imprisoned, 157. His prison-doors thrown 
open by an angel, ib. His collision with Simon 
the magician, 159, 204. His vision of the meats, 
&c., 159. His doctrine latterly exclusive, 170. 
But resisted by the liberal system of Barnabas 
and Paul,ib. The Petrine or Ultra-Judaic party, 
198. Martyidom of, 187, 290. ‘‘ Secret Tradi- 
tions” of, what termed, 210. The successors of, 
or popes, 343, n. Church of St. Peter at Rome, 
187, 290. : 

Petra, City of, 156. Ὃ 

Petronius, prefect of Judwa, 42, 157. 

Pharisees, the, 46, 56, 57, 70, 76, 89, 91,101. Their 
inveterate hostility against Jesus, 96, 97, 100 
116, 119. His conversation with, 104,n. They 
demand a sign or miracle, 107. This sect con- 
stantly baffled by the just replies of Christ, 127, 
et passim. Gamaliel, president of the Sanhedrin, 
ΕΒ St. Peter, 152. The sect take vengeance 
on St. Stephen, 154. Believed in the Resurrec- 
tion, 166. Pharisaic distinctions and symbols, 
174. ’ 

“‘ Pharsalia,” the, character of the poem, 35, 42, ἢ. 

Pheroras, brother of Herod, 56. 

Phidias, his Jove, 29. His beautiful sculptures, 
174, 304. 

Philadelphia or Philomelium, Church of, 233. 

Philip, brother of Herod the tetrarch, 82, 86. 

—— II. of Macedonia, 23, ἢ. 

—-— II. of Spain, 265. 

———,, St., disciple and apostle, 77, 98. 

———, the Deacon, converts the eunuch, 155, 

——, prefect of the East, 335. 

Philippi, city of Macedonia, 164. St. Paul in prison 
at, 177, 178. The Philippians, 194. ; 
Philo, doctrines of, and the Alexandrean school, 29, 
n., 32, n., 417 ., 48, 62, 96, n., 211. Historical 

records by, 41, n., 42, n., 203. 

Philosophers of the time of Julian, 348, et seg., 353, 
354. 

Philosophical paganism not popular, 250, 259. Sen- 
timents of the philosophical party, 260, 263. 

Philosophy, natural, 501. 

————-—,, on ancient, 31. Α defective substitute 
for religion, 32. Its exclusive and aristocratic 
spirit, ib. Varieties of philosophic systems, ib. 


The Epicurean, ib. The Stoics, ib. The Aca-- 


demics, 33. Fatal to popular religion, ib., 121. 
Itinerant philosophers and teachers, 176,n. Civ- 
il, and not monastic, institutions fostered by the 
ancient philosophers, 202. Philosophy during 
the Roman republic,ib. During the Roman em- 
pire, 225, 230, 231. ; 

Philostorgius, Fragments of, preserved by Photius, 
344, n., 368, n. , 

Phlegon, celebrated passage of, 142, ἢ. 

Pheenician cosmogony, the, 200. 

Phrygia, Oriental rites of, 34 The Gospel preach- 
ed in Galatia, Mysia, and, 164, 165, 177. ᾿ 

Phrygian Christianity carried into the West, 242. 

Pilate, Pontius, Roman governor of Juda, 69, 70, 
105, 130. The Pretorium of, 136, 139. His 
tribunal, 119. His decision of character, 121, 136. 
Jesus brought before, 136. Detail of his exami- 
nation by, 136-138. This prefect proposed to the 
Jews the release of Jesus, 139. The wife of Pi- 
late intercedes for mercy towards Jesus, 140. 
Pilate reluctantly delivers Jesus to death, ib. 
Character of his administration, 154, n. False 
acts of, 266. 

Pilgrimage to the Holy Land, 421, et seq. 


ν ‘ 
‘¥v 
7 


524 . 


On immortality, 34, 


Plato on the Deity, 32, 311. 
48, 179, 202. On 


351. His philosophic system, 
the Logos, 311. 

Platonism early blended with Judaism, by Aristob- 
ulus and Philo, 29, ἢ. Brahmin doctrine simi- 
lar to, 32. Platonic Judaism, 45, 48. Platonic 
Christianity of Alexandrea, 159,311. Platonic 
paganism, 199, 206, 241, 260. The new system 
of, 250, 351. 

Pleroma, the, or fulness of the Godhead, 208, 211. 

The inviolable circle of the, 212. 

Plinius Secundus, his letters to Trajan on the Chris- 
tians, 218, and note, 219, and note. The emper- 
or’s reply to his minister, 219. Christians put to 
death by Pliny, ib. Probable connexion of this 
persecution with the state of the East, 221. 

Plutarch, remarkable passage in, 33. _ 

Poets, ancient, priests of the mythologic system, 
55. The heathen religion converted into mere 
poetry, 29. Poetry ceases to be religious, 35. 
Poetic age of Greece, 48. Poetry, how far dis- 
cernible in the Gospel, 67. ‘The Greek philo- 
sophical poets, 179, 359. Poetry of the Gnostics, 
213. Poetical predictions at Rome, 227-229. 
Characteristic difference of Greek and of Chris- 
tian poetry, 392. In Latin, 479, et seq. 

Polemical writings, 482, 483. — vi 

Pollio, Virgil’s, founded on Hebrew prophecy, 227, n. 

Polybius, on his use of mythological legends, 33. 
On religion, ib. 

Polycarp, martyrdom of, 233. ‘ 

Polytheism relaxed its influence preparatory to the 
Christian dispensation, 29. Effects of the prog- 
ress of knowledge on, ib. Decline of, 36. Cer- 
emonies, processions, and spectacles of, 174, 259. 
It resists the encroachment of the new faith 
more by popular and political support than by 
moral and religious influence, 175. Observations 
on, by the author of this History, quoted from the 

᾿ Bampton Lectures, 175, n., 176, n. Contrast of, 
at Athens, Philippi, and Lystra, 178. At Rome, 
218, 220, 250, 259. Restoration of, 351, et seq. 

Pompey astonished in the Temple at Jerusalem, 
29. Consults the Chaldean astrologers, 35. 

Pontiff, title of Christian, 199. 

Pontifis, the patricians of Rome aspired to be, 175, 
289, 291. 

Pontius, Life of St. Cyprian by, 254, n. 

Popes, the, grant of the Lateran palace to, by Con- 

-stantine, 290. .Successors of St. Peter, 343, n. 
See Rome, and Patrimony of St. Peter. 

Porphyrius, his treatise on the Cave of the Nymphs, 
in the Odyssey, 250. , ἡ 

Porson, Professor, 284, n. 

Pothinus, bishop of Lyons, 

Praxiteles, 304. ᾿ 

Praternatural interpositions, belief in, 50. 

_——————- signs in the heavens, 288. 

Pretextatus, proconsul of Achaia, 365. 

—_——-, Vettius Agorius, 381, 383. His title 
of supreme pontiff, 381. His wife also the priest- 

ὸ δ" His death, ib. Funeral and apotheosis 

Ὁ , 1D. 


redestination, doctrine of, 415. 
Church, 194, 197. College of, 


death of, 237.. 


Presbyters of the 


Prescience of God, 415. 
Prideaux, Dr., 43. 


. Priesthood, Jewish, deputation of, concerning the 


pretensions of John the Baptist, 73. See High- 
priests. : ne 
— π-- of heathen and pagan worship, 175, and 
“note, 176, n., 263, 289, 291. 
Priests, the High, of the Temple, 52, 70, 76, n., 117, 
160, 184, 186. Jesus led before Caiaphas, 133. 
τ Annas and Caiaphas, 152, n. Ananias, 161, 166. 
Jonathan assassinated, 161, 166. Ismaél, 166. 


»f 


τ δρήεῳ 


INDEX. 


᾿ Ὁ 
“" Ν τ Ὰ 3 * 
The secod Annas, 167. The new rabbiniegl 
195. 
Principle, doctrine of a universal primary, 200. 


Principles, antagonist, of Creation and Destruction, 
25,200. Of Light and Darkness, 200, 277, 279. 
Of Good and Evil, 200, 280. Of Spirit and Mat- 
ter, 279. Mine 

Prisca and Valeria, 257, 263. a, 

Priscilla and Aquila, 164, 171, and note, 182. ane 

Priscillian and his followers put to death for heresy, 
375, 413. ; 

Priscus, 368. 

Pritchard, Dr., on Egyptian mythology, &c., 25, n. 

Proconsul, Roman dignity of, 161, n. How distiu 
guished from the propretor, ib. 

Procopius, rebellion of, 367, et seq. 

Propertius, 34, 36. 

Prophecy of the fall of the twelve Cesars, 228, et 

Of the flight of Nero, 229, and note. Of 
desolation in Italy on his return, 229. Μ 

Prophetesses, &c., 177, 227, et seq. 

Prophets, the, 40, 52, 71, 76, 79, n. Their blood 
shed in Jerusalem, 127. The false, and enthu- 
siasts, 56. » 

Proselyte of the gate, Cornelius, 160, n. 

Proselytes, Jewish, in Greece, &c., 164, 176. The 


Gentile, 171, 194. ; 
__-.___- of the gate, 159,163. Gentile, 163, 171. 


ns ᾿ ᾿ 


» 


Providence: see God. The designs of, 171. Hand 
of, 255. 

Prudentius, 363, n. Poems of, 386. 387, n., 467, n., 
476, n. Hymn, 464, n. His style, 478. 


Psalms, the, 496. How repeated, 497. 

Psalter, the, 496. 

Ptolemais, Church of, 314, n., 459. 

Publicans, the, of the New Testament history, 93, 
119. 

Purification, rite of, 57. Doctrine of, 211. 

Pythagoras, doctrines of, derived from the Kast, 
48, 202, 250. 

Python, the mythic, 305. 


Quapratus, Apology of, 222, n., 223. 
Quarantania, Desert of, 75. 


Rasais, the, propounders of the Law, 87. 

Rabbinical writings, 71, 84, 111. Notions of a fu- 
ture state, 126. Tradition, 134, 170. 

Rabbins, the, 84, n., 87, 110, 172, n., 174, 445. 

Raoul Rochette, M., Essays of, 468, n., 469, n. 

Rask, Professor, 44, n. , 

Redeemer, the, 52, 64, n., 119, 173. Psalms of 
David prophetic of, 127. Doctrine of a, 415. 
Gnostic notion of a, 214. 

Regeneration, doctrine of, 81. 

Religion, the rites of genuine, not a matter of state 
policy, 33. It required to be clothed with author- 
ity, or could not have subsisted, 371. Religious 
impressions, 501. 

— —, Christian: 
Church. ἃ 

Religions : of Egypt, 22, 26, 28, 34, 48, 190, 210. 
Of Babylon, 22, n., 42. Of China, 26, n., 45, n. 
Of Greece, 22, 26, 28, 35, 174, 178-180. Of an- 
cient Rome, 22-28, 30, 175, 267, 381, 382. Of 
Persia, 26, 28, 42, 44, 58, 209, 273. Of India, 26, 
28, 43, 46, n., 53, 71. 
and note, 58, 72, and note, 81, 120, 121, 158, 159. 
[See Law and Mosaic Religion.) Pagan, 22, 23, 
99, 31, 164, et passim, 174. Its fall, 288. Abol- 


see Christ, Christianity, 


ished, 374, et seg. Of Mohammed, 44, n. Of 
“ Syria, 42, 163. See Christianity. : 
Repentance essential to religion, 179, 282. . 
Resurrection, doctrine of the, 46, 47, 126, 151, 180. 


Of Jesus, foretold by himself, 80. ‘The Resurrec- 
tion of Christ, 145, et seg., 158. Is the basis of 
religion, 145. The Sa ducees denied it, 152. 


Of the Jews, 28, 34, 42,55, - 


᾿ 


i 


. 


Retribution, future, 29, 180, 414. 


Revelation, Jesus promulgates a new, 87. Rheto- 
ric, 483. 
Rimini, Council of, 339, 344. 


er of superstition, the immoral, chiefly Oriental, 


., 163, 190, 215. 
Roman Catholics charged with the gunpowder plot 
and the fire of London, 188, n. 

Rome: reign of Augustus Cesar, 21. Civilization 
of, ib. Worship of Jupiter Capitolinus, 22. Re- 
ligious mystery, ib. Book of Laws, 23. The 
Romans rejected the obscene fables of the Greek 
superstition, 27, ἢ. Priests, augurs, and aruspices 
of, 27. Deities of, allegorical, ib. Moral element 
of the religion of, ib. Sanguinary spectacles of, 
29, 30,n. Roman pride supported heathen wor- 
ship, 30. Its philosophy similar to that of the 
Stoics, 32. The haruspices, 35. Reception of 

foreign religions in, 34. Christianity gradually 
subverts the imperial government, 37. Contro- 
versy on the question as to Rome or Babylon 
(First Epistle of St. Peter, v. 13), 42, n., 185. 
Fable of Lupa (Romulus and Remus), 54. Laws 
of, 71. Dominion over the Jewish nation, 121, 
126, 129, 135,160,165. The Jews incur the ven- 
geance of, 129; et seg., 157, 160. Spread of Chris- 
tianity throughout the empire, 158. Proconsuls 
and propretors, 161, n. The Christian Church 

at, whether founded by the apostles, 164, 171, n. 
St. -Paul at, 167. Rights of citizenship of, ib. 
Details of the Jewish ‘war, and destruction of Je- 
rusalem, 168,169. Roman converts to Christian- 
ity, 171, et seg. Both Jews and Christians driven 
from the Imperial City, 171, 183. Paganism an 
integral part of state politics at, 175. The hea- 
then pontiffs, ib., 289. Innovations hostile to the 
state religion considered as treason against the 
majesty of Rome, 175. Roman population of 
Corinth, 180, 183. St. Paul’s voyage and arrival 
in, 184, εἰ seg. Burning of, in the reign of Nero, 
184, 188, n, 190. Jewish population of, 185. 
Persecutions of Christians at, 187,219. Fame of 
St Peter in the Western Church, 187 Imperial 
history of, divided into four periods, 189. To the 
death of Nero, 189, 190.. To the accession of 
Trajan, 191. The third period, 218-237. The 
fourth period, 238, et seg. Reign of Trajan, 189, 
192, 217, 218, 219. Tyranny and vices of Domi- 
tian, 191. Spirit of ancient liberty more suspect- 
ed by Vespasian than the new creed, ib. No as- 
cetic or cenobitic institutions appertaining to an- 
cient Rome, 202. ‘The emperors at the com- 
mencement of the second century, 217. Extent 
of the empire, ib. Christians persecuted by ‘I'ra- 
jan, 219. By Marcus Aurelius, 225. State of 
the Kastern dominions of Rome, 221, 267-269 
Connexion of Christianity with the fall of the Ro. 
man empire, 226. Prediction of the fall of, 228. 
Change in the circumstances of the times respect- 
ing Christianity, 229. State of peace,ib. ‘Terror 
of the Romau world, 230. The Christians reck- 
oned the cause of approaching calamities, ib 
Farthquakes and calamities, 231, et seq. Pesti- 
lence, 232. 268. Rapid succession of emperors 
of, 238, et seg, 251. The Palladium, 247, 305. 
Decius persecutes the Christians, 251, et seq 
Reign of Dioclesian, 257, et seg. Change in the 
“state of the empire, 258, 271, 272. Citizenship, 
958.n.,27]. ‘laxation,258,n. Neglect of Rome 
by the later emperors, 258. General misery, 264 
Persecution by Maximin, 267. Pagans boast of 
the flourishing state of the Fast, 1b., 268. Ca- 
lamities and famine of the Eastern empire, 268 
Pestilence. ib. Reign of Constantine, 271, Deg: 
radation of the ancient capital, ib. Unity of the 
empire preserved, ib., 272. A new capital estab- 
lished at Byzantium, 272. A new nobility suc- 


es Ὧν INDEX. Jone ' 525 


ceeds the patricians, ib. Finance and jurispru- 
dence, ib. ‘Tumult of the Christians against the 
tyranny of Maxentius, 286. The pope Marcellus 
degraded by him, ib. Victory of Constantine 
over Maxentius, 288. Fall of paganism, ib. 


Rome, revolution effected by Constantine the Great 


at, 289, 290, et seq., 296. Patrimony of the popes, 
290. Council of Rome, 293. Seat of empire 
transferred to Byzantium or Constantinople, 302. 


Senate of Rome, 303, 383. Constantinople a 
counterpart of, 304." Julius, bishop of, 334, 343, 
n. Synod at, 334. Liberius, bishop of, 326, 343. 
Is banished, 337. Felix, bishop of, ib., 343. Ir- 
ruption of barbarians into the empire, 342. [η- 

_ fluence of the Athanasian controversy on the 
growth of papal power, ib. Trials in, before 
Maximin, 367. The empire invaded or menaced 
by Persians, Huns, Goths, and Franks, on its 
frontiers of the Euphrates, Danube, and Rhine, 
374,375. Paganism at, 381, et seg. ‘Ihe Capitol, 
ib. Damasus, bishop of, 383. The heathen sa- 
cerdotal property confiscated, ib. _ Personification 
of Rome by Symmachus, 384. Taken by Alaric, 
387. The Roman empire under Christianity, 
438. The Christian emperors, 439. The aris- 
tocracy of, 440. Their manners, ib. Gradual 
development of the hierarchical power, 442, 443. 
Primacy of Rome asserted, 446, 447, n. The 
capital of Christendom, 447. The Roman law, 
456. Classical and also ecclesiastical poetry, 
479, et seq. Catacombs of, 490, n., 494. Ap- 
proaching ruin of the empire, 498. 

Rosenmuller on Isaiah, &c., 40, n., 54, n., 76, ἢ.» 
179, n. 

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 24, n., 38, n. 

Routh, Dr., 284, n. 

Rustan, fabulous hero of Persia, 275. 

Rusticus, the prefect, 233. 


ΘΆΒΒΑΤΗ, the, reading of the Law on, 85,n. Jesus 
taught on the, 86. 
viour, 94. New charges on this point, 97, 113. 


Jewish observance of, 95. Manichean observ- 


ance of, 281. 

Sabellianism, its nature, 312, et seg. 

Sabinus, Flavius, put to death by Domitian, 193. 

Sacraments, secrecy of the, 465. Baptism, 4 
The Lord’s Supper, ib. 

Sacrifice, the Christians put to the test of offering 
heathen, 245, 254, 263 Constantine said, by 
Theodoret, to have prohibited pagan sacrifices, 
322, 323 Theodosius abolishes all heathen sac- 
rifices, 375. — εὐ 

Sacrifices, human, 29, 30, n., 335,.,375. Of sheep, 
doves, &c., in the Temple, 78. a 

Sacy, M., Silvestre de, 47, ἢ. 

Sadder, the, translated by Hyde, 44,n. 


Sadducees, tenets of the, 46, 70, 91, ., 119, 125, — 


126, 166. (The Saddueaic party become predom- 
inant in the Sanhedrin, 152. Α τὰ, 

Saints and images, worship of, 502, 503. 

——-, Lives of the, 481]. — ὲ 


Salamis, in Cyprus, St. Paul at, 161. γε 


Salim, town of Perea, 82. » 

Sallust, the Ῥυίθοϊς, 360, 361]. 

Salt, Mr., 328, n ᾿ od 

Samaria, Jesus visits, 82, 114. Christian’ religion 
received in, 159, 904, Samaritan, the good, 115, 
n, 120 Samaritan belief in a Messiah,'83, 84, 
and note. - Samaritan woman, the, 83, «nd note. 
Samaritan Sanhedrin, 84, Samaritan letters, the 
celebrated, 83, n. Samaritan poems, curious, 84, 
n. Samaritan Chronicle, the Liber Josne, 84, ἢ. 
Samaritans and Jews hostile, 82, 84, 160. The 
former defile the Temple at Jerusalem, 82. Gov- 
erned under the Roman supremacy by a Sanhe 


drin, 84, 23, ἢ, Sa 


Alleged breach of, by our Sa- τὸ 


4 
᾿ itt 
τ 526 “ INDEX. 
tes ἢ 
Sanchoniathon, 200. _ | Simeon, father of Gamaliel, 58. 


Sanctus suffers martyrdom at Vienne, 237. 

Sanhedrin, the, 69, 75, 76, n., 79, n., 80, 96, 110, et 

- seq., 119. Their persecution of Jesus, 113, 123, 
133. (Question of this tribunal being competent 
to condemn Jesus to death, 134, and note. Its 
relation to the executive government, 135. The 
rulers charge Jesus with blasphemy, 139. And 
press Pilate to prove himself a friend to Tiberius 
Cesar by condemning the King of the Jews, 140. 
Conduct and affairs of this religious council sub- 
sequent to the Resurrection of Christ, 148, 149, 
151, 153, 166. Revolution in the, 152. They re- 
assert their power over life and death, 168. 
Flight of, and establishment at Tiberias, 169. Of 
the Samaritans, 84. 

Sapores, reign of, 279. 

Sardica, Council of, 334, 343, n: 

_ Sasima, Gregory, bishop of, 393. 

Satan, exorcisms addressed to, 101, n., 210. 

Saturninus of Antioch, 208. A Gnostic disciple of 
Simon Magus and Menander, 209. 4 

Saul [St. Paul], ἃ disciple of Gamaliel the Pharisee, 
152. His miraculous conversion on the road to 
Damascus, 155. See St. Paul. 

Savigny, M. de, opinions of or citations from, 57, n. 

Scaliger, Biblical criticisms.of, 168, n. 

Sceva, sons of the High-priest, 165, 182. 

Schlegel, A. W., observations of, 25, n. 

Scipio, maxim of, 224. 

Scribes, the, 87, 127, 168, n. 

Scripture, authority of, appealed to by Jesus, 79. 
Jesus familiar with, and constantly alluding to, 
87. In Gothic, the version of Ulphilas, 373. Ver- 
sion of, by Jerome, 421, 437. 

Sculpture, art of, subservient to heathen supersti- 
tion, 29, 174, 206, n., 223, 304. As connected 
with the Church, 487. 

Scythians, rude worship and deities of the, 273, 276. 

Seasons, the, ceremonies dependant on, 25. 

Seleucia. City of, 42, n., 232. 

Seneca, 30, n., 33, 176, n., 186, 203. The corre- 
spondence of, with St. Paul, a forgery, 181, n. 

Septuagint, Greek text interpolated, 32, n., 45, n. 

Sepulchre, the Holy, 143, et seg. The women at 
the, 146. Temple of Aphrodite over, 308. Chris- 
tian Church of the, 309. 

Serapis, worship of, 23, and note, 34, 176, n., 228, 
241, 369. The Serapeum, or Temple of, destroy- 
ed by Theodosius, 228, 377, et seq. 

Sergius Paulus, his admiration of the doctrine of 
Paul and. Barnabas, 161, 176. 

Sermon on the Mount, Christ’s, 87, n., 90, 99. 

Sermons of the Fathers, 485. Of the Christian di- 
vines, 482, 483. } cs 

Serpent, the Old, 209. The Ophites, or worshippers 
of the, 215. Ophis considered as Satan, 216. 
Ard by some as Christ, ib. 

Seventy, the, disciples commissioned by Jesus, 115. 

Severus, reign of, 240. His visit to, and persecu- 
tions in Egypt. ib., 241. 5 " 

——, Alexander, the emperor, 238, 248, et seq. 

Shah-poor or Sapores, reign of, 279. 

Shechinah, notion of a visible, 28, and note. 

Shibboleth, the, 84. 4 

Shiloh, coming of the, 40. 

Shrines, silver, of Ephesus, 181, 183. 

Sibylline Books, the, 227, and note, 228, 229, n., 
256, 286. 

Sichem, well of, Samaritan woman at the, 83, and 
note. This city named Sichar by the Jews, 83. 

Sicily, temples in, to the Mother of the Gods, 388. 

Sidon, City of, 106. 

Siloah, fountain and brook of, 110. 

Silas accompanies Paul into Syria, &c., 163, 164, 
nazi, ‘ 

Simeon, Song of, 55, n., 58, 426,n, His benedic- 
tion of Jesus, 58. 


———-., bishop of Jerusalem, 221. 

Simon the Cyrenian, 211. 

—— Es Canaanite, an apostle, 98. 

——— Magus, legend of, 62,159. Doctrines of, re- 
plete with Orientalism, 84, 199, 204. His real 
character and tenets, 205. The ‘“‘ Helena” beau- 
tiful, ib. Probability of the history of, ib. 

—— —, known by the name of Cephas, named Pe- 
ter, or the Rock, by Jesus, 73,98. See St. Peter. 

Simonides, the philosopher, 368. 

Sin, doctrines relative to, 207, 282, 301. 

—-, original, 415. ; 

Singing, Church, 497. Antiphonal chanting, ib. 
Introduced into the West by Ambrose, ib. 

Sins, forgiveness of, 93,142. 

Sion, the Holy City, 47, 168. 

——, Mount, the fortress on, 128. 

Sirmium, Temple of the Sun at, 256. Formulary 
of, on Consubstantialism, 343. Synod at, 344. 
Slavery, effects of Christianity on this great ques- 

tion, 438. 

Slaves, sale of infants for, 325,326. Laws relating 
to, 326. Death of a slave by torture punishable, 
ib. Christian captives converted the Goths, 373. 

Smith, Dr. Pye, on the Messiah, 49, n. 

Smyrna, Church of, 233. Earthquake at, 235. 

Socrates, philosophy of, 179. His declaration of 
one Supreme Being, 180. 

——, eccles. historian, 285, n., 316, n., 343, n. 

Solomon, Temple of, 29. Book of Wisdom, 48, 
Porch of Solomon in the later 'Temple, 116. 
Song of, 434, n. 

Soothsayers, 25, 290, 387. 

Sopater, the philosopher, 321. 
ly to, ib. Is beheaded, ib.» 

Sophists, philosophy of the, 180, n. 

Sophronia, suicide of the virtuous, 286. 

Sosthenes, the Jew, 181. 

Soul, immortality of the, 32, 33, 34, 36, 54, 145, et 
seq., 231, 414, 464. Freedom of the human, 415. 

——, imprisoned in matter, 205. . Transmigration 
of, ib.,211. Doctrine of its union with Deity, 207. 

South Sea Islanders, by whom converted, 37, n. 

Sozomen, historian, 300, n., 301, n., 314, ne 

Spain, 375. Roman dominion in, 232. Spanish 
bishops pursue Priscillian for heresy, 375, 413. 

Spectacles, public, 462. 

------ - profane, 470, et pass. Four kinds of, 473. 

Spirit, the Universal, the Creator, 128. 

——-, the Holy, 74, 131, 150, 160, 311, 415. 

Spirits, Mani’s doctrine relative to, 280, et passim. 

——— , evil, exorcised, 51, 97,101, 102. See Angels. 

St. Croix, M. de, History by, 41, n., 222, n. 

Star in the East, the, 58, and note. 

Stephen, St., proto-martyr, 153. Important influ- 
ence of his constancy, 154, 155. 

——-—-, bishop of Antioch, 335. 

Stilpo, exile of, 180. 

Stoic philosophy, the, 32,179. The Stoic philoso 
phers of Rome, 191, 231. 

Stolberg, Count, arguments of, 171, n. 

Stoning to death, a Jewish punishment, 153, 168. . 

Stowell, William Lord, 24, n. 

Strabo, his apology respecting mythological allu- 
sions, 33. Quotations from, 88, n., 155, ἢ. ὁ 
Strauss, Dr., opinions, &c., of, 52, n., 55, ἢ.» 56, n., 

59-63, 104, n., 105, ἢ. ἣν 

Suetonius, the historian, 40, 164, 193. 

Sun and earth, 25. 4 ᾿ς 

—--, Festivals of the, 95, η. Worship of, 42, 246, 
305, 351, n.,352. Worship of, at Rome, 247, 260. 
At Sirmium, 256. ᾿ Christ’s dwelling in the sun, 

according to Mani, 278,281. Ef. 

Sunday, sanctity of the, 289. Laws relating to, 
325, 471. 

Supper, the Last, partaking of the body and blood 
of the Redeemer, 131, et seg., 193, 281, 466 


Constantine friend- 


: 


: . 
. , 

Swine, Legion dismissed into the herd of, 102. 

Symbolism belonging to the Church, 489. 

Symmachus, his oration to Theodosius, 30,n. His 
Apology, 383, 384. Replied to by Ambrose, 384. 
His fresh instances for the restoration of the statue 
of Victory, 386. His contest with Ambrose far- 
ther alluded to, 409. On the Amphitheatre, 475. 

Symphonian, St., Acts of, 230, ἢ. 

Synagogue, the, 49, 162, 163, n., 164, 170, 174, 181, 
194,195. At Corinth, 180. 

Synesius, Acts of, 459. 

Syria, a Roman province, 69, 156. Christian con- 
verts throughout, 158, 163. Jewish population 
of, 161, Religion of, antecedent to Christianity, 
42, 163. Syrian Greeks, 88. Syrian Christians, 
248. Syrian goddess worshipped, 163, n., 247. 
Hymns of the Syrian Christians, 213. Church 
of, 314, 319. Persecutions in, 240,357. Tem- 
ples destroyed, 377. Monks, 424. 

Syrianus, the Duke, his conduct at Alexandrea in 
Egypt, 337. 

Syro-Phcenician woman’s daughter, 106. 


TABERNACLE, the, 76. 

Tabernacles, Feast of the, 108, 109. 

Tabor, Mount, the Transfiguration on, 108, n. 

Tacitus speaks of the astrologers, 35. Of Judza, 
40, 73, n. Of the Jews and Christians, 185, n., 
186, n., 190, and note. 

Talismans, amulets, and spells, 181, 182. 

Talmud, the Babylonian, 42. Jewish traditions in 
the, 62. The Jewish Talmud, 72, n., 83,n.,131,n., 
195, 445. Compendium of the, by Pinner, 88, n. 

Targum, the, or Comments on Scripture, 41, n. 

Tarsus, the City of, 155, and note. 

Tartars, the, 273, 275. 

Telemachus, the monk, his death in the Amphithe- 
atre, 476. : 

Temple, the, of Solomon, 29,76. The later Tem- 
ple, 41, 75, 82, 105, 121, 150, 153,157. The Holy 
of Holies, 51, 170; 173. The Temple become a 
mart, 78. Jesus drives out the traders, 79, 125. 
The treasury of the, 79,n., 111, 127, 136. Je- 
sus’s declaration of raising the Temple again in 
three days figurative, 80. He teaches in the, 
110, 125. Its porticoes described, 116. Christ 
heals the sick in, 123. The Court of the Gen- 
tiles, 124, 165. The Court of Israel, 124. La- 
ment of Christ over this magnificent edifice, 127, 
128. Necessity of its destruction, 128. The 
Inner Court, 140, n. Primitive Christians still 
resorted to the, 162, 163,n.,168,n The Gazith, 
chamber of assembly of the Sanhedrin, 166. Its 
destruction by Vespasian’s army, 169, The Tem- 
ple service, 174, 195. "The ancient Temple tax, 
levied by Vespasian for the restoration of the 
Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, 191. The Em- 
peror Julian attempts to rebuild it, 361, et seq. 

Temples, heathen, destroyed by Xerxes, 22, n. 
Destroyed by Marcellus in Sicily, ib. Of ancient 
Rome, 22,27. On Mount Moriah, 173. Consid- 
ered as desecrated by the Christian office, 174. 
Converted into Christian churches, ib. he cel- 
ebrated fane of Ephesus, 175, n., 181, 183, 206. 
Of the Sun at Sirmium,256 ‘Those built by the 
successors of Alexander, 273. Of Apollo. 284,n. 
Of Byzantium, 303, ἢ. Of Constantinople, 306. 
Not suited for the Christian office, ib. Spolia- 
tion of, recommended, 357. Restoration of, by 

᾿ Julian, ib. Destruction of, by Theodosius, 375, 
376, et seg., 377, et seq. Alienation of the reve- 
nues of, 376. Some temples converted to the 
Christian worship, 377. 

Tempter, the, 79. tng 

Temptation, the, of our Lord, 74, εἰ seg. Various 
theories respecting, 74, 79. 

Terminus, the god, 27. 

Tertullian, citations from, 164, n., 173, 188, n., 194, 


INDEX, 527 


-"'n.,, 215, n., 226, and notes, 240, n., 445, n., 463, n., 
469, n., 487,n. His Apology for Christianity, 223, 
ae 227, 243, 259, η. Character of his writings, 

42. 7 

Testament, New: The Gospels, 38, 39, 41, n., 53, 
74, 372, 414, 489. Hellenistic style of, 478. See 
Appendices to book i., chap. il., p.,59-68. (Many 
of the important references to the Testament) : 
St. Matthew, 39, 58, n., 63, 75, 90, n., 173. St. 
Mark, 39, 63, 149, n. St. Luke, 39, 56, n., 75, 
90, n., 105, n., 115, n., 161,n. St. John, 39, 78, 
n., 79, n., 115, n., 206. Acts, the, 151, n., 152, 
n., 153, n., 157, n., 160, n., 161, n., 164, n., 167, n., 
168, n., 171, n., 176, and note, 184, n., 187, 205. 


St. Peter, 42,n. St. Paul’s Epistle to the Gala- — 


tians, 156, n., 171. To the Thessalonians, 164, 
n. To the Romans, 171, 183, 373, n. To the 


Corinthians, 174, 196, n., 443, n. To the He-— 


brews, 186, n. To Timothy, 184, n., 187, n. 
Teutonic nations, the, 373. rte 
———— usages, 372. 

Thaddeus, the apostle, named Judas also, 98, 
Theatres of the ancients exhibited religious spec- 
tacles, 175, n. The Amphitheatre, and contests 

of gladiators and wild beasts, ib., 186. 

Theatrical exhibitions and amusements, 220. 

Theism, ancient doctrines of, 28, 34, 43, 163, et pass. 

Themistius speaks of the toleration of Jovian, 365, 
n., 375, 387, n. 

Theodore of Mopsuestia, 74, ἢ. 

Theodoret quoted, 364, n., et passym. 

Theodorus, St., heroic acts of, depicted, 495, n. 

Theodosius, the emperor, 228, 374. Of Spanish 
origin, 375. A Christian, ib. Hostile to pagan- 

ism, ib. Rescript of, to the Alexandreans, 379, 

Edict of, 385. His victory over Eugenius, 386. 

His death, ib. His orthodoxy, and laws against 

heretics, 388. Edict of Constantinople against 

the Arians, 394. His anger excited against An- 

tioch, 397. He degrades the episcopal see to a 

dependancy on Laodicea, 398. He finally for- 

gives the Antiochians for having insulted his 
statue, 399. Affair of St. Ambrose, 411. The 

emperor orders a massacre at Thessolonica, 412. 

His absolution by St. Ambrose, after severe re- 

proof, ib. His death, 413. The Thedosian Code, 

438, 471. ὼ o“ 
Theognis, bishop of Nice, 318. ᾿ 
Theogonism of the East, 206. 

Theology, 414, et seq., 498. 


* 
P " 
Theophilosophic systems prevalent in the Roman 


empire, 248. 
Theophilus, archbishop of Alexandrea, 378, et seq., 
389, et seq., 402, 403. ¥ a a 


Theoretica, the, 471. 

Theotecnus of Antioch, 269. 

Therapeute, the, or Contemplatists, 77, 176. 

Thessalonica, Jews and synagogue of, 164. St. 
Paul expelled by Jason from, 178. Massacre at, 
by order of Theodosius, 412. 

Thendas, insurrection of, 152, 160. 

Theurgy, magic included in, 248, 250, 323, 358. 

Thibet, Schaka of, 54, n. ‘The Lama of, 201. 

‘Thirlwall, Mr., 64, ἢ. . 

Tholuck, Μ', opinions of, 56, ., 57, n. 

Thomas, St., or Didymus, character of, 98. 

hie Roman patriot in the reign of Vespasian, 
91¥ 203. 

Thyatira, Christians of, 177. ἃ 

‘Tiberias, Sea of, 58, n. City of. 78, 88, n. The 

__ Sanhedrin flies to, 169, Jewish patriarch of, 173, 

Tiberius, edict of, 30,n. He banishes astrologers, 
35. Christ crucified by his prefect Pontius Pi- 
late, 140. Gladiatorial shows, 186. ~ 

—— Alexander, procurator of Judea, 160 

Tillemont, M., observations of, 248, n. 

Time without bounds, 43. 

Timothy, circumcision of, 163, Attends St. Paul 


abt 


598 


in his Evangelical labours, 164, n., 176, n., 177. 
The Epistle to, 184, n., 187, and note. 

Tiridates, king of Armenia, 276. His conversion by 
the apostle Gregory, 277. War with Maximin, ib. 

Titus, bold resistance of the Jews against, 72, n. 
Destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple by, 169. 

——-, deacon of the Cretan Church, 167. 

Tobit, apocryphal book of, 44, n. 

Tongues, the gift of, for preaching the Gospel, 150. 

Townson, Dr., argument of, 83, n. 

Trachonitis, the, 58, n. Ἷ 

Tradition, Jewish, 40, 42, 62, 83, n., 87,94, 108, 134. 

———— of the Christians having been forewarned 
of the fall of Jerusalem, 169. 

Traditionists and antitraditionists, sects of, 125. 

Traditions, the rabbinical. 169. 

Traditors, the, 292. 

Tragedy, 473. ὶ 

Trajan, the emperor, 189, 191, 192, 217, 218. His re- 
ply to Pliny on the subject of the Christians, 219, 
and note. His Eastern wars, 221. 

Transmigration of souls, 205, 211. 

Tribute of Palestine and Syria to Cesar, 69, 70, 
126. The Roman coin shown to Jesus, when he 
declares it should be rendered unto Cesar, 126, 
and note. ‘ . 

Trinitarians, the Manicheans were, 280. Their 
coutroversy with the Donatists, 291-294, 310. Ef- 
fects of the Trinitarian controversy in the West, 
333, 374. , 

Trinity, various notions of the, 278. Distinction of 
the Persons of the, 312. Doctrine of the, ib., 343, 
ἢ. Triumph of, 388. The more powerful eccle- 
siastical writers maintain it, 389. 

Troas, St. Paul in, 187. ; 

Trophimus, the Ephesian, 165. 

Tsabaism, or star worship, 24, 213, 273. 

Turcomans, the, 273, 275. 

Turks, the, 164, n. ᾿ 

Twelve Tables, Laws of the, 290. ee 

Tyre, City of, 106, 183, 267. Its church rebuilt, 
269. Synod of, 320, 


Uxpuitxas, his version of the Scriptures into Gothic, 
3733 ᾿ 

Unknown God, the, 179, and note. 

Unity, Divine, 28, 36, 121, 159, 160, n., 185, 200, 414. 

Ursacius, bishop of Singidunum, 334, 335. 


VaLcKENAER, ae Aristobulo Judzo, 227, ἢ. 

Valens, the emperor, reign of, 364, et seg. Men of 
learning or philosophical pursuits prosecuted for 
inquiring the probable name of his successor, 368, 
et seq. Is baptized, 369, Crimes alleged against 
this emperor, ib. Interview of, with St. Basil, 370. 
His progress through Asia, ib. His death, 374. 

——-—, bishop of Mursa, 334, 335, ; 

Valentinian, reign of, 364, et seg. His toleration, 365. 
His laws, ib, 451. His cruelty, 366. 

——+-—--- ll., the emperor, 374, 381,383. [5 mur- 
dered, 385 Conjoint edict, 388, 408. He yields 
to St. Ambrose, who had refused the use of a 
church to Justina, 409. Anecdote of the emperor, 
ib,n. His death, 413. 

Valentinus, the Gnostic sectarian, 211. 

Valeria, wife of Galerius, 257, 263, 268. 

Valerian, the emperor, persecution by, 253. 
cruel death, 255. 

Vandals, the, embrace Christianity, 374. 

Varro, 33, n. 

Venus Aphrodite, 308, 309. 

* ——— Uramia, 247. 
——— Verticordia, ‘27, 
Verona, battle of, 286. . 


His 
. 


! 
: ty ᾿ 


THE 


INDEX. 


Verus, Lucius, the emperor, 213, 231. 
ies in Mesopotamia, &c , 232; 

Vespasian, the emperor, his vigour of character, 35, 
41,n., 49,191. The Flavian dynasty, 190, 191. 

Vestal Virgins of Rome abolished, 383 384 386. 

Vettius Epagathus, 236. 

Victory, statue of, at Rome, dragged from its ped- 
estal and altar by Gratian, 382. The altar re- Se 
stored by Eugenius, 385, 386. + 

Vienne, martyrs of, 236, et seg. Church of, 242, ἢ. 

Vigilantius, 436. Jerome’s language to, 437, Ὁ: 

Vineyard, parable of the Lord of the, 125. 

Virgil an Epicurean, 35. His eclogue “ Pollio,” 
227, ny ¥ 

Virgin Mary, the, 52-55, 78, 101,142. Mystical or 
Gnostic notion of the, 213. Her shrines, 388. 
Worship of, 504. Paintings of, ib., 505. Ἴ 

Visigoths, the, 374, n. 

Vitellius, prefect of Syria, 156.- 

Vitringa, opinions of, 195, n. 


His victor- 


WarsurtTon, Bishop, on the Mysteries, 31. 

Weisse, Dr., die Evangelische Geschichte, &c., 63, 
64, n., 145, n. : 

West, uninterrupted and gradual progress of the 
Christian faith in the, 199, et seq., 240,284. The 
great. prelates of the, 406. Ambrose, 407. Au- — 
gustine, 413. Jerome, 420. Antony, 424. Onr- 
entalism disseminated in the, 212. The Western 
Churches, 242, n., 299, 333. 

Wetstein’s character of King Herod, 116, n. 

Whateley, Archbishop, argument of. 24, n. On 
εἰ Rhetoric,” 175, ἢ. | : - 

Whitby, opinions of, 88, n. 

Widow’s mite, the, 127... 

—-—— son raised from death by Jesus, 99. . ) 

Wild beasts, conflicts of men with, in the Amphi- 
theatre, 476. a "Ὁ δ; ol Re 

Wilderness, ascetics innabiting a, 203. ᾿ Ὅν ἐν" 

Wills, law of, 457. aa ‘ 

Windischman, “ Philosophie,” &c., of, 200, 5. . — ' 

Wine, miraculous, of Cana and Galilee, 77. Ab- | 
stinence from, 168, n 

Wisdom and moral perfection, 200, 205, 210. 

—-— of Solomon, Book of the, 48. ‘ 

----- - , or Sophia, 212, 213, 214. Encounters Ho- 
rus, 212. The title of Sophia Achamoth, 214. 

Witcheraft, a vulgar superstition, 35, 181, 358, 388. 

Word, the, 6 Asyos, 46, 48, 205, 207, 212. ᾿ 

Wordsworth, Mr., poems of, quoted, 55. , 

World, ancient physical theories of the, 25. The 
belief in the approaching end of the, 172. Idea 
of its destruction by fire, 180,185, 281. The ma- 
terial, 207, 209. ἡ : 


eo 


“ 
ao 


. 
ae 
4 sé Ft ν 


Xenopuon, Cyropedia of, 38. » ὁ 
Xerxes destroys the temples of Babylon and of s 
Greece, 22, n. 
ZaccuEus, desirous to see Jesus pass, 118. Jesus 
visits his house, ib. . 
Zachariah, vision of, 51, 52, 73. 
Zakinim, or Jewish elders, 195. 
Zealots, doctrines of the, 70, 98, 168, n. , 
Zendavesta, the, 43, and note, 44, n., 210, 274. [18 
Liturgies and Institutes, 43. The Amaschas- 
pands, or angels of, 44, εἰ passim, 209. 
Zeno, 179. : ἃ : 
Zenobia, queen of Palmyra, 256. rere 
Zodiac, signs of the, 213, 281. ΝΗ 
Zoroaster, doctrine of, 43, and note, 44, n., 47, and 
note, 203, 209, 210, 215. Revival of the religion 
of, 199, 273, 274. " 
Zositnus, the historian, 300, n., 301, and note, 304, n. 


Prophecy of, 123. 


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